Albus Dumbledore looked tired.

It wasn't easy to notice. Violet suspected most of the Order members saw only what they expected too—strength and certainty and hope. But his right hand seemed just a little stiff, his skin just a little pale. And when he looked at her and no one else, there was an almost desperate look in his eyes.

Still, he fulfilled his role gracefully. It was funny. From what Violet could tell, he had almost no influence on the actual leadership of the Order, choosing instead to leave it to Moody and some of the other veteran members. But that didn't stop the rest of them from looking to him as if he could pull a bloody miracle out of his hat.

As she expected, he came to find her in the library after the meeting ended. Lately, she had stopped bothering to attend them. She could only take so much of people's fervent fascination in her, even if she were the sort of person to generally enjoy the stares of others. She closed her book and slid it to the side as Dumbledore entered, stooping to avoid knocking his hat off on the door frame.

"I thought I might find you here," he said, chuckling. "I had a similar passion for knowledge at your age."

"Somehow, I can't imagine that's changed."

He inclined his head and seated himself across from her. "Just so. A wise man never stops being a student."

"I suppose you'd know," Violet said. She gave a lopsided smirk at a joke she knew he wouldn't get. "After all, who could possibly be older than you?"

"Indeed, I have often wondered the same thing," Dumbledore replied. "Alas, time is short, and there is a matter I must speak to you about. Have you enjoyed your time away from Hogwarts?"

"Really?" Violet asked. "You want to know how I'm enjoying my vacation? Well, if you must know, it's been pleasant enough, though I must say, it would be hard for it to compare to Halloween."

"Not quite," Dumbledore said. He sighed. "Though, I suppose congratulations are in order. I've been told that you actually defeated five separate attackers that day."

"Killed, Dumbledore," Violet said. "I killed them."

"Yes." He sighed again. "I suppose you did." He seemed to shake himself briefly before continuing, "In any case, I wished to talk to you about Hogwarts. Repairs have proceeded well, and we will be reopening in a few days. I think it would be best if you are there when it is."

Violet's gaze slipped to an unassuming looking book with a black binding tucked away high on a bookshelf. It carried a latent curse akin to Legilimency that sought to destroy the mind of any without sufficient Black blood who tried to read it. Three times Violet had grappled with the curse, and three times she had been forced to slam the book shut lest her Occlumency fail and her sanity be lost. But, she thought, perhaps the fourth time was the charm. The curse didn't learn, didn't improve, but she did. It was only a matter of time, really. What secrets could such a tome hold? Such a unique curse must be protecting something priceless.

What could Hogwarts offer to compete with knowledge like that? Even the restricted books in the Library had proven to be mostly a disappointment. She shook her head. "I'm not sure that's the best idea anymore."

Dumbledore took a moment to respond, almost managing to convince her that it was was actually him considering her words rather than a deliberate affectation. "I can understand your hesitation. However, it would be a great reassurance for me if you did return."

"Why?" Violet asked. "Seriously. You know I have a role to play in the coming events, one that won't be fulfilled at Hogwarts. I would think you'd want me working to fulfill the prophecy."

"From what little I know of prophecy," Dumbledore said, giving her a pointed look, "and, make no mistake, it is little indeed, those who actively pursue prophecy all too often find themselves regretting it."

Violet waved a hand dismissively. "Fine, fine. But prophecy or no, I'm still going to kill Voldemort."

"Ah," Dumbledore said. "But what if returning to Hogwarts was the best way to achieve just that?"

"Well, I suppose that would take a very convincing argument."

"Tell me," Dumbledore said, "in any conflict, do you believe that knowing one's adversary is a strategic advantage?"

"Of course. But what does that have to do with Hogwarts?"

"And what do you know of Lord Voldemort's past? Of the boy, the man, before he donned the mask of a monster? Or, perhaps, dropped the mask of a man?"

Violet slowly shook her head. "Little," she said. "Not enough."

Dumbledore smiled, as if he had already won. "The one we now know as Lord Voldemort, who was originally born Tom Marvolo Riddle, was the son of a muggle and a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. Understanding this and the rest of his past will be the key to defeating him more so than any spell."

"And if I go back to Hogwarts, you'll tell me what you know," Violet said, sighing. "Very clever."

"Not just that," Dumbledore said with a tiny twinkle in his eye. "As you mentioned, I am hideously old, and I have picked up one or two tricks in my time. I hear you're quite the duelist. I daresay I could show you things that would surprise even Tom."

Violet's eyebrows shot up. "Damn, Dumbledore. You know how to tempt a girl."

"There is one tiny, miniscule condition."

"And that is?"

Looking very much like he was trying not to laugh, he said, "Well, as you know, I have a vacancy for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts…"

~#~

This was a mistake.

In a fit of pique, Violet shoved the stack of papers, propped open textbook, and a half-full inkwell off the desk into a clattering pile on the floor.

"Merlin, Violet," Sirius said, looking up from his copy of the Daily Prophet. "Don't tell me you're still fighting with that book. I could take a look at it, if you want. I've got the blood, even if dear Mother would prefer to think otherwise."

At least Sirius didn't seem to be avoiding her anymore. She hadn't seen any other signs of Summer's influence since his brief fit in the bathroom, though she wasn't naive enough to think it was gone for good. But Sirius was stubborn, and a mortal's strength of will was his greatest asset in these kinds of situations. Letting him know that she knew something was off would probably only make things worse for him.

"No," she said with a touch of exasperation, running her hand through her hair. "I got it days ago. This is Dumbledore's fault."

"Oh, that explains it," Sirius said, grinning. "Regretting our choices, are we? I swear, this whole proposition has got to be the swottiest thing I've ever heard of. And I thought it was bad when Remus was made a prefect."

"Private lessons with Dumbledore," Violet muttered. "Private lessons with Dumbledore."

"That just makes it worse. Taking on all that work just so you can do… more work. Shameful."

"You know, when he suggested it, I thought all I'd have to do was tutor the students a bit," Violet said, getting a new inkwell and beginning to stab at another sheet of parchment. "Give them a bit of an idea of what an actual fight looks like, maybe. Not write three years of his fucking lesson plans for him."

"Well, he's a busy man," Sirius said, with poorly veiled amusement. "I'm not sure what else you were expecting."

"He must know that I was the one to get rid of Umbridge. He probably thinks it's funny to make me fill in for her."

"It was worth it though, wasn't it?"

Violet smirked. "Do you even have to ask?"

A few hours later, Violet decided enough was enough. She'd had quite enough of trying to figure out which spells were appropriate to be taught to which years. If Dumbledore didn't want second-years learning the Crushing Curse, he shouldn't have put her in charge.

She nodded to Sirius, left the house, and Disapparated with a crack. The crowded streets of Diagon Alley materialized around her, and she pulled the hood of her robes up. Some reporters had managed to get pictures of her after the battle at Hogwarts, so the general public finally had a good idea what she looked like. Probably, she should do her shopping with her head held high in some absurd public spectacle to raise peoples' spirits, but she really, really couldn't be bothered. The idea of signing autographs for mewling children while shopping for new Hogwarts robes didn't have much appeal. Let the Ministry handle that. It was about all they were good for.

And try they did. Moving posters of square-jawed Hit Wizard shouted at passersby, challenging their courage and patriotism. It was actually quite inane and clearly conceived by some stuffy panel of paper-pushers deep within the Ministry, but she supposed it was better than nothing at all.

She purchased her robes without incident. Initially, she had planned to return to Grimmauld Place afterward, but the day was still young and she had been spending more than enough time indoors as it was. She wandered from shop to shop, finding little of interest and less of value, but it was probably inevitable that she eventually ended up in the narrow way that led to Knockturn Alley. She couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for the dim, dingy place.

But she had more reason than sentimentality for coming here. Dumbledore was a genius; she had no qualms admitting that it might take her centuries to match his understanding of magic. But that didn't mean she wouldn't be checking his work.

It was strange. When she had last been in Knockturn Alley, it had been nearly desolate as rumors of the Dark Lord's return spread like quicksilver through the whisper networks and gossipers of the Alley. But now that he had actually revealed himself, it was like a spell had broken, and the Alley's denizens had remembered that, by and large, they actually supported him the first time around. By Knockturn's standards, it was practically brimming with activity. Hags scowled at normal folk and bickered in the shadows, vendors hawked protective talismans and arcane fetishes, and soot-faced urchins scampered through the street, menacing the pockets of the unwary.

Violet flicked a Sickle to one who was watching her with particular curiosity. He caught it deftly before quickly hiding it from his compatriots. He gave her a broad, yellow-toothed smile. "Thank'ee, ma'am!"

She nodded. "Things been this busy a while?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. Just recently. Lots o' foreigners lately." His eyes narrowed. "Can't be trustin' 'em. I could keep an eye out for you, if you be likin'. For a couple more o' those coins?"

"I think I'll be all right," Violet said dryly. "Run along."

The kid took off, disappearing into the crowd with slightly disturbing ease. With a brief laugh, Violet continued on her way.

Secrets Softly Whispered, the disreputable bookstore primarily responsible for her adolescent forays into the Dark Arts, looked like it had seen better days. The windows were so dirty as to be nearly as opaque as the surrounding brick, and the store's handwritten sign was hanging crookedly from one post. The door squealed as she opened it, and the scent of mildewing parchment was stronger than ever.

The owner and his grandson, one old and wizened and the other just beginning to wrinkle around the eyes, were hunched over a long scroll, gesturing violently and muttering under their breath.

"—bad enough without you blowing company funds on your juvenile delinquencies—"

"I'm thirty-seven, you crusty old bastard—"

"Crusty old bastard, eh? Why, if anyone's crusty—"

"Quiet," hissed the younger man. "Customer!"

The older man gestured vigorously for the other to deal with her. With an exaggerated sigh, he stomped over and glared at Violet. "And what do you want?"

Violet considered for a moment. "Research."

He groaned and threw his hands up in the air. "Great. Another fucking one. And what, precisely, are you researching?"

She considered again. "Spirituality."

Another groan. "Priceless." He sneered. "Well, might I suggest Madame Satrisha's trinket shop? If you're looking for incense or other trivialities, you won't find them here."

"Just a minute, sonny," the owner put in. He squinted, his milky eyes fixed on her intently. "Doesn't she look a bit familiar?"

"No. You're just going blind."

The old man shook his head before grinning. "Miss Frost!" he exclaimed, hurrying over and taking her arm. "It's a pleasure to see you again, a pleasure indeed. We've come into quite a selection of most intriguing volumes of late. I'd be happy to show you."

The younger man gave her a dirty look as recognition dawned on him and stalked away. He'd never quite got on with her since their initial meeting.

"Why thank you," she said. "I'd love to browse another time, but I'm actually looking for something a bit more specific."

"Of course, of course. How can we help you?"

Violet leaned in, only a few inches from his wrinkled ear, and whispered, "I'm interested in matters of the soul."

The man's smile died in the span of a moment. "Bit of a thorny subject, that."

"Don't worry," she said. "I have even more gems than last time."

They were, one and all, stolen from various fixtures around Grimmauld Place. Anything to avoid having to deal with the goblins.

"Well… I suppose I might have something. I bought a collection of notes off an Egyptian fellow back in '46. Couldn't make heads or tales of it to be honest, but he was sure eager to be rid of it." He continued in a whisper. "I think he might have been one of Grindelwald's men. Had that look in his eyes."

"I'll be taking that, then."

Fifteen minutes later, a small leather pouch lighter and raggedly bound notebook heavier, Violet stepped out of the shop. She flicked through it briefly and saw that it was, unsurprisingly, written in a mixture of German and ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. For all she knew, it could be an unnecessarily convoluted shopping list, but something about the ancient sigils made her think otherwise. Maybe she would bully one of lesser fae into translating it for her. By the their standards, ancient Egypt was recent history.

The streets were starting to empty now that the sun was descending. Even before Voldemort returned, most knew better than to wander Knockturn Alley at night. Most, of course, not including anyone named Weasley. And, apparently, vagrant children.

The all-too-helpful child from earlier was shadowing her. That was odd in itself. Unless she looked like an easy mark—and she didn't—there was no reason for him to linger outside Secrets Softly Whispered for however long she had been inside, waiting for her. His ilk lived or died by covering as much territory as they could, taking opportunities as they saw them. They certainly didn't stalk potentially dangerous figures through darkening streets.

After her third left turn, Violet decided that something was definitely off. The boy was demonstrating far too much skill to be believed, remaining just in eyeshot of her and occasionally allowing them to be separated by buildings or people to evade notice. Against most targets, it would probably have worked.

She took a fourth turn into a street empty except for a hunchbacked man making painfully slow progress down it and sank into the shadows beneath an awning. She slid her wand out and began to slowly tap it against the palm of her hand. She didn't have to wait long.

Incarcerous.

The ropes took him completely by surprise, and moments later he was lying on his back like an upturned tortoise, hopefully tangled. The hunchbacked man glanced over and snorted before continuing on his way.

"Oi, ma'am!" He wriggled against the ropes, face bulging oddly as they pressed into his skin. "Mercy, mercy. I was just wonderin' if you needed directions, I was."

Acting on a hunch, Violet nudged back the sleeve of his arm with a boot, ignoring his squealing protests. She smirked. "Nice holster. But next time, you might want to take one that doesn't have 'MM' stitched into it. Might help you blend in a little better."

He sighed. Then, in a voice completely missing its former distinctive accent said, "Ah, fuck me."

Violet let out a brief, amused breath at the sudden change. "If you changed back, I might consider it… Nymphadora," she said and released the Incarcerous.

The pseudo-kid let out an irritated sigh that actually sounded strangely childlike and began to expand in all directions. Violet watched the process with undisguised curiosity. Tonks's worn clothes, comically baggy before, now looked uncomfortably tight and not at all unappealing.

"How'd you know it's me?" Tonks demanded with what dignity she could muster as she climbed to her feet. "It could have just been polyjuice."

Violet rolled her eyes. "Let's just say the cross-section between people I know with Ministry-issued wand holsters who might conceivably be following me while also trying to lighten my purse is rather low. Besides, I saw you at Sirius's place less than an hour before I left."

"Oh. Damnit."

"It's quite a trick, though," Violet said. "Pity it can't be learned."

"Nope," Tonks confirmed with a prideful tilt of her chin that reminded Violet a little of Bellatrix. She wouldn't be mentioning that particular observation to Tonks, though.

"So whose idea was it to keep an eye on me?" Violet asked, starting back toward Diagon Alley. Tonks followed a few steps behind.

"Mad-Eye. I don't think he trusts you, which you should probably take as a good thing. Or maybe he just thinks you'll do something stupid and get yourself killed, which wouldn't be so much of a compliment, now that I think about it."

"Mm." Violet snickered. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you on your own again."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Tonks's eyes narrowed. "Actually, that reminds me. What the bloody hell are you doing in shady Knockturn Alley bookshops with a war on?"

Violet considered for a moment before responding with a curt, "Research."

"Oh, of course!" Tonks said, throwing her arms up. "Well, that's just wonderful, then. I feel so very relieved knowing that your 'research' led you to that bookstore—and don't think I don't see that book under your arm."

"Let me rephrase that," Violet said. "Keep your nose out of other people's business if you want to keep it."

"Please," Tonks said, snorting. "As if you could take me without a cheap shot."

"You sure about that?" Violet said, a cold edge beneath her words.

Rather than respond, Tonks squinted at her. "Y'know, you really remind me of someone when you talk like that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But she was older than you. At least, I think." She didn't sound convinced. It was probably only matter of time until she connected Violet with 'Valentina,' which might be a little awkward. Violet hadn't exactly held the Unforgivable Curses that night in the dueling club.

"Well, as simply lovely as this has been," Violet drawled, "it's getting late, and I wouldn't want to take any unnecessary risks. I'd tell you to look away to avoid putting you in a conflict of interest, but…" She winked. "I think I might actually enjoy it if you tried to arrest me for underage Apparition."

Tonks opened her mouth to speak, but Violet was already gone.

~#~

Aside from a handful of particularly cruel incidents of muggle-baiting, there still hadn't been many signs of Death Eater activity. The Daily Prophet gleefully theorized that perhaps they had suffered greater losses than initially believed and that, perhaps, the war would be over before it even began. After all, could anyone even be certain that You-Know-Who had indeed risen again, they asked, when the only evidence was a slaughtered Unspeakable security team who certainly wouldn't be making any eyewitness testimonies?

Violet didn't think many people bought it. It was hard to swallow that such a precisely coordinated assault could have occurred without a clear leader, and who could possibly unite the dark factions but the Dark Lord? Violet had another theory for the lull in the fighting. Only Voldemort himself could have triggered the trap on the false prophecy she left in the Department of Mysteries, and though she was under no illusions that it had killed him, Winter magic often left long-term debilitating injuries. In any case, for whatever reason, the tentative stillness was continuing, and it was starting to look like she actually would be ending up back at Hogwarts, which led her to her current project.

It was probably not a good idea. But it certainly had the potential to be an entertaining idea.

Admittedly, it was partially selfish. Violet had been able to translate just enough of the notebook she purchased to convince herself that it might actually contain something useful. But she didn't have time to waste studying yet another ancient language. So, instead she was taking a slightly roundabout approach. Besides, she thought Satria would quite enjoy seeing Hogwarts.

The theory was relatively simple; a fae could voluntarily spend only a single day and night on Earth, though most didn't bother with even that. However, a mortal invitation could change that. There were limits, of course. The fair folk weren't meant to mingle overlong with the mundane, and as days turned to weeks, the cost grew ever greater, and the risks higher. Sometimes, she wondered just what would have happened if she hadn't put an end to the Unspeakable's experiments with Maeve's agent. Catastrophic was just one of many words that came to mind.

Still, a day or two shouldn't carry a risk too high or a cost too great, as long as certain precautions were taken. For one thing, she wouldn't be sending a completely unrestricted invitation into the ether the way her mother apparently had. That Satria had been the one to answer the invitation rather than any of the myriad beings of the Wyld that wouldn't have even briefly hesitated to speak to her before going on a wild killing spree was almost fateful.

On second thought, it probably actually was.

There were no set formulas for this sort of magic. If there were books that spoke of it, they were probably listed as fiction. Nor did the fae have any knowledge of it; some things were for mortals alone. But with her unique insight and intimate knowledge of her subject, she thought she could manage it.

Ivory was a given, and probably some soft, white silk as well. The flesh of wild game, maybe. A drop of blood would complete the ritual, of course. That would hopefully be specific enough to avoid accidentally bringing something other than Satria through. The last time she had been to the Wyld, it had been in turmoil, with ancient forces stirring for the first time in millennia. The risk of an invitation going awry was likely higher than ever.

With a brief hum of satisfaction, Violet finished the last stroke of the ritual circle and closed her notebook. Performing the actual ritual would have to wait until she got back to Hogwarts. There weren't many places in Britain as magically potent as the Forbidden Forest, and she wanted to make sure she had the best chance of success possible. And, if she was waiting anyway, she might as well do it properly and wait for the winter equinox.

Sirius's home was quiet these days. With the Weasleys returned to their newly warded residence and the initial fervor of Order activity slowing, it was almost peaceful. At first, Violet had appreciated the sudden calm, but since her trip to Diagon and Knockturn, it had begun to bother her. She had spent the last few months justifying her inaction with the thought that once things began, she'd be wishing for time to waste.

Well, the game was on, but it seemed like no one was interested in heeding the starting gun. The Ministry huddled like a wounded animal, while Dumbledore chased ghosts and the Death Eaters whiled away the days toying with muggles. She suspected that if she was uncomfortable with the false peace, she was in ample company.

~#~

"Bellatrix."

The witch twisted about before falling to one knee with a throaty gasp. "Master."

The Dark Lord, in all his resplendent majesty, favored her with an indulgent smile. "Rise, Bella," he said. "I saw Lucius acquired another of his peacocks in my absence. A fine powder blue."

"Foul thing," Bellatrix muttered. "But, oh, what of it? My Lord, it is good that you have returned. If it is not too bold, what was it that carried you away from Britain? I admit to being concerned when you didn't join us in regrouping after the victories of Halloween, but I can see now that you must have been pursuing still greater ends! Favor from the continent, perhaps a great weapon?"

"Not quite," said the Dark Lord, voice laden with a dark menace. Bellatrix shivered, though not from fear. "I was… indisposed, recovering from a most malignant curse sustained in the Department of Mysteries." His gaze sharpened still further. "You will share that with no one, of course."

She dipped her head. "I swear, My Lord."

Now that he was closer, she could see that patches of his skin were pink as if recently regrown, and the fingers of his left hand quivered almost imperceptibly, seemingly outside of his control. A familiar hot ball of anger began to gather in her gut at the thought of her Lord injured. Whoever was responsible would pay, and if she could, it would be her who exacted that vengeance.

"Very good, Bella. I know that I can trust you." The Dark Lord turned, robes swirling in his wake, and began to pace around her. He abruptly stopped, as still as amber. "Now, tell me of Violet Potter."

Bellatrix flinched. "I… my lord, I failed. And Barty is dead for it."

"Fear not," the Dark Lord said and brushed her chin with a long finger, bringing her gaze up to meet his. "She is something more than any of us expected. I do not hold you to blame; after all, you were not the one to assure me she was little more than a schoolgirl with a cluttered mind."

Letting out a shuddering breath, Bellatrix marveled that, surely, there could be nothing more beautiful than her Lord's fury directed at another. The power behind his every word and mannerism never failed to remind her just why she had been drawn to him so long ago. Still, she found herself wanting to find some way to raise his spirits. The last thing she wanted him to return to after weeks abroad was a listing of his followers' failures.

"We got the lunatic professor," she said eagerly. "I've been trying to get her to talk, but the wrinkled old bitch is surprisingly stubborn. But I'll get it for you, My Lord. I'll rip it out of her by the week's end."

The Dark Lord broke into abrupt, incongruous laughter. "Oh, Bella," he said. "I suppose I should have told you that seers cannot consciously recall their own prophecies. Coaxing the information free will require something subtler than your own brand of encouragement, though I do appreciate the thought behind your attempts."

"Still, well done," he continued. "I trust Rodolphus escaped unharmed?"

"He did. But… Marks and Rowle were killed."

"Aurors?"

Bellatrix shook her head. "Yaxley got to see the bodies, and he thinks Marks at least was struck by a Killing Curse."

"And Rowle?"

"Strangulation and… frostbite."

The Dark Lord's smile was as thin and cold as a blade. "Potter."

A cold drop of sweat ran down Bellatrix's back at the memory of her encounter with the girl. She had been more out of practice than she had thought. No matter how good Potter was, there was a time when it wouldn't have mattered. Once, none save her master or Dumbledore could have hoped to face her. Next time, it would be different.

"My thoughts exactly," Bellatrix said, her voice little more than a hiss. "There is something about her, something about her magic that isn't normal. It's some sort of ruse, I am certain. Master, allow me to rectify my failure and bring her before you. I swear, I will not fail again!"

"I would not be so assured," the Dark Lord said. "If my suspicions are correct, she harbors a secret that makes her more dangerous than even Dumbledore. Still… perhaps more knowledge would not go remiss. Very well, you may strike against her, but exercise caution. An indirect approach may bear fruit."

"You are most wise, My Lord."

He chuckled. Even though it had been several months since she was reunited with him, Bellatrix was still often taken aback by the surprising humanity of his new form. Only a genius of his caliber could have cheated death and somehow come out more whole than before.

"Oh, and one last thing." He turned to look back at her. "Have Lucius send any collections of the old stories to my rooms for my perusal."

"Old stories, Master?"

"Yes. Faerie tales."

~#~

The door to Dumbledore's office banged open with more force than was strictly necessary, and Severus Snape stalked through. With no more than a brusque greeting, he began.

"The Dark Lord has seen fit to reveal himself to his followers once more."

Dumbledore looked up from his desk, where Fawkes was making a mess out of an overturned inkpot and several sheets of parchment. "Curious," he said. "I do wonder what could have drawn his attention for weeks on end so soon after his followers struck their first blow. He would not have given up that initiative without a very good reason."

Snape spread his arms in a sarcastically dramatic gesture. "Wonder no more. The responsibility falls to none other than your little pet monstrosity. Apparently, after her diversion to the Department of Mysteries, she saw fit to leave behind a little booby trap. I would guess that it's likely the Dark Lord was severely injured by it and was unwilling to let his followers see him in a weakened state." He scowled. "You'll be pleased to know that he was most unhappy with me for describing her as lacking any significant talent. Thank you again for that particular suggestion."

Dumbledore, as was his insufferable habit, completely ignored the insincerity in his words. "No, Severus, thank you for taking that risk. I'm sure Violet would appreciate it as well." He tapped his fingers together. "I take it he will have greater interest in her in the future?"

"Oh, you could say that," Snape said, laughing darkly. "Somehow, he's come to the conclusion that whatever magic was behind the trap was in some sense other. Don't ask me to explain what in Merlin's name that's supposed to mean, but he seems to be becoming disturbingly obsessed with the girl and the ludicrously suspicious circumstances of her disappearance."

"Other," Dumbledore repeated. A shadow seemed to flicker over his face, but it was gone in a moment. "I will think on this. Do you believe she is in immediate danger?"

"I don't know," Snape said. "Considering she murdered five people—including two of my students, mind you—in one day, I think the real question is whether the students are in danger from her." At Dumbledore's look of reproach, he gave a disgusted sigh. "Oh, very well. There's a chance he'll try to test her in some way, but probably not personally. He seems… wary, for lack of a better word."

"We shall have to remain vigilant in any case," Dumbledore said.

"Lovely. More work thanks to Potter. What a joyous day."

"I'm sure she will more than make up for any inconvenience by helping to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts vacancy."

Snape stared at him in sheer incredulity. "You're having her teach?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"A student."

"I think it's clear that she's more than qualified and possesses a uniquely valuable perspective. Why, by the time I was her age, I had all but taken over for Professor Halthorp, though in retrospect that may have been due to his unfortunate fondness for mulled wine."

"She's qualified, and I'm bloody not?" The words exploded from Snape mouth, and once begun, there was no stopping them. "Over a decade of asking for the position, and you give it to the spawn of James Potter. That curse must have rotted your mind."

"Pax, Severus," Dumbledore said. "She will merely be giving me some much needed assistance. After all, I am, as you so aptly put it, rotting away."

Muttering viciously under his breath, Snape approached Dumbledore and gestured for him to hold out his arm. He pulled back the sleeve and scowled. The corruption had spread far enough up his forearm that the white glove no longer entirely covered it.

"It's spreading faster than I expected," Snape said. "The potion must be losing effectiveness. I'll start working on a countermeasure."

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, with a gentle smile. "I have complete faith in you."

"Yes, well," Snape said, feeling slightly off balance as discussions with Dumbledore so often left him, "I can't have you dying and leaving me alone with Potter, now can I?"

AN: Well, better late than never. I've been pretty busy lately, so future chapters will probably come closer to the two week mark than one, by I'll do my best all the same. Thanks for reading.

Note: This chapter was edited on 2/13/2022 to fix an inconsistency with an earlier chapter (I forgot that Violet already knew Voldemort's name here.) It's a minor change, so there's no need to reread.