"I still cannot believe you talked me into this."

"I still can't believe you convinced the hat to put you in Gryffindor. I shudder to think what you must have said to it."

Violet sniffed haughtily, idly freezing solid a horsefly that was trying to bite her arm with a brief flicker of blue light. For some inexplicable reason, someone had decided that the entire student body of Hogwarts should board a train of all things in the middle of muggle London in broad daylight, and Sirius had vetoed illegal Apparition on her first day of term. Apparently it was a, "fundamental part of the Hogwarts experience." So, in a fit of petty spite, and due to a complete lack of muggle clothing, she had dragged some hideously lacy abomination of a dress out of Bellatrix Black's old closet that could probably pass for muggle just to annoy him. Unfortunately, the insects were out in abundance, and the sweltering summer weather was making the dress's heavy black fabric stick unpleasantly, ruining the satisfaction of annoying Sirius.

"Clearly, the Sorting Hat recognized the courage and nobility I so obviously possess. I have no idea what you might be trying to insinuate, I'm sure."

"Ravenclaw, I could see," Sirius continued, ignoring her, "what with the amount of time you've spent in the library. Or Slytherin, obviously. But Gryffindor?" He snickered. "Well, it should be funny, anyway. Write often, dear."

"I will," Violet grumbled. "I'll send you a cursed letter. You're not attached to your fingerprints, I hope?" Craning her neck over the crowd of muggles hastily bustling to and from train stations, she squinted at the brick wall between Platforms Nine and Ten. There was a slightly hazy patch, and with a bit of focus, a wide gap appeared, revealing a large, open station with a horrifyingly outdated locomotive cheerfully puffing steam. "A selective illusion. How quaint. Haven't they heard of Portkeys?"

"They were talking about doing that a few years before I started going, I think," Sirius said. "But the Board of Governors didn't end up going for it in the end. Something about the importance of traditions."

"Committees," Violet said, sneering. "It's as if someone took a look at a monarchy and a democracy and thought, 'how can we get the absolute worst of both worlds with none of the benefits?' and thus the first committee was born."

She walked briskly through the illusion, silently vindicated when she didn't crash headlong into solid brick. The platform was thronging with students and their families, easily the largest concentration of magical mortals she had ever seen. There was a great deal of variety in their appearance. Even a few muggle parents were present, notable for the way they stared in wonder at the obvious signs of magic.

Sirius nudged her, gesturing with a nod toward a blonde woman hugging her teenage son. A similar-looking, if older, man stood by their side. "Those are the Malfoys. No point getting in a pissing contest now, but they're all with Voldemort. Word is dear Lucius has been in in his good graces since he came back, though that comes from Snape, so it might mean fuck-all. Draco's the son. Don't know much about him, but odds are the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree."

Violet tilted her head. The blonde hair was familiar. Hefting her trunk, moving the heavy wood with surprising ease given her slight frame, her lips curved into a smile. "Maybe I should ask after Renée. I heard she was struck blind in an accident. Terrible, really, the way these things happen."

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. "I just wish Lily and James could see this. They'd be so proud of you."

"You think?" She was quite sure that she didn't fit the ideal vision most parents would have for their daughter, but it was a rather pleasant thought all the same.

"Yeah. I think so." Sirius stared at the vivid red train for a long moment, lost in thought. "I know I am."

"You're not having a moment, are you?" Violet teased. "Because, fair warning, if you start crying, I'm going to ditch you."

"Brat," Sirius muttered, giving her a playful shove toward the train. "Go on. You'll want to get on before the good compartments fill up."

"Right." Draco Malfoy had boarded the train, she noted, his parents Disapparating shortly after. "I'm off. See you sometime."

Sirius snorted and waved as she stepped up onto the train, its climate-controlled air a welcome relief from the muggy summer heat. She had never actually ridden on a train before, but it seemed adequately furnished in her estimation with rich wood paneling and a spacious hallway. The first several compartments were quite full and she passed them by. It wasn't that she was unwilling to socialize, but she had a more pressing priority.

As soon as she found an empty compartment, two carriages down, she immediately closed the sliding door behind her and began to strip out of the dress. Never let it be said that she was unwilling to admit her mistakes; she wouldn't be putting that thing back on no matter how much it might annoy Sirius. Worse, she was starting to suspect that he hadn't even recognized it as Bellatrix's.

"Oh!" a feminine voice yelped, as the door once more slid open. "Sorry! I didn't know that anyone was changing already."

Violet turned, beginning to lace up her robes. A girl with strawberry blonde hair, delicate features, and a pointy chin stood halfway through the doorway, as if trying to decide whether it would be less awkward to stay or leave. She was looking pointedly away, cheeks slightly reddened.

"No worries. I probably should have locked the door."

"Er, yeah. Most people do, I mean. Or use the bathroom. Yeah."

Violet grinned at her embarrassment. "You can come in, if you want. I promise it's safe now."

"Oh, good," the girl said. "I'm hiding from my friend, you see. I'm Tracey, by the way. I don't think we've met?" Her eyes settled on Violet's crimson tie, and her eyes narrowed slightly, the expression just barely visible under her veneer of manic cheerfulness.

"Violet."

"Really?" Tracey said, taking a seat opposite Violet and resting her bag precariously on her lap. As she did, the train's whistle blew, and it began to accelerate. "Interesting name, that. You a seventh year?"

Violet shook her head. "Just going into fifth."

Tracey grinned. "Now, that can't be right. I'm a fifth year too, and I would've definitely noticed you in classes, even if you are a Gryffindor."

"Unsurprising, seeing as it's my first year at Hogwarts."

"You don't say? I didn't know they took transfers. Where'd you go before?"

"I had private tutors," said Violet. "And, well, I suppose some strings were pulled."

Tracey nodded. "That's what they're for." Her head snapped to the window in the door as someone passed by, and she abruptly slunk into her seat, pulling her bag up to hide her face. A moment later, she partially emerged. "Is she gone?"

"Looks like it. Your friend?"

"Yeah," she said, still mostly hidden by the bag. Speaking very quickly, she added, "Daphne Greengrass. I may have kind-of-sort-of hexed her during the summer."

"Oh? Something good?"

Tracey grinned wickedly. "Oh, yes. She gave me a trick mirror for my birthday, one of the ones that's supposed to help you coordinate your colors and do your makeup and such, but she fixed it to just say that everything looked awful. So I bought a cursed necklace for her birthday that makes every mirror you look in crack, like you're just that ugly." Leaning in, she gleefully added, "And the best part is, it doesn't go away when you take off the necklace. You need the countercurse, and I've been hiding from her for almost a month now. She must be pissed."

Violet burst into laughter. "Merlin. You'd better hide. I'd actually murder anyone who did that to me."

Tracey waved her hand dismissively. "I'm not worried. I'm better with a wand than her, and she hasn't managed to poison me since second year."

"Sounds like you have a beautiful friendship."

Tracey shrugged. "It's an interesting one, at least."

A brief silence fell as Tracey finally stowed her luggage in the overhead rack, apparently deciding that the inconvenience outweighed its utility as a shield from her vengeful friend. The countryside blurred by as the train glided along, smooth and almost silent. That was a welcome surprise, seeing as Violet's only previous experience with magical vehicles was the Knight Bus, which was many things but certainly not silent or comfortable.

Tracey broke the silence. "Say, how'd you get sorted before term even started?"

Violet shrugged. "Dumbledore seemed to think I might literally overshadow the first years." She held one hand high over her head, miming a great difference in height.

"Dumbledore, eh? Strings run long indeed."

Violet nodded slightly. "Anything I should know about Hogwarts?"

"Eh, I don't know. I feel like each House has a pretty different experience than the others. I mean, Snape—the potions professor—is a bastard to everyone, but he's really got it out for Gryffindors, so maybe try not to get his attention."

"Bit late for that," Violet said, grinning. "I've already had the pleasure. Besides, from what I understand, he has some bad blood with my family, so sparks are likely inevitable."

"Really?" Tracey asked, a little too casually. "You never mentioned your surname, did you?"

"Potter, obviously."

Tracey groaned. "Talk about low-hanging fruit. You know, I was going to ask if you'd killed any more Dark Lords, but I thought with a name like yours, I thought you might be tired of the jokes. I guess that if it's funny the first time, it's funny every time." She tapped her finger against her chin. "Give me a clue, at least. What's your blood status? Halfsies, like me, or pure?"

Violet raised an eyebrow. "Aren't we forgetting one possibility?"

"Nah. For one, those robes aren't the formless puddles Malkin loves to give students," Tracey said, ticking off her fingers. "Two, I've never met a muggleblood so eager to put on robes that she forgot to lock the door. Three, you just mentioned you had private tutors and strings to pull. I mean, really, it's pretty obvious."

"How perceptive of you," Violet purred. Tracey's choice of the word muggleblood was interesting. Although not truly offensive, it was definitely a more archaic term than the preferred muggleborn, and could be perceived as a subtle dig, which might suggest a sympathy for Voldemort's ideals. Of course, she might also be overthinking things. It was easy to forget that most fifteen-year-olds didn't spend their time plotting for war. "Well, I suppose I'm halfblood. Mostly."

"Mostly? How's that work?"

Well, sometimes when a man and a woman love each other very much and one of them makes a deal with a very fair woman, you get an unusual result. Funny how that happens.

"Put it this way," Violet said. "It turns out the goblins really don't like it when their bloodline tests start giving abnormal results."

"Huh," said Tracey slowly. "Now why were you taking a—" Her voice rose into a shriek as the compartment door slammed open, revealing a tall, black-haired, and extremely annoyed witch.

"Oh-shit-hi-Daphne-see-you-later-Violet-" Tracey blurted out as she darted out of the compartment, sending the witch, who must have been the friend Tracey cursed, stumbling. Without a second's hesitation, she took off after her, and Violet could hear heavy footfalls fading into the distance. She laughed briefly. It seemed that, at least, Hogwarts wouldn't devoid of entertainment

~#~

Several hours later, the Hogwarts Express came to an abrupt halt, making Violet curse viciously as her quill jerked, slashing a thin line of black ink through painstakingly etched glyphs. The ink completed a pentagonal circuit that she had meant to leave unconnected until the last moment, and she hissed as the air seemed to crackle with energy, like the still before a lightning strike. From the point where the pentagon had been closed, the ink began to glow a vibrant red, more vivid than anything mere photons could produce. It crept along the ink, seeping into previous pages, before Violet ripped out a handful, crushed them in her hand, and froze them solid. It pained her to cast away several day's work, but it was better than risking something interesting happening.

This approach to spellcrafting was… volatile. Rooted in intuition and guided only by abstract metaphor, it was infamous for a reason and eschewed by conventional academics. But Violet had no patience for the labyrinthian calculations of Arithmancy or for tedious trial and error. Besides, what great magics had been born of formal logic and formulaic development? Could you express the purity of the Patronus Charm, the absolute supremacy of the Killing Curse, or the diabolical destruction of Fiendfyre with neat equations and dry, academic patterns? Could every by-the-book alchemist create their own Philosopher's Stone? Certainly not. The thought of applying such a restrictive methodology to magic was almost offensive to her. In spellcraft, she ascribed to no school of wisdom but her own, scribing her thoughts on parchment in a tongue meaningless to any other until the universe took note and her will became manifest.

There were downsides, of course, even aside from the actual danger. The process could be compared to something like wandering through a dark forest, blindfolded and with only the faintest idea of what you're looking for. Even that tiny stroke of ink had ruined days of work, and it wouldn't be a matter of just picking up where she left off. In her experience, you'd never get quite the same result the second time around. It might be better or worse, but it would definitely be different.

Ah, well. At least she hadn't caused an explosion, implosion, magical contamination, or other dreadful disaster, so really, there wasn't anything to complain about. One had to look at the bright side of these things. Standing, she took a moment to stretch after the long journey, then pulled her trunk down, noting with considerable amusement that Tracey's was still there. Perhaps she was still trying to evade her friend. After a moment's consideration, she grabbed the bag too.

She joined the great mass of students spilling from the train. The earlier heat had given way to a summer storm, driving the students to shelter under hastily retrieved umbrellas and improvised magical barriers of varying effectiveness. Of particular note was the older Hufflepuff who managed to conjure a tarp and suspend it over his head. Unfortunately, pinned in the air as it was by its four corners, it was concave, and after several minutes, the accumulating water caused the tarp to collapse. The poor fellow was drenched. Violet didn't bother trying to keep the rain off. The cool temperature was pleasant, and the silky material of her robes appeared to be developing a soft sheen as they dampened that she thought looked quite nice.

Hagrid, the hulking titan of a man who had drank Sirius under the table, gave her a distracted wave as he tried to usher the smallest and wettest of the students onto what looked to be dubiously seaworthy boats that were bobbing wildly on the waters of the vast lake. In the distance, she could see Hogwarts, tiny points of light made hazy by the rain and darkness.

The older students formed small groups and began the slow, muddy trudge along a winding uphill pass to where Violet could see black horse-drawn carriages that would presumably bring them the rest of the way to the castle. They looked remarkably like hearses, their appearance doing wonders for the generally Gothic atmosphere.

She soon caught sight of a familiar head of blonde hair and began making her way toward her. Tracey's hair seemed to be a bit blackened in places and she seemed to have hastily applied concealer to a nasty-looking burn, but she was arm-in-arm with her friend Daphne, any earlier disagreement now clearly settled.

"Think you forgot this," Violet said, tossing the luggage bag, which Tracey caught with a grunt.

"Completely," she confirmed. "Thanks. Violet, this is my violent and unpredictable friend Daphne Greengrass. Daphne, this is Violet, who won't tell me her real last name."

"Right," Daphne drawled. "Got to say, I knew you were the flighty type, but I didn't expect you to replace me this quickly and with a Gryffindor to boot."

"Well, she hasn't burned me yet, unlike some people I could mention," Tracey said, quite reasonably. "And she carries my luggage."

"Don't get used to it," Violet said, then paused. Closer to the carriages now, she could see that they were not actually horse-drawn. The beasts leashed to the carriages may have held some resemblance to the more mundane animal in shape, but they were skeletal, with the wings of a great bat and snaking, whiplike tails. Their pupilless black eyes held an undeniable intelligence. If she'd thought the carriages morbid before, it was nothing compared to now. Still, the winged horses' eerie appearances were somehow familiar, even welcoming.

She nudged Tracey. "What the hell are those?"

"What?" She peered around, making a show of covering her eyes from the rain. "I can't see anything in this rain."

"The demon horses?" Violet asked incredulously. "I'd almost say they look like Inferi, but last I checked, horses didn't have wings."

"The what?" Tracey took a step back. "Where?"

"Well, that's morbid," Daphne interjected dryly. "Might have been nice if someone had let us know the carriages were pulled by literal omens of death."

"What, you see them too?" Tracey demanded. "What're you talking about?"

"They must be Thestrals," Daphne said, an expression of distaste on her face. "I've read about them. They're the worst sort of omen. You can only see them if you've seen someone die."

"Fascinating," Violet murmured. Her wand had a Thestral hair core, and she'd known the creatures were associated with death, but she'd never actually read about them. On an impulse, she reached out one hand and stroked one of their flanks, feeling the soft, cold fur. It huffed and turned to look at her, then inclined its long neck in acknowledgment.

"Urgh," Tracey said. "Are you touching it? Who'd you see die, anyway?"

"Tracey!" Daphne hissed, elbowing her hard enough to make her yelp.

A small crowd had gathered around their carriage, watching the unusual spectacle. A few of the students, presumably those who could see the Thestrals, pushed by and climbed into the carriage.

"It's fine," said Violet, reluctantly pulling her hand away. "They mostly weren't people I was sad to see go." She gestured to the carriage. "Shall we?"

"They?" Tracey muttered, earning another sharp elbow. Violet ignored her and climbed into the carriage. After a moment, Tracey and Daphne joined her along with a few other students who cast wary looks at the reigns that must have seemed to them to be floating midair.

After the last seat was taken, the Thestrals huffed, flexing their wings, and began to pull the carriage, joining the procession of faint lantern lights fading into the distance along the winding road to the castle. They moved at an eerily smooth and steady pace, completely silent even as the Thestrals' hooves struck the cobblestones.

The rain drummed steadily on the carriage's canvas roof as they slowly drew closer to the castle. About fifteen minutes later, they came to halt. Hagrid's small flotilla was approaching. Violet was pretty sure there were just as many boats now as when they had set off, but the first years were looking very bedraggled indeed.

"Righ'," Hagrid said as the boat he rode alone reached the small pier. The boat bobbed wildly as he clambered out of it. "Two years in a row with thi' rain. Tha'd be Scotland fer yeh, I'd suppose. Come along then."

After the first years were extricated from the boats, Hagrid approached a pair of weathered oak doors and knocked heavily three times. They swung open of their own accord, revealing a wide hall with a high arched roof. The Transfiguration professor led the first years into a separate chamber while the rest of the students continued into the Great Hall. Its ceiling, charmed to mimic the night sky, was just as impressive as the last time she had seen it, but the atmosphere was more complete now with countless burning candles hovering high overhead and the long tables lined with black-robed figures.

Violet made her way over to the Gryffindor table, grinning as she spotted the perfect place to sit. "Evening, gents," as she squeezed in between the Weasley twins.

"Well, well, this is an unexpected—no fucking way." One of the twins' voice—George, she quickly determined—dropped to a sharp hiss as he recognized her. "We don't have any more rats."

A few of the other nearby students were giving her curious looks now. The Hogwarts student body was small enough that the members of a House would typically be able to recognize each other and clearly none of them knew her.

"Not to worry," Violet said. "Like I said last time, we're square now. I just couldn't resist saying hello, now could I?"

"Did you actually sneak into Hogwarts just for that?" Fred muttered, sounding like he wouldn't actually be surprised if her answer was yes.

"Sneak?" Violet repeated, placing a hand dramatically over her heart. "Oh, how you wound me to suggest I would consider such duplicity. I'll have you know that I am officially a member of this esteemed student body."

"Ha, ha," Fred said, deadpan. "Good one. I'll have you know I'm on the Wizengamot, I am."

"I'm actually serious."

He stared at her. "Why? Why now? Do I even want to know?"

She shrugged. "Change in circumstances."

"Right…"

Their conversation was cut off as the Transfiguration professor—McGonagall, if she remembered correctly—placed a three legged stool and a familiar ragged hat in the center of the hall. To her shock and slight horror, it began to sing in a just slightly off key tone about something to do with the Houses. She wasn't really paying attention, instead taking the opportunity to surreptitiously assess her Housemates. There didn't seem to be any formality to the seating arrangements, but there was a general progression in age from one end of the table to the other. Despite her rather brazen arrival, few of the students seemed to have noticed the newcomer in their midst.

The professors' table was more interesting. Dumbledore sat at the center of course, impressive beard and offensively unfashionable robes on full display. To his left was Snape, who was glowering. This wasn't surprising in itself, as her brief interaction with him had given her the distinct impression that he was, if nothing else, a man who knew how to nurse a bad mood. However, his ire was not directed at the general revelry of the Hall, but at another member of the table, a woman who stood out from the rest by dint of wearing clothing that consisted entirely of various shades of pink.

McGonagall called the name of one of the first years, and Violet resigned herself to sitting through the long process of Sorting. At last, the last one was sorted into Ravenclaw, and the hat and stool were removed. There was a murmur of excitement at the prospect of the feast that she found herself sharing. Sirius had a great deal of praise for the House-elves of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore rose to his feet and, without so much as a gesture from him, silence fell over the Hall. Despite any damage his reputation may have suffered, his presence was still something to be reckoned with. He spread his arms widely and smiled.

"Welcome, students, young and old, for it is never too late for any of us to learn something new. Now, I'm sure we're all quite eager to get on with the feast, but there is still one last matter to attend to before the Sorting is done."

He paused dramatically, eyes seeming to sparkle in the candlelight. "I am sure you will all extend a warm welcome to Violet Potter, who has joined the House of Gryffindor!"

From the reaction of the Hall, one might have thought that Dumbledore had just told a tasteless joke. There were a few awkward laughs, which died quickly in the palpable silence. As every head in the Hall slowly turned to the Gryffindor table, Violet stood and raised one hand in a lazy wave. Feeling the weight of hundreds of gazes, she couldn't resist preening a little. She caught Tracey's eye, whose mouth was wide with surprise, and winked at her.

"Like I said," Violet muttered out of the corner of her mouth as she sat back down. "Circumstances changed."

The Great Hall was filled with frantic whispers, and this time, when Dumbledore moved to speak again, they didn't fall silent. After a moment, he seemed to shrug slightly and clapped his hands together. In a succession of golden flashes, platters laden with all manner of food materialized on the tables, finally getting the attention of even most curious of the students.

As Violet reached for a platter, she noticed that the pink woman was now glaring at Dumbledore with a hatred so intense that it made Snape's dour expression look like a baby's first smile. The woman made no move to serve herself food, eyes utterly fixed on Dumbledore. After a long moment, she slowly turned, and when her eyes met Violet's, there was a calculating gleam to them. Curious, Violet extended a thread of Legilimency, but the woman looked away before she could glean anything.

She put it out of her mind as she began to pile her plate with food. There was an impressive selection and it was all quite good, though she found the meat to somewhat overcooked for her liking.

A few moments later, the Weasley twins finally seemed to be recovering from the shock of learning her true identity. George cleared his throat. "So, uh, are you really Violet Potter?"

She shrugged. "Dumbledore seems to think so, and he seems like a pretty smart bloke, doesn't he?"

"You mean you didn't know?" Fred interjected.

"Of course I knew," Violet said, rolling her eyes. "What kind of idiot doesn't know their own name?"

"You two knew her?" asked the girl sitting across from George incredulously. Then, to Violet, continued, "I'm so sorry. I think that if they were the only Hogwarts students I'd met, I wouldn't want to go either." She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. "I'm Angelina Johnson, by the way. Welcome to Gryffindor."

Seeming to notice that most of the Hall was still still staring at them, she raised her voice. "Oi, you lot! Maybe find something else to look at? Some of us are trying to eat here."

"That's our Angelina," Fred said. "How we have missed your dulcet tones."

"Captain Johnson now," George added. "I think she's just practicing for yelling at us in practice."

"Oh, shut up," Angelina said. Then, turning to Violet, she added, "I'm sorry about that. They'll get used to you being around in a few days, hopefully."

Violet shrugged. "I can't say I'm surprised by it."

After Angelina's shouted rebuke, the rest of the feast passed peacefully, though towards the end, a stream of students began to approach Violet to introduce themselves, far too many for her to keep proper track of.

Soon, the feast came to an end, savory dishes replaced with desserts before eventually themselves disappearing. Dumbledore stood up again and gave a few announcements, including a dire warning about the so-called "Forbidden Forest" that immediately convinced Violet to take a look herself at her earliest convenience. Apparently the pink woman—Dolores Umbridge—was the professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Violet was skeptical—she was pretty sure there were more battle-hardened houseplants. It was pretty obvious that she hadn't been hired for her merits, and Remus's comments about Dumbledore's inability to find a Defense professor and the Ministry's attempts to exert control over Hogwarts rang in her ears. Through it all, Umbridge stared at Dumbledore in a silent challenge.

~#~

Valor was the password for Gryffindor Tower, its allusion to the ideals of the House so ostentatiously predictable that it might as well not have existed at all for all the difficulty an outsider might have guessing it. Cynicism aside, the tower was spacious and comfortable, though she could already predict future aggravation with her dormmates.

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were both effusively cheerful, which wouldn't be bothersome per se, but they seemed to exist in a perpetual state of passive-aggressive conflict with Hermione Granger, who introduced herself only as Granger and immediately began setting up a sort of perimeter wall around her bed out of three separate trunks stuffed with a frankly improbable number of books. The last member of the girls' dormitory, Fay Dunbar, seemed quiet and evenly tempered and had chosen the bed between Parvati, Lavender's and Hermione's, forming a sort of neutral zone. Predictably, they all, with the exception of Granger, who seemed opposed to it on principle, had a great deal of questions for Violet, which she entertained with good humor.

"Well," Violet said in response to Lavender, "I haven't actually been to a proper school before, so I'm not totally sure…" She squinted, then continued in a lower tone of voice. "Is she… quite all right?"

"Who?" Lavender asked in the same bright, energetic tone as earlier, making Violet wince. "Granger? I don't see why not. Ooh, what electives are you taking? Parvati and I have Divination and Care, are you taking either of those?"

"Hm?" Violet was still eyeing Granger out of the corner of her eye, who appeared to be reinforcing her circle of trunks with an assortment of crudely woven hats and socks, all a uniform muddy brown. She squinted, then shrugged. Perhaps it was some sort of religious practice.

"Oh, electives," she said after a moment. "I have Divination and, Runes, I think? Only Divination seemed interesting, but I knew I didn't want to do anything with animals, so that was out, and I can't stand maths."

Parvati groaned dramatically. "I wish I'd thought of that. I thought Care would be nice, you know? Like faeries and unicorns and such—did you know they made Hagrid the professor the first year I took it? I definitely wouldn't have picked it I'd known he'd be teaching." She shuddered. "Last year he had these positively awful Skrewt things. Hopefully they'll be able to keep him under control this year." Lavender nodded emphatically.

~#~

Violet eventually managed to extricate herself from the conversation, slipping out of Gryffindor Tower and, after making sure no portraits were near, pulled out her small hand mirror. "Satria," she whispered.

After a moment, the shifting mists faded, revealing an image of Satria so lifelike that Violet could almost believe she could reach through it. Satria was as beautiful as ever. She was wearing a thin silver crown on her head that she taken a liking to since being named Maeve's successor. Violet thought it a bit gaudy, but she wasn't going to be the one to tell Satria that.

Satria smiled. "It's good to see you. How are things?"

Violet thought for a moment. "Mundane."

Satria laughed. "Things are little better here, I'm afraid. The Reviled are making a nuisance of themselves, so we're busy exterminating the vermin. Summer continues to display their yellow-hearted frailty and hasn't made any move to cross the border in force. They're just massing outside it like a field of scarecrows."

"How's Maeve?" Violet smirked. "I do hope you're getting along."

"Alive, more's the pity."

Violet hummed. "I'll take that as a yes. On an aside, I decided to to attend the magic school, at least for a bit, and they've got quite the forest. If there's anywhere to find a natural arch it's here."

"Indeed? How fortuitous. You might even consider looking into summoning rituals, if it's as favorable as you say. I wouldn't mind paying a visit to your little school."

Violet rolled her eyes. She couldn't imagine that ending badly. "I will consider it."

"Wonderful," Satria purred. "Visit soon." She blew a kiss and the mirror went dark. Violet pocketed it. She cast a lingering look out a window at the forest, then turned away with a sigh. Tempting as it might be, it probably wasn't wise to sneak out without explanation on her very first day at Hogwarts.