"Avada Kedavra!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Fall back! Fall back, I said!"

"Come on," Violet shouted, "you can do better than that! Bad enough I missed out on the giant snake."

"Fall back!"

"Coniectum!"

Dozens of tiny white trails darted from her wand, ricocheting off the walls and ceiling around the corner the Death Eaters were holding. Shouts of pain rang out, and she could hear rapid footfalls as they continued to retreat.

By the time Violet had made it to the castle, the attackers seemed to have already started getting complacent. With nearly all the Aurors and Hit Wizards killed by the basilisk, they must had thought nothing would stand in their way. It was a misconception she took great pleasure in correcting. The main resistance was coming from a group of survivors of the basilisk attack—and stars above, what was a basilisk doing in a school?—along with some of the professors down on the lower floors, but Violet had chosen not to join that fight. Her… open minded selection of spells would likely win her no friends there.

So, when she caught wind that a group of attackers had split off toward the upper floors, she hadn't hesitated to go after them. She pursued them up the Grand Staircase, through corridors filled with panicking paintings, briefly lost them not far from Gryffindor Tower, and finally caught up to them on the stairway to the Divination classroom. What interest they had in that, she couldn't possibly imagine. Maybe they were just looking for a particularly high place to throw themselves off of.

Unfortunately, the tower's spiraling design strongly favored the defender. A right-handed caster higher up on the stairs had to expose only their arm to cast spells, while the attacker on the lower ground had to step completely out of cover in a tight, enclosed space.

A vibrant blue curse came careening back toward her. Violet cursed as it parted several hairs from her head.

Incendio!

Clouds of flame roared up the staircase. Moments later, gusts of wind blew them back toward Violet, and she parted them with a blast of cold air.

Confringo!

Violet's curse erupted into a thunderous explosion that shook the tower like a bell. Ice coated the steps. More shouts came down, before cutting off. A clipped voice followed in a tone that was probably meant not to be heard by her.

"Rowle, Marks, hold them off while we secure the target. The rest of you, come with me."

Target? What objective could they possibly have that wouldn't be utterly hopeless by now? There was no chance they thought they could make it past her—hell, but the sound of it, they thought she was a whole squad of Aurors. That must mean that their target was… inside the Divination tower.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. In retrospect, it was obvious. Why take the risk of retrieving a fragile glass sphere when you could hedge your bets by going for the source itself? Poor Professor Trelawny was not going to have a good day.

Piercing Curses shattered the stone cover inches from her face. Violet's lips pulled into a snarl, and she stepped into the open. Her wand and forearm hummed with electric light.

~#~

"Violet Potter?"

Violet leaned over the edge of the landing, looking down the stairwell. McGonagall was staring up at her. A large section of the tower's outer walls had collapsed in the battle, and the falling rock had brought down a large section of the spiraling stairs as well. Her eyes widened.

"Merlin's name, Potter, are you all right? We've been looking everywhere for you."

"I'll live," Violet called back. Black smoke wafted down from the trapdoor above her, though the fire itself was long extinguished. "What's the situation? Is the fighting over?"

McGonagall brushed a strand of hair that had escaped her normally tight bun away from her eyes. "It's looking that way, yes. The headmaster was able to chase off the last of those—those ruffians."

"Dumbledore's back?"

"Yes, he—" McGonagall began before giving the damaged stairs a dubious look. "I'm not going to keep yelling up to you. Can you get down?"

"Yeah, yeah," Violet said. "Just give me a minute." She climbed back up through the trapdoor. A few moments later, a large object fell through, hitting the stairs with a thud and rolling down them. McGonagall jumped back as it came to a stop at her feet.

"Seems structurally sound enough," Violet said, starting down the stairs and lightly stepping around piled rubble. "I say, are you quite all right?"

Looking a little pale, McGonagall said, "Is that a body?"

"Looks it." Violet snapped her fingers. "Damn. I should have tossed down the other one. He got strangled by animated drapes. I don't suppose that'd be worth getting out of some Transfiguration homework?"

"I will take it under consideration," replied McGonagall, with a tone that suggested disbelief. She glanced back up the stairs. "Do you know if Professor Trelawny was up there with them?"

Violet shook her head. "I'm pretty sure they captured her. I can't think of much other reason for them to be interested in the Divination Tower. By the time I made it up, they were gone. Brooms, probably."

"I see." McGonagall sighed. Then her expression turned concerned. "You're hurt."

Violet's robes had, admittedly seen better days. Aside from being generally torn and ragged, they were also more bloodstained than not. They were probably a lost cause at this point, but they were starting to get a bit tight anyway.

She gestured vaguely at herself. "It's mostly not mine."

Strangely, that didn't seem to assuage McGonagall's concerns. "Be that as it may," she said, "I think you should get your arm looked at, at least."

Some sort of spell had clipped her arm and left a deep gash as she forced her way past the Death Eater's defensive position. Normally she wouldn't bother to do anything with an injury that minor since it would heal in a few hours, but if a proper Healer was available, she might as well save herself the discomfort.

"Will Dumbledore be there? I need to talk to him."

"The headmaster is a very busy man—but I'm sure he wishes to speak to you as well. I believe he deeply regrets how your last conversation ended. Incidentally, I'm sure we would all like to hear the real explanation for where you went after your little jaunt to the Department of Mysteries."

"Know about that, eh?" Violet smirked. "Well, the truth might be too much to ask, but I'm sure we can settle somewhere around 'misleading.' It can't be worse than Umbridge's story, anyway. Such a shame what happened to her."

"Very well." McGonagall shook her head. "You're lucky not to be seriously hurt. I shudder to think how badly Mungo's must be overwhelmed." She knelt and gently removed the Death Eater's mask. Underneath was a face with heavy brows and cruel eyes, now frozen in a perpetual scowl.

"Rowle," she said. "I remember…"

She shook herself. "Come. We should get to the Hospital Wing. You can tell me what happened on the way."

Violet shook her head. "Think I'll wait for Dumbledore. No point going over things twice."

When they stepped into the Hospital Wing, they were immediately assaulted by the scent of blood, suffering, and death. Additional cots had been wheeled in, and most were occupied by still forms covered in white blankets. There were comparatively few merely injured. Apparently the Death Eaters hadn't fought too hard after the basilisk failed to completely wipe out the Aurors and Hit Wizards.

Madame Pomfrey and a few Ministry personnel who had donned medical robes moved briskly between their patients. Violet watched curiously as an Auror held his severed arm to his stump as one of the Healers reattached it.

"Poppy? Could I trouble you for a moment?" McGonagall said.

"What?" she said. "Oh, Potter. Typical. Well, go have a seat and I'll be with you in a moment."

A row of chairs had been set out after the beds filled up for those not too seriously injured. Violet took one and nudged the person to her left.

Ron twisted around and immediately winced, rubbing his head. "That you, Violet, or am I just hallucinating?"

"It's me."

"Merlin. Thought you were a goner for sure. I only saw a bit of your duel, but wow—that was the real thing. I couldn't believe it. Do you know how few people have gone up against Bellatrix Lestrange and lived?"

Violet grinned. "The real question is, how many people have gone up against me and lived."

The woman sitting a few seats down turned abruptly. "Did you say you saw Bellatrix Lestrange?" she asked. Her robes were Aurors', and the skin of her hand was shiny and red as if just healed. Her face was gaunt and grim. "Figures she'd be involved in something like this, but I didn't think she was spotted."

"She came after me personally. Didn't work out so well."

She arched an eyebrow. "You beat Lestrange? Really?"

"Really," Ron interjected. "I only saw a bit of it, but I woke up alive, so I figure she must have won."

The Auror laughed without the slightest amusement. "Well, that's something at least. I was worried we'd have to start recruiting straight out of Hogwarts after the basilisk, but it looks like you lot are already Auror material. Guess some of the stories they tell about you must be true after all." Her expression twisted. "Hell. It was like an execution. I don't know how I made it. Blind, stupid luck."

"Do you know how many were lost?" Violet asked. "I saw the aftermath briefly, but all I could say is that it was a lot."

"I don't know. Too many. I've heard there's some kind of fighting going on in the Ministry too, but no one knows the details. Who knows how many more people we'll lose there. Bloody hell, I think You-Know-Who really is back."

It took a few more minutes for one of the Healers to get to Violet. Once he did, it only took a moment for him to fix Violet's cut. She was about to take her leave when the door opened and Albus Dumbledore swept in. Hushed murmurs spread through the injured Ministry personnel. Officially speaking, there was an order for his arrest, but it seemed that no one intended to put it to the test.

"Albus," McGonagall said, "it's good to have you back."

"A pleasure to see you as well, Minerva," he replied. He greeted a few of the injured before giving Violet a slightly rueful look. "Ah. It's been a while, hasn't it? Walk with me, if you would. Poppy does appreciate her space when she's working."

With a shrug, she followed him out of the Hospital Wing. His robes were the deep red of wine, and a black top hat rested on his head. Long white gloves completed the rather ridiculous ensemble. Sometime, she really had to have a talk with him about fashion. He cleared his throat.

"Before anything else, I would like to apologize for how our last meeting ended. Upon reflection, I quickly realized I overreacted."

Violet came to a stop in the corridor. "Oh. Well, I didn't exactly respond in the most measured, thought-out way possible either. And I'm also sorry about accidentally making people think you were some kind of kidnapper."

He chuckled deeply. "No matter. I have been called much worse over the years. Besides, I suspect Cornelius was just waiting for an excuse to move against me. He has become slightly belligerent of late."

Violet snorted. "You call Umbridge 'slight?' That woman's mere presence was practically an act of war."

"True or not, it doesn't become us to speak ill of the dead, even if they did perish under suspiciously ironic circumstances." He raised a pointed eyebrow.

She gave him an innocent look. "Just be glad she wasn't able to get into your office. You'd be throwing out pink doilies for years." Changing the subject, she continued, "So, are we square over the whole spying business, then?"

"Yes, I think so. In fact, I have realized that it was a mistake to try to keep information from you in the first place."

On the way to Dumbledore's office, Violet missed a step as a rippling wave of freezing power coursed through her. Something had set off her trap in the Department of Mysteries.

Violet grinned. Things were looking up.

~#~

"Horcrux?"

The word carried a strange weight on her tongue. She was certain she had never heard it before, but she somehow knew that its meaning could not be for the faint of heart.

Dumbledore sighed. "They are magic of the very worst kind. It is through them that Voldemort has achieved his apparent immortality."

Both of Violet's eyebrows shot to her hairline. She had spent countless hours trying to figure out just that without success. "And what, exactly, is a Horcrux?"

"In simplest terms, it is a fragment of a soul secured within an object that functions as a sort of anchor to life."

"Of course," Violet murmured. "The problem with storing your soul in an object is the body is left empty and unstable, but that solves it all. It's genius."

"What it is is a foul abomination," Dumbledore said. Violet had never seen him so disturbed. "It requires an act of infinite selfishness and inhumanity, from which there can be no redemption short of death. I implore you, whatever dark depths of magic you plumb, avoid this one. Nothing is worth such a terrible cost."

"Don't worry," Violet said with a sly smile. "I have a suspicion that I'll live an unusually long life as it is."

The tension broke, and he let out a laugh. "I very much hope so, my dear. Everyone should experience the joys of becoming eccentric old bat."

"So Voldemort has created one of these Horcruxes?"

"Until my recent—vacation—I could not be certain. Alas, the truth is even worse. I have reason to believe that he has created as many as seven."

"Seven," Violet breathed. "That may be a problem."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said. "But maybe not so great a one as you imagine."

Violet listened attentively as he outlined his theories on the nature of a Horcrux. At times like this, his sheer genius was obvious. In his research, he had made many incredible realizations that Violet wouldn't have had a chance of figuring out. It seemed that the physical container of a Horcrux could not be just anything. It must have value to the creator—otherwise, why would their soul be content to remain in it?

"I was pleased to confirm this theory just a few days ago," Dumbledore said. He began to pull the glove off his right hand. Underneath, the skin was as black as charcoal and leathery. A gold ring set with a black stone was on his middle finger. "I was able to destroy the first of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Unfortunately, it seems to have taken something of a bite out of me too. This ring can be traced all the way back to Salazar Slytherin, something that Voldemort would certainly consider priceless."

"Something of a bite?" Violet parroted. She took his hand in hers and shivered. "That is not a gentle curse. You were able to contain it?"

"With Severus's assistance, mostly," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "I'm told I have a good year left to live."

"Damn," Violet muttered. "Where's another undying King when you need one?"

"Pardon?"

"Nothing." She frowned. "What happened? Don't tell me you there's a curse out there you weren't able to detect."

"Regrettably, it was not my magic that failed me but something of far greater importance." He brandished the cursed hand and began to pull the glove back over it. "Let this be a reminder that for all our skill and power, we are still only human. Temptation is a greater threat than any spell."

By the time they finished their discussion, the setting sun streamed light through the window of Dumbledore's office. Hogwarts was going to be closed for at least a few weeks until Dumbledore discovered how the Death Eaters had bypassed the wards and repair could be made, so Violet headed for Gryffindor Tower to get her things.

By now, the students were starting to trickle out of their dormitories and were wandering the castle in a slight daze, as if caught between horror and wonder. The Great Hall was cordoned off by Hit Wizards, still and silent as statues.

According to Dumbledore, the attack on the Ministry had been narrowly repulsed, though the Minister and several high ranking officials were still unaccounted for. Even though it seemed that Voldemort had failed to achieve any of his primary objectives, with reports still trickling in from various attacks across the country and Ministry law enforcement gutted, it was hardly cause to celebrate.

Parvati must have told some of the Gryffindors what had happened because she could feel the weight of a score of eyes as soon as she stepped through the portrait hole. Some were awed. Others were fearful. Clearly, the story had included details not for the faint of heart.

She climbed the stairs to the girl's rooms, and behind her, the common room filled with whispers. The dorm was empty except for Granger, who looked away and hurried out of the room when Violet entered. She ignored her and dragged her trunk out from under her bed. She pulled free piles of clothing and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor before carefully working her fingers around the edge of the trunk. With a click, the false bottom came loose, and she carefully lifted it out. From it, she took her invisibility cloak and pocketed it. She took her old pistol too, though posed mostly sentimental value now. Firearms had little use to those skilled in magic.

Lastly, she took the steel sword Satria had gifted her. It hung from a leather belt with a diagonal strap, secured with a silver buckle. She put it on over her robes and cinched it tight. It would draw attention, of course, but that was the point. She had been Violet Potter, schoolgirl, long enough for her tastes and was well ready to become the Savior, who carried a sword and dueled infamous Death Eaters as a matter of course.

She returned the clothes to the trunk and pushed it back under the bed. She wasn't sure if she would be returning to Hogwarts, but if she did, they'd be there. Otherwise, she had everything she needed.

Taking a final moment to regard the room, Violet turned sharply and descended back down the stairs.

~#~

Sometimes Violet thought that Sirius must take masochistic pleasure in his own suffering. There wasn't any other ready explanation for why he would allow his home to be turned into a circus of ill-prepared, overly opinionated, and, worst of all, insufferably self-righteous Order members. Maybe it was lingering resentment for his family. His mother's portrait certainly didn't seem to approve of the guests.

"Loathsome spawn of the lowest mud, defiling the halls of my hallowed ancestors, a curse upon you and your entire degenerate bloodline suchthat you may suffer without rest or—"

"Does that throbbing vein look healthy to you, George?"

"Not at all, Fred. In fact, I'd get that checked out, if I were here. All that stress can't be good for the circulation."

Predictably, the portrait devolved into nigh-incomprehensible wails. Apparently, after the attacks on various prominent blood traitors on Halloween, the Weasleys had decided their home wasn't safe until its wards could be upgraded, and Sirius, in a sickening display of generosity, had opened his home to them. It was becoming trying.

"I do wish you wouldn't taunt her," Violet said with a sigh. "It's rather like prodding a small, angry dog with a needle. Its impotent flailing might be amusing the first time, but it's hardly the height of refined humor."

"Well, don't blame us," George snapped. "Not our fault we're stuck here with nothing to do. Maybe if they'd let us in the meetings like some people we'd have better things to do."

Violet smirked. "I hear admission's at an all-time bargain. It only cost me three Death Eaters' heads to get in. Match that and maybe you'll meet the ever-so discerning standards of the Order of the Phoenix. Speaking of which, I must bid you adieu. Places to be, and people to do, as they say."

The twins rolled their eyes in unison and mockingly gestured for her to proceed past them. As she did, she flicked the portrait, sending it into another furious tirade. Lowbrow it may be, but she had never claimed to be above a little petty sadism.

The Order of the Phoenix had held a meeting every night since Voldemort's open return, but tonight would be the first with more than half a dozen attendees. The spacious dining room was already beginning to feel cramped when Violet took her seat, and there were plenty more people coming. She briefly met Sirius's gaze, and he broke it almost immediately. He had been oddly reclusive since Halloween, but she couldn't imagine why. She knew he had got into a close scrape in the Ministry battle, but that was hardly a first for him. No, it had to be something else that was bothering him.

Mad-Eye Moody stormed in with all the good-natured cheer of an axe murderer. "Albus in?" he grunted.

"Haven't seen him," a bored-looking witch Violet didn't recognize replied.

"Well, that's fuckin' great," Mad-Eye said. "We're getting slaughtered while he gallivants off who-knows-where. Hestia's dead, by the way."

The whole room seemed to groan at once. "What happened?" someone asked.

His rubbed at what remained of his nose and snorted briefly. "That's a good question. All I can tell you is that, whatever it was, it involved cutting off her face and nailing it to my door when I was out."

Someone gagged. The rest of the meeting didn't really go up from there.

Dumbledore didn't make an appearance. Violet knew he was off trying to track the Horcruxes, but the rest of the Order seemed to be entirely in the dark. She wasn't sure if disappearing without explanation while your followers get picked off one by one was the best way to keep morale up, but she supposed you didn't get into Dumbledore's position without knowing what you were doing.

By the time most of the gathered Order members dispersed, it was well into the night. Violet swung the back door to the house shut with a click. Jon was sitting on the doorsteps, puffing on a cigar. He glanced up at her.

"Heh. Been a while."

"It has," Violet agreed and sat next to him. There was a hint of smoke on the air.

"How's Hogwarts?"

"Not too bad. Spacier than the Old Oak. Fewer cockroaches too."

"Fuck you very much," he said amiably. "I spent hours getting those insect-repellent charms right. I won't stand for this slander."

Violet grinned. "How's the Order?"

"Not too bad." He drew in a breath, the end of his cigar glowing brightly in the night. "Your godfather's pretty cool."

"Really? He's never even mentioned you."

Jon snorted. "Probably thinks I'd be a bad influence on you. Can't have the Savior of Britain associating with a washed up old smuggler."

"That would be a travesty." Absently, she took took the knife from her boot and began to polish the already glimmering metal with her shirt. "Incidentally, if you're best mates now, do you have any idea what's up with him lately?"

"Couldn't say," Jon replied. Then a moment later he added, "Though, I think it has something to do with the Ministry fight. And, maybe, with you."

"Me?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Kind of got that impression, but I didn't exactly ask outright either. But he seems a bit uncomfortable around you lately, doesn't he? It's probably nothing. The Blacks always were a temperamental bunch. I wouldn't worry."

A companionable still fell for a few minutes. Eventually Jon got up, fumbling with the cigar while trying to put it out. "Damnit," he said, blowing on his hands. "Too bloody cold. No snow either. Doesn't seem right for it be this cold with no snow."

"Strange," Violet said. "I thought the weather was quite lovely."

"You would," he muttered. He stamped his feet against the ground and rubbed his hands together. "Right, I'm off. I'm sure you'll see me around, or at least my severed face."

Violet leaned back, watching him leave. She turned the knife in her hand, and the blade grew white with frost. Her lips slowly curled in a smile as the first flakes of snow began to fall.

~#~

The full extent of Voldemort's opening blow only became apparent over the following weeks. Not every Imperiused asset the Death Eaters controlled had joined in the fight. Plenty of others committed subtle acts of sabotage, ensuring that even if they failed to take the Ministry, they'd be too busy dealing with homicidal elevators and weather charms that really, really liked the sound of indoor tornadoes to organize a counteroffensive.

The Death Eaters themselves seemed to be content to wage a slow war of intimidation and horror after the furious violence of Halloween. Those who openly supported resistance disappeared. Fudge never reemerged after the fighting at the Ministry, which meant he was either dead or, as Violet thought more likely, had set his sights on greener pastures and not looked back. His successor—some strong-jawed, flinty-eyed man who said all the right things and might even have meant them, was filling the Daily Prophet and the walls of Diagon Alley alike with exhortations for an indifferent and terrified populace to rise to war.

None of that was Violet's problem, really. The petty minutiae of the war didn't interest her. Voldemort alone was her target, and to get to him, his Horcruxes needed to be destroyed. As Dumbledore was, at least for the time being, better suited to the job than possibly anyone else on the planet, she was happy to spend days secluded in the Black library, surrounded by heavy tomes and messy arcane scrawlings, as well as pursuing her own personal mystery.

Her footsteps were silent on the polished hardwood floor. Around her, Winter's glamour distorted the light to render her as imperceptible as any Disillusionment Charm. Ahead of her, the air shimmered slightly with the throbbing heartbeat of an unseen power that made her own Winter magic stir in recognition.

Like most of the rooms of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the second story bathroom was an exercise in excess. The bath was alike a lake; a mirror made of actual silver covered an entire wall; and even the towel rack was coated in gold.

Leaning over the sink and staring at his own shaking hands was Sirius. Crystal cups set on the counter rattled as the entire thing shook under him.

"Shut up," he growled to his reflection. "Shut up!"

His knuckles whitened against the marble. "I said no."

The air was unusually warm, and Violet could feel a potent heat radiating from Sirius's general direction. He was surrounded by what looked like a faint heat haze.

"Damn you." His voice came as a dull croak. "Damn you. You're dead. You won't have me."

The heat began to fade. The shuddering power slowed its beat before vanishing entirely. Slowly, he straightened and met his own reflection. His face twitched briefly before he turned away and stormed from the room.

His steps faded into the distance. A door slammed. Violet slowly approached the sink. She ran her fingers over the thick marble and felt a foreign heat there.

Something glass and liquid smashed a few rooms away, followed by muffled profanity. Violet pulled her hand away and glanced in the direction of the sound.

It really had been too much to hope that Sirius would escape the influence of the fae unchanged.

AN:

Moon Pix: You're completely correct. Not sure how I slipped up there, but it's fixed now. Thanks. It turns out I also made the same mistake in chapter 15, so that one should be fixed too.

On an aside, I really wish this site had an easier way of editing published chapters.