The next day, Violet learned three things almost immediately. Firstly, Lavender was very much a morning person, waking up before the sun even rose to begin a long process of primping in front of the mirror with an array of shampoos, perfumes, and cosmetics every bit as varied as a master painter's palette. It made Violet all the more glad for Winter's influence, as she could be sure that her complexion would be clear and her hair effortlessly sleek even immediately after waking. Apparently her father had had quite curly hair, but hers had been silky-smooth for as long as she could remember.

The second thing was that Granger was very much not a morning person and did not appreciate in the least being woken up by Lavender. The third thing was that Hogwarts apparently had a Poltergeist, who had apparently picked up on the student body's general curiosity about her and decided to join in in his less-than-charming way; as Violet vanished the ink that Peeves had splashed her with, she resolved to carry a pinch of salt in her pocket for future encounters with the unruly spirit.

She had Charms first. Flitwick was extremely excited by her presence, but he seemed quite excitable in general. The class itself was well presented, not that she had much to judge it by, but uninspiring in its contents. She suspected that Flitwick could be a valuable resource for discussing theory with, as he seemed to truly love his subject and would probably enjoy discussing something more complex than Banishing Charms. Some of the students complained about the essay assigned to them, but she wasn't bothered. One didn't grow up in a fae court without learning to enjoy wordplay.

Divination was next, which she was actually looking forward to. No specific method worked quite the same for two people, so she never knew where she might learn a particularly useful trick. Violet may have lacked the innate ability of prophecy, but she didn't have to be a seer to occasionally pull back the curtains of reality to peer at the strings holding it together. Very occasionally, that is. Madness tended to take those who looked too deeply or for too long.

It was soon clear that they wouldn't be covering any of the truly effective methods of Divination, which actually suited Violet just fine. She already understood sacrificial Divination well enough to know that it should be used only with due consideration. Some less volatile methods would be well appreciated, even if they couldn't be truly relied upon. The professor seemed quite mentally unstable, which gave Violet high hopes for her competence in the field. Maybe she would actually learn something useful at Hogwarts.

~#~

"Can I help you?" came an acerbic, suspicious voice.

Violet tilted her head lazily backward to look at the speaker. She'd skipped lunch, instead making her way through the treacherously shifting hallways and flights of stairs to the Library. The great vaulting room was packed with bookcases that promised all manner of enticing knowledge. The librarian, who had watched Violet carefully since she had first entered, looked like she could stand to spend a bit less time with the books and a bit more in the sun.

"Maybe," Violet said. "I'm looking for books on Spellcraft. Do you know where I'd find anything like that?"

The librarian pursed her thin lips. "You'll need written permission from a professor for that. And you will absolutely not test any experimental spells in the my library."

"Of course," Violet said with a smile, as she simultaneously brushed against the librarian's mind. It was rigidly organized but unprotected, rather like perusing a particularly well organized book.

Irma Pince was her name. She was worried that Violet would cause some sort of damage to the books. She did not like children or, for that matter, anyone who was younger than she was.

Violet dipped a metaphorical finger into her stream of thought. Written permission.

Pince's thoughts distorted, like a reflection in a lake with a stone dropped in it, then resolved into an image of small cordoned off section of the Library. Restricted session, Pince's subconscious helpfully provided.

Protections?

They were considerable. Apart from Pince herself, who had a clear view of the restricted section, it was charmed to set off an alarm if anyone other than a professor were to enter it. Breaking it might be possible, but restoring it afterward would not. Additionally, there was a subtly positioned portrait high up on the wall that overlooked it. Fortunately, it didn't seem like there was anything Violet's unique invisibility cloak wouldn't be able to handle, so she wouldn't have to resort to Imperiusing anyone.

In the split second it had taken for Violet to flick though Pince's mind, she had gotten through about a sentence and a half.

"—careful with the…" Pince trailed off, then blinked twice, confused, turned, and returned to her desk.

Violet smiled faintly and left the Library with a spring in her step. If she hurried, she might even make it to the Great Hall before lunch ended.

~#~

The Great Hall was mostly empty by the time she arrived, but the food was still out. She grabbed some links of sausage and cold toast and sat down to eat. The only other students at the Gryffindor table were Fred and George, and they weren't eating anything. They were hunched over something, whispering conspiratorially.

"What've you got there?" Violet asked.

They started, looking around and relaxing when they saw it was only her.

"Just a product of ours," George said. "We've just had Defense, and let's just say that it's looking like there's going to be a lot of demand this year, so we're trying to get it finished quick."

"Product?"

"Puking Pastilles. Want one?" George smirked, offering a her a small multicolored sweet.

"I'll pass," Violet said dryly. "What's it do? Besides the obvious, that is."

"That depends," said Fred, "on whether you're asking what it does or what it's supposed to do. 'Cause it's supposed to get you out of class with a calculated vomiting, but right now it just causes uncontrollable diarrhea."

"Delightful," Violet said. "Defense is really bad enough to make you prefer puking?"

"This year it is," Fred said grimly. "Umbridge isn't here to teach. Did you know she's a politician in the Minister's cabinet?"

"No." Violet frowned. "The fuck's she doing here then?"

Fred laughed. "Take a wild guess. Dad reckons Fudge only started getting really bad after he made her his Undersecretary. I almost wish you were in our year. I can't imagine you buying into, 'Avoidance-oriented personal safety.'"

"Probably not," Violet said. "But I don't plan on pissing off any politicians without a good reason." This was going to be enough of a headache already. She'd seen the morning Prophet, where she'd made the front page, and probably preemptively the front page for the coming week. With that kind of kind of publicity and Umbridge already at the school, it didn't take a stretch of the imagination to foresee Umbridge trying to rope her into the Ministry's idiotic feud with Dumbledore.

~#~

The Potions classroom had all the charm of a morgue and Snape, the undertaker. Students painstakingly nursed their cauldrons like little black potbellies, and the poorly ventilated dungeon was soon filled with the potent scents of sulfur and a subtler, organic smell, probably from the toad livers that formed the basis of the Invigorating Draft.

Violet decided that she did not care very much for Potions.

Snape had not given her a second glance as he called role, his eyes sliding over her desk without falling on her. He was utterly cold and impassive, giving her no indication what he thought of her. It was disconcerting. The fae could wear a perfect mask as well, but they were predictable in their own way. Snape, though… He was a mystery, and that made him dangerous.

Even Dumbledore was easier to understand. His opposition to Voldemort was clear, and it was only natural for two mighty wizards with deeply differing beliefs to come into conflict. But if Snape had been, as Sirius frequently repeated, a perfect candidate for Voldemort's ideology as a teenager, what had convinced him to turn his coat? Simple disillusionment or an attack of conscience rang false—perhaps it could have explained his role in the first war, but would it really be enough to convince him to remain at Hogwarts, in a position he clearly did not enjoy, for over a decade only to plunge back into his death-defying role as a spy when Voldemort returned? Doubtful. For that kind of dedication, one needed a more personal motivation. Allegiance to Dumbledore then, perhaps. But how could Dumbledore have earned such immense loyalty from him in the first place? And that theory still didn't explain his initial betrayal of Voldemort. So, vengeance, then. Few motivations could drive a man to the single-minded pursuit of a goal as that.

Not that that's very helpful, Violet thought as she carefully lowered a snail shell into her potion. Vengeance comes in many forms, after all.

Snape loomed over her cauldron for what felt like the dozenth time since the class began and, once again, moved on without a word.

Seamus Finnegan, the partner Snape had seen fit to assign her, gave a low whistle. "Damn. Never seen him pass up a chance to say something nasty about my potion like that."

"Perhaps he's shy?" Violet suggested, speaking only out of the corner of her mouth. "I've heard I can look quite intimidating at times."

Seamus choked and spluttered. "Lass, I don't think I'd like to meet anything that has Snape frightened."

"Perhaps not," Violet admitted, then sighed. "I think we forgot the mint."

"What?" Seamus leaned over, trying to decipher the fine print of the Potions textbook. "Shite. Think we can still add it now?"

"It's mint. What could go wrong?"

On that ominous note, Violet left Seamus to stir while she walked over to the ingredients closet. It was filled with jars, vials, tubs, and bags of nearly every potion ingredient she'd ever heard of and many more besides. Most of them were labeled either not at all or misleadingly, thanks to thousands of lazy students' utter lack of organizational skills. This was really where the downside of her mostly theoretical Potions education became evident. She'd read all the previous years' textbooks and would bet her pure knowledge of the field was better than most of her classmates, but without the practical experience of actually brewing, simple tasks like picking out the right ingredient were complicated.

What did mint even look like? She wasn't in the habit of paying attention to plants underfoot and had probably never even seen its leaves in their raw form. Eventually, after much shuffling of jars—she was starting to see why the closet was so disorganized—she found a jar with "mint" scrawled on it in too-thick ink. Unfortunately, it contained exactly three crumbs of desiccated plant material that might, charitably, be called mint.

"Fuck this," she muttered, putting the jar back. How much of a difference could a few leaves possibly make, anyway? It wasn't as if mint was magical. Potions was a stupid class, anyway. Next to actually useful fields like Charms and Transfiguration, it clearly couldn't compare.

A delicate, precise voice with the faintest note of smugness drifted from behind her. "Looking for the mint?"

Huh.

It was Draco Malfoy, of all people. He was holding a fresh green sprig of a plant that, for all she knew, might have been mint.

She tried not to laugh. Did he really buy his own private Potions ingredients? Of all the ways one could demonstrate their wealth, that might be the pettiest.

"Thanks," Violet said and snatched the mint from his fingers.

Malfoy stared at his hand for a moment, as if unsure what had just happened. "Wait," he said, grabbing Violet's shoulder before she could leave the ingredients closet.

She sighed. "What?"

He smiled, a practiced thing that showed pearly teeth and didn't reach his eyes. "I was hoping to introduce myself. We haven't encountered each other yet, I don't think."

"It is only the first day of classes."

"I'm Draco Malfoy. You can call me Draco."

"Noted," Violet said, starting to pull away.

Malfoy's smile slipped, and his grip tightened incrementally. "I was talking," he said.

Violet went completely still and put on a smile so false it put Malfoy's to shame. "My mistake," she said, the last syllable too sharp to be mistaken for a purely British accent.

"How are you finding Hogwarts so far?"

"Lovely. This supply closet is the best part." She eyed a jar of pickled toads' eyes. It eyed her back.

Malfoy chuckled. "I know the castle can be a bit overwhelming at first, with the shifting corridors and such. I could help you with that. Show you around."

"I already got the tour from my godfather, but if I get… lost… I'll know who to go to."

"That's not what I mean—look." He leaned in closer. She could smell his faintly floral cologne. "There are a lot of people at Hogwarts. Make friends with the right ones, you'll go far. Otherwise, well, maybe they'll be the ones going far because of you."

"All right."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. Meet me at midnight in the courtyard. We'll go for a walk."

"Midnight?" Malfoy asked, sounding a bit uncertain. "That's after curfew."

Violet flashed a grin, more genuine than before but no more friendly. "I'm a night owl. See you there… or not." Before he could say anything else, she slipped away from his grip and returned to the classroom, mint sprig in hand. Hopefully the potion would still be salvageable.

~#~

Night was a blessing during the summer, its cool embrace as welcoming as a lover. The darkness favored her as well, Winter's grace allowing her to see while staying unseen. The moon was just a bit brighter for her than it should be, the shadows a little less black.

The air was free of insects, perhaps thanks to the elevation or maybe the proximity of the Forbidden Forest. Your average mosquito wouldn't have much chance of avoiding the sharp teeth of a Pixie or Bowtruckle.

She wasn't wearing her invisibility cloak, but for all the world took note of her, she might as well have been. Stock still, she waited like a tiger in ambush. Bats fluttered overhead. The crescent moon shone like a polished saber on high. An owl hooted. The branches of the maple tree above her shook slightly in the mild wind, creating a dappled shadow that broke up the moonlight and obscured her figure.

Someone hesitantly cracked the door to the Entrance Hall, spilling golden light out onto the damp grass, and, after a moment, slid through. Blond hair caught the silvery moonlight. Violet waited for the perfect moment.

"Boo!"

Malfoy jumped a good three inches in the air, stumbling and falling on his backside as he whirled around. He looked around for a moment, wild-eyed, before seeing Violet and sighing heavily.

"Did I scare you?" Violet said. "You looked a bit scared. You're not afraid of the dark, are you?"

"No," Malfoy snapped, picking himself back up. "Just thought that maybe we shouldn't be shouting if we're out after curfew, hm?"

Violet scoffed. "See that? It's stone. It's a castle made of stone thick enough to stop a cannonball. If you think there's a chance they could hear us, you must be able to scream pretty loudly."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Fine. What do you want to do, anyway?"

Violet shrugged. "You offered a tour. Show me around."

He gave her an incredulous look. "In the middle of the night?"

"No time better." She gestured. "After you."

Malfoy huffed, throwing his arms up in the air, but began making his way toward the greenhouses. Violet followed a few paces back. This was interesting. She'd planned to just annoy Malfoy to get him back for grabbing her earlier, but if he was still sticking with this ridiculous endeavor, he must really want to talk to her. Her immediate impulse was that his father must have put him up to it, perhaps even on the behest of Voldemort, but it was also possible that he was acting on his own initiative to try to benefit from the legend of the Savior.

They walked along the greenhouses. Violet spent an unreasonable amount of time admiring the plants and making inane comments. Malfoy kept trying to shift the conversation to the student body of Hogwarts and which of them she'd be advised to keep the company of—he was at the top of the list, of course—but she deftly evaded him.

Finally, after about an hour and probably the most thorough midnight tour of the Hogwarts grounds in living memory, they wound up back in front of the Entrance Hall.

"There," Malfoy said. "That's everything. Happy?"

Violet frowned. "Yes, but weren't you going to give me some advice about making the right friends?"

"What?" He pinched his nose, grinding his teeth audibly. "That's what I—never mind. What you have to understand is that there are—"

"Oh, no," Violet interrupted. "We can't just talk here."

"Why. Not?"

"Because," Violet said, "we haven't finished the tour yet." She smiled.

Malfoy sighed. "What now?"

"It's just that we haven't been there yet." Violet said. She extended one finger toward the tree line at the edge of the grounds.

"The Forest? Are you mad?"

She flipped a lock of her hair. "Scared?"

Malfoy laughed without humor. "It's the Forest. At night. It's not a matter of fear, just common sense."

"Sounds like fear to me."

"Why do you even want to see it?" Malfoy asked, sounding genuinely confused. "There's nothing interesting there."

Violet shrugged. "You never know what you might find. I'm going one way or another, but if you're not up to it, I'm not keeping you."

Malfoy turned away from her, muttering under his breath, and walked several paces away.

"Fine," he said about a minute later. "But don't expect me to stick around when you get attacked by a giant spider or something."

The Forest's trees loomed over them, as dense and menacing as a fortress's curtain wall. Inside, what little influence the crescent moon had faded into the mere suggestion of illumination, and a light mist permeated the air, cool and concealing. Even Violet was having trouble seeing more than a few meters, which meant Malfoy was probably stumbling over his own shoelaces.

"Lumos," she heard him mutter, and bright light bloomed, making her blink rapidly.

"Really?" she asked.

"What?" Malfoy said, a bit crankily. "I can't see shit."

Violet shrugged. "Your call. Personally, I'm all for finding out just what kind of wildlife is attracted to your walking floodlight."

Malfoy cursed but dimmed his wandlight to a pulsing warmth no brighter than a candle.

There were no paths in the Forbidden Forest. One might have been fooled into believing that there were, as the trees and undergrowth seemed to shape themselves to create curving swaths through the forest, but they led to nowhere, doubling back on themselves like a maze you wouldn't even realize you were in until you were hopelessly lost. Violet felt right a home, the strange patterns of a magical forest deeply familiar to her. Malfoy seemed to manage to step on every twig and upturned rock in their path, about as silent as a baby elephant.

"How much longer are we going wander around?" Malfoy complained. "It's just forest, forest, and more forest."

Ignoring him, Violet said, "I love forests like these."

"Why?"

"It's just so different. So other. A place like this, you might just walk under a bowed tree and find yourself in another world entirely."

"Yeah," Malfoy said, eyes flicking back and forth. "It's called death."

"Well, that's a little rude," Violet said. "What might the people who live there think?"

"Nuts," Malfoy muttered, shaking his head, but there was an edge of suspicion to his voice that suggested he might be beginning to catch on to her act. But what could he do, storm off and try to find his way back through the treacherous forest alone?

Aside from getting back at Malfoy for accosting her earlier, she actually was looking for a natural arch suitable to travel to the Wyld through. In a forest as uncanny as this, it probably wouldn't take long. She'd seen a few prospects already, one formed of two trees, their upmost branches entwined in an embrace, another a hollow section in the trunk of a great and ancient oak. None felt right though, so she passed them by.

A howl echoed in the distance. The sound was closer to the scream of shearing steel than anything natural, keening and with a stabbing vibrato that put Violet's teeth on edge. It continued for on and on, until she began to wonder if it would ever end.

"What in Merlin's name was that?" Malfoy asked as the last gasps of the shriek echoed through the trees.

"Wolf. Let's keep moving."

"Wolf?" Malfoy said, faintly hysterical. "That's all you have to say?"

"Big wolf."

Malfoy appeared to be drawing himself up for a protracted argument, puffing his chest up a little and flushing slightly. "I'll have you know—"

"Quiet," Violet hissed. It was one thing to play the fool to put a bit of fear in her company, but that thing hadn't been a Red Cap or Acromantula or any other type of conventional magical predator. The sound had been wrong, not the way dark magic felt wrong, but like a revolver at a playground or a star on the Earth. It didn't fit into the conventional patterns of things, and the only thing more dangerous than an exception to the rules was an exception to the rules you weren't even consciously aware of

"I'm going to go see what the fuck that was," Violet said, drawing her wand for the first time. "Accompany me or find your own path. I care not."

"You—what? No. No, we have to go. You want to get eaten by a werewolf or whatever that was?" Malfoy's arms gesticulated wildly, and he was looking longingly back the way they'd come.

"It's a crescent moon, fool," Violet said. Without another word, she began cutting through the thick forest toward the source of the howl, Malfoy's heavy steps thudding behind her as he tried to keep up.

A second howl followed, louder and more distorted than the first. It spoke of pain, but not the pain of a wounded animal. It was a greater, nobler suffering, existential in its nature. Or maybe Violet was just imagining things.

"Hurry up," she snapped at Malfoy. She was sorely tempted to abandon him, but she couldn't take the risk that he'd told one of the other Slytherins about their meeting. If he didn't come back, it would raise unfortunate questions.

The third howl was the last, its climatic weight apparent from the moment it began, restating and reinforcing what had come before. A wave of unnatural fear coursed through Violet, and she hissed, forcing her mind to clear. Malfoy grunted but didn't stop running. They were close now.

Movement. Hoofbeats, carefully placed to land on the soft loam, heard a second too late. Instinct, just in time. Violet jerked to the side and something small and fast shot past her before disappearing into the trees.

Confringo! she cast, pouring the weight of her adrenaline into the curse. A blur of blue-streaked orange arced into the darkness, and the rippling concussion of a series of explosions followed, engulfing an area the size of a small building. The ground beneath the curse and patches of the foliage were flash-froze, while the rest burned.

Illuminated by the blaze, she could see movement. She'd missed, but not by much. She whirled her wand and the flames picked up, like a candle blown upon, and she prepared to bring the inferno down in a great wave.

"Hold!" a deep, masculine voice bellowed. "Wizard's magic! Wizard's magic, I say. Hold!"

Violet swore viciously. Whoever this was, they weren't her quarry, and it surely must have taken the opportunity to vanish. For a moment, she was tempted to bring down the flaming wave anyway, but she refrained and instead twisted the fingers of her free hand. An icy swirl of wind sprung up and extinguished the burning trees with a final ghostly creak of wood convulsing from the rapid change in temperature.

From the darkness, three figures slowly approached. At first she thought they were simply on horseback, but it soon became clear that the skin of their torsos merged seamlessly with glossy fur coats. Centaurs.

"Humans," the lead centaur rumbled, "you are not welcome."

"I would never have guessed," Violet said, examining what she could now identify as an arrow lodged in a tree behind her. "Alas, nomadic one, you have no more right to these wild, wild woods than I."

The old tales would have it that the ancient ancestors of the centaurs had once been native to a Wyld devoid of fae, highest among the Sidhe and rulers of that raw, chaotic, inchoate world. Then mankind climbed down from the trees, and the fae arose in all their magnificent splendor and began taking what was theirs. And so the ancient centaurs fled across worlds, only to meet and once more be outmatched by another foe—humanity.

In time, they accepted that their time in the sun had passed and withdrew to the forests and hills, ever pushed back by the ceaseless march of civilization. Now, they might as well be another race entirely, absorbed by the heavens as the world passed by around them. The only hint that they had once been something more was their casual arrogance, the assumption of superiority despite none being demonstrated. The mind might forget its past, but the soul remembers.

The centaur's nostrils flared, and his heavy brow darkened. "You interfere in the hunt, human. Count yourself lucky that we do not harm foals."

"Count yourself fortunate that I have greater aspirations than to stamp out your… herd."

A snort of amusement reached her from behind a broad tree trunk. Violet had almost forgotten about Malfoy in the excitement but took the opportunity to shoot his tree a contemptuous look.

"Your incompetence has cost us both," Violet said, turning back to the centaurs. "Do I look like I'm likely likely to produce a sound like that?"

He shook his flanks, taking several steps to the side, slowly moving to flank her. An arrow was nocked on his bowstring. "What do you know of the beast?"

"Nothing now, thank to your interference. What do you know?"

He shook his head. "This is not your concern, human. Leave now and do not return."

Violet nodded once and looked up at the sky. She closed her eyes. At her will, the air grew colder and a cutting wind blew in from the north.

She opened her eyes. "Reconsider."

"Enough, Bane," one of the centaurs said, taking a few steps forward. She would have been beautiful if she were human or fae, but her loveliness was tarnished by her bestial half. She rested a hand on Bane's arm and he seemed to sag at the touch. "There is nothing to be gained by fighting."

"Good choice," Violet said, smiling as she released her Winter magic. Slowly, the temperature began to return to its previous summer temperateness. "You called it a beast?"

"In name alone," the female centaur said. "As the stars foretold, it came and departed this eve, not to return until the seasons turn once more. It is a wretched thing."

Something about that stood out to Violet. "You knew this thing was coming?"

The centaur dipped her head. "Indeed, its coming was foretold. The stars shone brightly that night."

Lovely.

What were the odds of this thing making an appearance the exact day after she arrived at Hogwarts? Rationally, she supposed that it was probably just an oddity, a magical creature grown aberrant. But something in her recoiled from that explanation, deepest instinct screaming that all was not well. And if, as she was beginning to suspect, the source of that instinct was Winter itself, that boded all the worse.

"So you knew it—or something, at least—was coming," Violet said. "But why were you hunting it?"

Bane cut in. "It is profane," he said curtly.

"Right," Violet said, as if that explained anything. "It's a pity you got in my way. We might have been rid of it tonight otherwise." She made a dismissive gesture. "To be clear, do you actually know what this—entity—is? Or where it came from?"

A strange half-smile crept over the female centaur's face. "The stars shone brightly indeed. One brightest of all."

Violet bit back a groan. She swore, nothing good came of staring at the heavens. First Maeve, now the bloody centaurs. Why couldn't they stick to decent, tried and true methods of Divination like haruspicy or pyromancy? No one had ever convinced themselves their fallen brother was coming to avenge themselves because of pyromancy or seen the eye of an angry god in bloody entrails.

"Great," Violet said. "Enormous help, you've been. Maybe next time the stars, 'shine brightly,' get someone who knows what they're doing to look into it. You know that Albus Dumbledore is right over that way, right? He seems like the type to humor a horse's mad whims anyway."

Bane's glower deepened and he took a step forward before being arrested by the other centaur, who merely smiled softly.

"Perhaps," she said. Ambling backward, she added, "Be cautious. These woods are not a gentle place, and it is a terrible thing for a foal to come to harm."

With that, the three centaurs departed into the dark, giving the charred trees and frozen ground a wide berth. Violet watched them go, fiddling with her wand, deep in thought.

"Well," she said to no one in particular. "Kind of takes the satisfaction out of an insult when they pretend they didn't notice, doesn't it?"

A cough drew her attention. Malfoy was pulling himself out of his hiding place inside a hollowed tree trunk, hair askew and tangled with twigs and leaves.

Violet sighed. "Oh. I was hoping the arrow got you."

~#~

The return to the castle was in silence. Malfoy had fallen into a sullen quiet, and Violet was in no mood for small talk. For a night intended to be a bit of fun at his expense while locating a good arch, it had developed into a royal headache, and all she had to show for it was the son of a Death Eater who had seen far too much.

His attitude toward her had drastically shifted since he had seen her confront the centaurs, and he carefully watched her out of the corner of his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking. She gave it even odds that he would be writing to his father before even sleeping.

Well, she would just have to clean up her little mess. As the tallest spire of Hogwarts came just into view through a gap in the foliage, she slowed her gait, allowing Malfoy to get several paces ahead of her. Her wand slipped into her hand.

"Potter? Where'd you—"

"Imperio."

Malfoy's eyes barely had time to widen before the curse reached him. Violet shuddered gently at the sensation, as if she were some amorphous many-limbed creature that was sliding its slippery tendrils into the deepest places of Malfoy's mind. Each of the Unforgivables had their viceful allure: the Cruciatus, an incandescent pleasure that was almost sexual, except that it was completely different; the Killing Curse, a thousand icy needles or the world's strongest adrenaline shock, the headsman's joy.

A calm fell over Malfoy, like a lamb to the slaughter. He stood, relaxed, waiting for instruction.

Violet considered for a moment. "Did your father tell you to approach me?"

"No," Malfoy said. "It was a given that he would be interested, and I wanted to impress him with my initiative."

"Does your father follow the Dark Lord?"

Violet was quite certain that the answer was yes, but it didn't hurt to be sure.

"Yes," Malfoy said.

Violet nodded. "And you?"

"I would like to."

"Do you know or suspect to know the identities of any other active followers of the Dark Lord since his return?"

Malfoy frowned. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, she sensed a spark of rebellion. She tightened her hold further, and the light went out.

"My mother," Malfoy said. "I don't know about anyone else, though it's likely his old supporters will return. I wish Father would involve me more."

"Do you know the location of the Dark Lord?"

Now that one really was wishful thinking, but she would have felt extremely stupid if she hadn't asked and the answer turned out to be yes.

"No."

"Fine," Violet said. She was about to release the curse when one last thought occurred to her. "Do you know if Tracey Davis or her family would support the Dark Lord?"

Malfoy blinked, and she could sense his confusion through the Imperius. "I'm not sure," he said. "I don't know her well, but I haven't ever heard of her family being connected to the Dark Lord and she is a halfblood."

"Lovely." Violet lifted the curse.

It took a moment for realization to set in. When it did, Malfoy went very pale indeed. "You-you just cast an Unforgivable!"

"That's right," Violet said, voice friendly. "Or did I? Obliviate!"

It took a bit of doing. Malfoy's memories of the night were understandably vivid, and she didn't have an immense amount of experience with the spell despite its incredible utility. Her skill with Legilimency helped her, though, as there was some overlap between them.

Malfoy's expression went utterly blank and for several long seconds, Violet feared she had accidentally destroyed his mind. Finally, she was relieved to see some color return to his cheeks and his eyes begin to dart around.

He shook his head, blinking rapidly. Seeming to regain his wits, he cocked his head and affected a casual slouch. "Well," he said in a confident drawl. "Good talk, Potter. I wouldn't mind doing it again sometime."

Violet smiled, sugar-sweet. "I'd love to."

~#~

Malfoy's form slowly shrank as he retreated toward the castle. Violet watched, leaning her back against the smooth bark of a tree. She could do without spending any more time in the presence of a once again uncowed Malfoy. She glanced up at the moon, judging its position. It had to be past early morning by now. It was fortunate she required less sleep than most. Sometimes she wondered if it was yet another blessing of Winter or simply a quirk of biology.

She was about to begin walking up the gentle slope toward the castle when something undefinable made her hesitate. It hadn't been a sight or sound, scent or sensation. And yet, she knew in her heart it could not be denied. Turning on her heels, she delved back into the forest, moving more quickly now, each step surer than the last.

Over fallen log and under ancient oak she walked, distantly aware that she was moving in the direction the uncanny howl had originated from. A coolness surrounded her like a cloak, but it did not originate from her. A presence, she thought. It felt ancient and incomprehensible but also protective and strangely alive.

It was Winter, she realized.

As if in response, a pale blue spark formed out of the mist and blinked once before vanishing. Violet let out a shaky breath. It wasn't the first time her source of fae magic had demonstrated an eerie awareness, but never before had it brushed so closely with sentience. It wasn't uncommon for the fae to refer to Summer or Winter as if they were entities in themselves, but before, she hadn't thought it to be more than a metaphor.

"Well," she whispered, "let's see what has you so excited."

When she found it, there was no doubt that this was where Winter was leading her. It was a small clearing, perhaps ten meters in diameter, but it was no natural occurrence. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Leveled trees stretched away from the center, as if they were trying to crawl to safety. The ground was coated in a thin layer of gray ashy dust, though there were no other signs of a fire.

One tree still stood at the center of it all.

Two great trunks rose from the ground, meeting high overhead and twisting into one. Violet knew with a terrible certainty that this had once been a perfect natural arch. The wear of centuries was apparent in its gnarled form, deep grooves worked into its bark by the turning of countless seasons. Now, they were immortalized. The tree was wood no longer. It was as black and shiny as a beetle's carapace now, its very appearance unsettling.

What truly worried her was that the scene had a terrible familiarity to it. It was not the product of mortal magic, of that she was certain. Fae magic hung over the ashy clearing, familiar as breathing, but it was like no fae magic she had encountered before. It was not Winter's doing, and however much she might want to blame Summer, she knew the feel of their magic too. This was something else. Something new.

Winter's presence throbbed around her in rhythm with the beating of her heart and she steeled herself. Wand held high, she tread through the ash, approaching the tree. The ash, if that was indeed what it was, was so fine that it moved almost like a liquid. The air felt stagnant, dead.

She cast spells of discerning that could determine the alchemical nature of even the strangest substances. She ran Winter's power through the ash, feeling for any sign of resistance or recognition. Finally, she picked up a handful and watched it slide through her fingers like water. Each attempt brought no more information than the last. This was not natural. It was not work of mortals. It was not the work of Summer or Winter, but it was alike both.

Eventually, reluctantly, she turned her attention to the tree. As she approached, she realized that not all of the bark's raggedness could be attributed to age. Long gouges, now frozen in time, ran from about a meter above her down to the base of the trunks. She'd be damned if they were made by anything other than claws.

She licked dry lips. "What… Why did you bring me here?"

For a moment, she thought she might actually get a response. But there was only a soft sigh of the wind, and Winter's presence was gone. Violet felt a brief pang of loss.

With no answers to be had, Violet finally gave into what she had wanted to do since laying eye on this cursed place. She raised her wand.

"Fiendfyre."

Black flame erupted around her, dragons and kelpies and ravens of fire all thrashing against her control. She bent them to her will instead. The black tree resisted the cursed flame for a moment longer than anything around it, and then it too was gone.

When the last of the Fiendfyre guttered out with a final rebellious snap in her direction, Violet looked around with a vicious satisfaction. The tree was gone, the profane arch dust on the wind. Even the ash had melted, the ground now molten and smooth as glass.

With one last long look at the devastation, she turned away. The radiant heat warmed her back as she went. The eeriness of the place was gone now, cleansed by scorching heat, but she doubted it would be the end of it. Whatever had done this was of the Wyld but not Summer or Winter. Regrettably, she could think of only one being that could possibly match that description.

Maeve's prophecies of doom didn't seem quite so amusing anymore.

AN: All is not well, it seems. Hopefully you enjoyed the chapter. Your reviews and support are greatly appreciated as always!