Tea should not be this sweet.

Somehow, that was what came to Violet's mind in reaction to the assault on her senses that was Umbridge's office. For whatever reason, she hadn't moved into Dumbledore's office, which was probably a wise choice. If Violet were Dumbledore, and this woman had infected her office with this… pinkness, there would be a dire reckoning. Everything from Umbridge's empty smile to the silently yowling cats in her paintings was saccharine. When Umbridge had insistently forced a cup of tea into her hands, she had naturally suspected it was laced with some sort of potion. But a subtle detection spell had yielded no cause for concern, so she took a sip, only to realize it contained an even more diabolically evil adulterant.

Merlin's beard. It was a perfectly apt summation of Umbridge's character that she took her tea with sugar.

"—Must have been just awful," Umbridge simpered. "I did try to warn you about him, but I suppose there was nothing for it. But it'll be all right now. The Ministry will keep you safe."

Violet rolled her eyes and slouched in her chair. The office door was closed, and the air was palpably stagnant. She said, "I thought we agreed to give up the games. You know I wasn't bloody abducted by anyone, let alone Dumbledore. Nice job taking advantage of it, though. From a strictly political perspective, you might even call it genius."

Umbridge sighed and dabbed at her lips with an embroidered cloth. "Oh, very well, if you insist."

"I think you are misunderstanding me," she continued, with a hemming little cough. "You were kidnapped because the Ministry needs you to have been kidnapped. Dumbledore and his followers are criminals, and far too many of them still hide from the watchful eye of the Ministry. You want to do your duty to your country, don't you?"

And there it was. Violet didn't know if Umbridge had really been the one to hatch this particular scheme, but it really was quite inspired. If the Wizarding world believed their "savior" had been taken or killed only weeks after her return, it wouldn't take much to stoke the public into an irrational fervor that could then be directed at political inconveniences. There was only one problem, really. Violet wasn't dead, and she had no intention of allowing Voldemort—for, make make no mistake, it was ultimately his will that had brought this to be—to cultivate the Ministry like a ripe fruit to be plucked at his leisure.

What felt like a short lifetime ago, but was truly only a few weeks, Violet had told Umbridge that they weren't enemies. Even if she did accede to the Ministry's demand to back their story, it would only be a matter of time before they expected more and more, increasingly desperate to maintain the illusion of power that was falling apart around them.

Slowly and with great deliberation, Violet extended her cup of tea to the side and dropped it. The ceramic shattered, and tea began to seep into the carpet. Umbridge flinched.

"Oh dear," she tittered. "You seem to have made a mess."

"Like I said," Violet murmured, ignoring Umbridge, "politically, it was pretty smart. Foolproof, even. I'm sure that whatever I or Dumbledore might say, whatever suit or appeal we bring to the Ministry, you will have an answer. This sort of power—the power of word and law is a tempting one, yes. Even the meekest of person might find some glee in bringing to bear the arm of their followers. But there's something you're forgetting."

"And what is that, dear?"

"We are not muggles. And there aren't any Aurors in this room, are there?"

In one swift motion, Violet placed her hands on the underside of the desk between them and stood, hurling several hundred pounds of solid maple into Umbridge's sternum. She let out a sort of choked gasp as her chair toppled backward. Pinned beneath the desk, she tried to scream but was unable to draw enough breath, producing nothing more than a raspy whine.

"Muggles, you see, don't have anything but the kind of power you wield. When the difference between a strong man and a weak one is made small by brass and powder, the only meaningful strength that remains is the ability to convince others to do as you bid. Ultimately, all forms of muggle power are this. Wealth, political capital, ideology—all are useful only as far as they allow you to affect the behavior of others."

She stepped around the toppled desk, meeting Umbridge's eyes. There was anger there, but also fear.

"Some muggles play this game very well indeed. With literally millions willing to die at their command, they can act essentially as they please. If they want someone dead, they order it. If they feel threatened, they can surround themselves with armed men. But there's a problem, isn't there? If your power exists only in the minds of others, then they can decide that it doesn't exist all. When a servant sees his tyrant as no more than a man, that's all he is. And then it only takes brass and powder. So, political power is ultimately transient and inferior to real might."

Violet pulled the desk off Umbridge. It had split her chin, and blood trickled down her neck. She scrambled for her handbag, which had scattered its contents over the floor, but Violet placed a booted foot on the wand.

"Real power is magic. It burns in your blood and is as inseparable from you as life itself. A rich man can be made a pauper; a king can fall; but a wizard dies a wizard.

"So maybe now you can understand why I find it so terribly funny that you think you've defeated Albus Dumbledore with your papers and slander and backroom dealings when you keep your wand in a bloody bag. But you probably never will. Because in the end, you might as well be a muggle yourself. And maybe, just maybe, you will come to see the absurd irony in you trying to control me with the much vaunted power of bureaucratic imagination."

"You won't get away with this," Umbridge spat, getting unsteadily to her feet. "The Aurors—"

"Crucio," Violet said in a dispassionate, idle voice. Umbridge screamed, but the walls were stone and the door was thick. Someone would have had to have their ear pressed against it to hear, and even if they did, it didn't really matter, did it?

"I don't even get the sense that you're deliberately serving Voldemort. You're just a useful idiot. But that's all right. I can use you too." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Oh, and 'Inquisitorial Squad?' Seriously? Even I could have told you that was in poor taste."

Umbridge lay, twitching and convulsing from the aftershocks of the Cruciatus. Violet spun her wand in her hand.

"Imperio."

~#~

Everything had gone to hell. The Daily Prophet read like something out of a dystopian state. Dozens of names Violet recognized as Order members were listed alongside phrases like "highly dangerous" and "reward offered," and the castle appeared to be on the verge of open conflict. Over it all was a fragile veneer of normalcy as the students and professors went about their day-to-day business in dogged denial of the inevitable.

As it turned out, having an Imperiused headmistress who also happened to be the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister was even more convenient than having Dumbledore on her side. She wasn't sure whether any of the professors actually believed the Ministry's explanation of her absence, but they couldn't exactly assign detention when that would literally go against Ministry policy. Curiously, the student body seemed to take this explanation in stride, as if it were only logical that Violet Potter would somehow be involved in Britain's greatest scandal since Sirius's historic escape from Azkaban.

She'd have to get in contact with Sirius at some point. Maybe he would have some idea how to proceed. Clearly, this farce couldn't be allowed to continue, but her word alone wouldn't mean much against the Ministry. It was the downside of a reputation that hadn't really been earned. Since no one in the Wizarding world actually knew anything about her, it was easy for the Ministry to paint her as a sympathetic victim or, if she were to challenge their story, mentally addled by trauma. Umbridge was an asset, but one she would have to use carefully. If she started acting uncharacteristically, it wouldn't take long for the threads to start to fray, and Violet would have to act quickly to cut off the loose end.

Or, she thought as Flitwick nattered on in the background about some sort of tangent involving ill-advised applications of Engorgement Charms, she was thinking about this the wrong way. The Ministry's seemingly absurd incompetence was really just a thin veneer over something far darker, as interrogating Umbridge had revealed. She really hadn't believed that Voldemort had returned, but it wasn't hard to read between the lines that certain influential individuals were making a concerted effort to stoke Fudge's paranoia.

Voldemort probably wanted the Order to occupy themselves with the Ministry, all while he prepared for an overwhelming strike. She could act first, if she wished. She knew the identities of at least a few Death Eaters, and with surprise and her cloak on her side, they wouldn't be difficult to pick off. But that, too, was a tradeoff. Even as Voldemort moved through shadows, she too had something of an element of surprise on her side. He and his followers had no idea what threat she posed, and that was something she would only be to take advantage of once. It would not do to squander it.

"Violet?" asked a tentative voice, as if afraid speaking too loudly would break something. "Are you all right?"

"What?" she said. Parvati winced, though Violet hadn't meant for her voice to come across as sharp. She didn't have anything against the girl, but she got cranky when her scheming was interrupted.

"I mean, you disappeared in themiddle of the night and were gone for weeks, and, well, Lav and I were worried. I don't know if Umbridge is telling the truth, because, you know, I can't really imagine Dumbledore kidnapping someone—"

"She's not," Violet said. "Obviously. Feel free to tell anyone I said that, by the way. I was just… visiting family."

"Family? But I thought you were…" Parvati trailed off. "Sorry, not my business. But if you need anything, you can talk to us, you know."

"Uh, sure. Actually, if you want to help, how about telling me why it looks like people are about to start cursing each other?"

"Oh, there was this whole thing," Parvati said, rolling her eyes. "You know Umbridge, she's not teaching a thing, and a lot of the Ravenclaws, and some of the other houses too, got it in their heads that it would be a good idea to form some sort of secret Defense Against the Dark Arts study group. Only, Umbridge got tipped off, and someone almost got expelled. Now everyone's wondering who ratted them out. They obviously didn't invite anyone on her goon squad, but it could have been anyone, I suppose."

"Wait, someone almost got expelled over a study group?" Violet raised an eyebrow. "You sure they were studying defense against the Dark Arts?"

Parvati turned pink. "Oh, that's just awful. You know we weren't doing anything like that."

"We?"

She blushed a little deeper. "Well I was worried about my O.W.L. They're supposed to be really hard, and Defense was my worst subject even before this year. I'm just glad I managed to get away."

"Hey, you don't have to justify yourself to me," Violet said. "Actually, I have it on good authority that Umbridge will be considerably less attentive in the future, so you could probably get it started again if you want."

"Oh, maybe. I don't think we could get so many people together after what happened last time, but maybe a few Gryffindors would risk it. Why, are you interested?"

"Am I interested?" Violet grinned. She'd just been thinking about how she needed to establish a reputation of her own, hadn't she? "Yeah, 'course I'm interested. I might even have a trick or two to show you."

~#~

Sirius's head materialized in flickering green flames, looking around curiously. "Where is this? It doesn't look like Gryffindor Tower."

Violet shrugged. "I heard a rumor that the common room Floo was being monitored. I figure that if there's a private fireplace in the castle, it's in the headmistress's office."

"You're in her office?" Sirius looked like he was struggling not to laugh. "How? Where even is she?"

"Oh, she's here," Violet said with a smile of wicked amusement. "Come say hello, Dolores."

Dutifully, Umbridge got up, walked over to the fireplace, and introduced herself before returning to grading papers. Violet had instructed her to give everyone a passing grade. It was her good deed for the day.

Sirius's eyes widened as realization dawned on him. "Good," he finally said. "Bitch got my cousin thrown in jail."

"Tonks, right? Umbridge mentioned something about finding out that some of the Aurors were working for Dumbledore. How many Order members did they manage to arrest?"

"A lot, I think," Sirius said. "Hard to say because the rest have gone to ground, but I managed to talk to Arthur, and he says he thinks it's at least half a dozen."

"Damn. And if they're in holding cells…"

"It won't take much for them to have 'accidents.' I know." There were bags under Sirius's eyes, and even his rejuvenated features looked weary. "I'm looking into getting some barristers, but there's not much point if they're outright not playing by the rules anymore. We need Dumbledore, but Merlin knows where he disappeared to. At least the Aurors themselves aren't too bad, for the most part. I don't think Bones would let anything untoward happen while she's in charge, but that could change in a hurry. I'm pretty sure the greater threat is that with surprise on their side, the Death Eaters could force their way down to the cell blocks pretty easily. And with most of the Order in those cells or scattered… the Ministry might just fall in a day.

"I had a chat with Bones and a few of the other Aurors while I was making inquiries and generally doing my best to raise a legal stink, and they can all smell something coming too, even if they don't necessarily believe it's Voldemort. But none of them are prepared for another war. It won't be like last time, either. Voldemort's already got his followers, the Ministry's as rotten as buried corpse, and the Order won't be there to support them, at least at first…"

"We can't do nothing, then." Violet ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "All right. There's no way this madness has been authorized by the full Wizengamot, so clearly Voldemort's planning to act before cooler heads prevail. Are the Order members being held in the Ministry, you think?"

"Must be. You're not supposed to go to Azkaban before your trial, though that clearly doesn't always work out." Sirius frowned. "I hope you're not planning a repeat of the Department of Mysteries."

"No. That's probably what Voldemort's hoping for. If the Order and Ministry's relationship degrades to open fighting, even him revealing himself won't fix things. A subtler approach is warranted."

There was a period of silence except for the fire's crackling as they considered the problem. Then, Violet spoke with tentative but growing confidence.

"So, maybe we can't get them out of the cells. But I think we might just be able to give the Death Eaters expecting a slaughter an unpleasant surprise."

~#~

Violet wouldn't be able to put her plan into effect for a few days at least. For one, she had to make sure the Imperius was holding. What she planned for Umbridge would go so fervently against her principles that even a tiny spark of resistance could be enough to break the curse.

But that didn't mean there wasn't anything to do. Aside from catching up after missing several weeks of homework, there was also her imperative duty to introduce the students of Hogwarts to practical Dark Arts without them actually realizing it.

A haze of minuscule droplets of ice suspended in midair surrounded her. It was an old exercise. Take a solid crystal of ice and divide it in two, again and again and again until the flecks were so small they slipped her magic and became fog. She had spent hundreds of hours doing that very thing, over and over again until she could wield Winter magic not just as a hammer but a scalpel too. Lately, she had begun the practice again, though it had a new purpose now.

Again, she divided the ice, appearing as nothing more than shifting vapor. Though she had no taste for maths, she knew there were precisely sixty five thousand five hundred and thirty six individual particles in the same way that she knew she had ten fingers and toes.

She doubled again. In the past, she would never have been able maintain control beyond thirteen divisions, but things had been different ever since Winter manifested for her. But even exploring this newfound control was not the true reason for doing this.

She doubled again and reached her limit. Her concentration was perfect, her mind as still as a frozen lake. Each particle was smaller than the smallest speck of dust, vapor held solid only by her will. It was then, on the verge of collapse, that it happened. A point, tiny but bright, appeared in the center of the cloud and washed it in blue. Her blood screamed with power, and in that moment, she felt as though she could have doused the sun.

The communication did not come in words, but she understood it all the same. Acknowledgment. Approval. Something harder to describe.

"Winter," Violet breathed. "Can you understand me?"

There was a response, but it was delayed and garbled, as if by enormous distance, eventually being replaced by a distant frustration. Then the large unused classroom seemed suddenly tiny as it was dwarfed by a tremendous presence that frosted over the windows and coated the tips of her hair in ice.

FROM OUTSIDE CAME THE THIRD.

Violet shrieked in pure surprise and the spell collapsed. The point of light vanished along with the cloud. Head ringing, she sank into a chair and rubbed at her brow. Merlin, no wonder Winter usually communicated to her in impressions if that was what happened when it actually spoke. She felt bizarrely energized to an almost unhealthy degree, and it was only with a great effort of mental control that she managed to slow her racing heart and thoughts.

The message itself reminded of something Cat had said. She too had mentioned a Third. It had to be Esrid. She didn't think she could handle another encroaching threat. But if it was Esrid, what was he the third of?

She didn't get a chance to consider it further because the door opened and a small group of students, mostly Gryffindors, filed in. Parvati gave her a quick smile.

"Bit chilly, isn't it?" she said, shivering. "But I suppose that's what you get with these old classrooms."

"Close the door, will you?" George said from the back of the crowd. Pressing forward, he saw Violet and raised his eyebrows. "You need help with Defense?"

She took a moment to respond, shaking off the lingering unsteadiness of Winter's speech. "The opposite, actually. Thought I might be able to share a little practical experience on the subject."

"Oh, great, Potter's teaching. Can't wait for 'Getting Kidnapped by Crazy Headmasters 101.'"

There were a few chuckles. Neither Fred or George joined them.

Violet glanced over the tall Gryffindor who had spoken. "I don't know you," she said.

He puffed up his chest. "My name's Cormac McLaggen, and I think—"

"Lovely. Now, Cormac, I could tell you that the Ministry's story about where I was for those weeks was a crock of shit—like most of what the Ministry says—but I doubt you'd believe me. So consider this instead." Violet leaned forward, lowering her voice. "If I really did get captured, that means I also escaped. But hey, if you really think you can do better, we could have a friendly practice duel and settle things."

McLaggen went mutinously silent. Eventually a tiny Ravenclaw girl that Violet thought might have been named Esmerelda pushed her glasses up her nose and said, "Can we just not? All we need is to pass our exams and not get caught by Umbridge again. Arguing over nothing won't help."

Violet smiled. "Well, I'll tell you what. As long as I'm here, you won't have to worry about Umbridge. Vow and swear."

There was a certain joy in watching other people work, especially if they were particularly bad at it. And, make no mistake, they were positively dreadful. Everyone was working on something different, and everyone had a different idea of how to go about it. Even those who managed to cast the spells did so ponderously slowly, as if their wand were a viper that might turn to strike them at any moment.

Eventually more annoyed than amused, she made her way over to Parvati, who appeared to be attempting to cast a Shield Charm without much success.

"Lavender didn't come?" Violet asked.

Parvati looked up and laughed. "Are you kidding? She hates Defense. Probably hoping to fail the O.W.L."

"Honestly, I kind of thought it'd be the same for you."

"Oh, well," Parvati said, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes and sighing. "I don't, really. I don't think I like the thought of hurting someone, but with how things are going, it might be important. Is that silly?"

"I shouldn't think so," Violet said. "Besides, if nothing else, at least you'll pass your exam. Can I see your Shield Charm again?"

"Protego!"

A string of bubbles, like soap but hard, issued from her wand, scattering and bouncing over the floor before eventually popping. Laughter rang out, and Parvati sighed again, dropping her wand. "I just can't figure it out. Something different happens every time, but it's never a shield."

"Well at least that means you're getting some good power behind it. Hmm." Violet furrowed her brow. "What are you think of when you cast it?"

"Thinking? Uh, I guess I'm just focusing on getting the wand motion and incantation right. Is that wrong?"

"Kind of," Violet said. "With a basic charm like this, there's pretty much three different aspects to getting it right. Physical, which is your wand movements, vocal—the incantation—and mental. That's basically just intent and theoretical knowledge. But the important part is that if you omit one, you can still get away with it if the do the rest well enough. Or if you're really good, you can do mental alone for silent, still casting. That takes a lot of practice though, which is arguably a fourth aspect. Try casting it again, but this time don't worry about the wand motion and really think about how you need protection and rigidity, because I'm going to jinx you if you don't pull it off."

Parvati yelped, covering her eyes, and shouted, "Protego!"

This time a respectable dome sprung up around her. She didn't even realize it with her eyes closed, braced against an expected jinx. Instead Violet rapped lightly on the shield until Parvati slowly opened her eyes to see that Violet didn't even have her wand out.

"You see?" Violet said, laughing. "You just had to actually want it. Nice one. Mind you, you won't be properly motivated until you have someone throwing jagged shards of ice at you, but it's a good start."

By this time, a small crowd had gathered to admire Parvati's shield, which was both bright and smooth. She marveled at her own spell. "Did I really just do that?"

"Well it certainly wasn't me," Violet said. She turned to the other students. "Anyone else want to try?"

Teaching turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. She had always taken pride in her skill with magic, hard earned with sweat and blood, and this was a largely new application of it. She also found it oddly informative. Correcting the medley of mistakes and misconceptions forced her to reconsider basic principles that had long since become thoughtless.

Eventually the hour turned late and the attendees began trickling irregularly out the door. She hadn't had the chance to get into any of the really fun stuff, but there would be time for that later. They'd probably be less likely to question any off-color spells if they were used to her, anyway.

"Uh, Potter?"

Violet turned, mostly out the door. It was Fred and George Weasley's younger brother, standing in the almost empty classroom. Ron, she thought. He had always come off as quiet, reserved, and maybe a little sad, often overshadowed by the more boisterous personalities in Gryffindor. She frowned. He hadn't seemed to have any trouble with the spells, to the point where she wondered why he bothered coming at all.

"Yeah?"

He shuffled in place. "Can I ask you something?"

"I think you just did," Violet said dryly. "But yes, go ahead."

"Did you really get kidnapped by Dumbledore and escape?" he blurted out.

Violet rolled her eyes. "Really? Aren't your parents in the Order?"

Weasley blinked. "You know about that—well, blimey, of course you do. So it's really not true then?"

"Weasley," Violet said, "I guarantee Dumbledore has much better things to do than to prey on schoolgirls."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense. I just thought… Never mind."

"Now you have me curious. C'mon."

He looked away. "It's nothing, really. Just that Fred and George always seemed to act like they knew something about you no one else did. I mean, you saw them when you asked McLaggen if he wanted to duel. Like there was going to be blood. So I thought, maybe if you did that kind of thing…"

"That kind of thing?" Violet smiled, a flash of sharp, white teeth. "And why would you wonder that?"

His eyes stayed locked on the ground, and a slow flush rose in his cheeks. "Because I thought you could teach me," he snapped. "Stupid. Sorry."

He started for the door, but Violet planted a hand on his chest to hold him back. She winked. "I didn't say you were wrong."

"What?"

She tilted her face toward him. "See the scars? They're a lot fainter than they used to be, but I assure you they weren't accidental."

She stepped around him, making him turn to keep her in his line of sight. "So you're tired of schoolyard jinxes and defensive charms, are you? I can't blame you. But I have to wonder—if I did teach you something, what would you do with it? No one seeks out power without intending to use it."

"Isn't it obvious?" Weasley said, bitterness crawling into his tone. "You-Know-Who's back, and my family's in his way. You'd think after Ginny—" His nostrils flared. "Look, will you help me? I don't have much money, but I can do your bloody homework or something. I'm just sick and tired of being useless."

"Well," Violet said, "who am I to stop you from fighting the good fight?"

She shook her wand out of her sleeve and sent the various tables and desks clattering to the side of the room with a silent wave. "I do hope you're any good at Potions essays."

~#~

The days of October continued their inexorable advance. With them came splashes of arboreal orange and red and the year's first frost. Carved pumpkins and improbably dense cobwebs seemed to spring up out of nowhere all around the castle and its grounds, and at night, the flutter of bats and distant, inhuman screams originating from the Forbidden Forest could be heard.

In moonlight, Hogwarts' most controversial headmistress in recent memory walked through the wrought iron gates with a sense of implacable purpose, turned, and Disapparated.

Hours later, Nymphadora Tonks jolted in her sleep as the latch to her cell clanged open. A small leather pouch was thrown through before it once again shut. Inside was a smooth shaft of wood that sent waves of warmth running through her arm and a torn scrap of parchment.

Be ready.

As the sun rose, the headmistress returned to the office that no longer gave her a victorious thrill. On her desk was a length of rope, ink and quill, and a command that she could not defy.