Violet had underestimated just how differently the student body would treat her after the events of Halloween. It seemed that the recess from Hogwarts had provided just enough time for rumors to spread and already inaccurate information to become absurd. Some reactions made sense. It was one thing to tell stories of a baby somehow overcoming the darkest wizard when the only possible explanations required an almost spiritual suspension of disbelief, but when infamous Death Eaters started dying in ways that were very much material, people took notice. Others were more bewildering. What her hairstyle had to do anything, and what business it was of Witch Weekly's, was probably better not to think about, all things considered.

Some people tried to get closer to her. Others stayed away. She started replying with cursed letters to reporters who wouldn't take no for an answer, which cleared up the problem nicely. Along with her rather fascinating meetings with Dumbledore, things were looking up. Sure, people were dying, but at least they had the decency not to do it in eyeshot.

And really, all one had to do to raise their spirits was to thank the heavens they weren't on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Violet smiled into into a sheet of parchment as the muddy and bedraggled bunch stumbled back into the common room long after sundown for the nth time. After what had by all accounts been a heartbreaking defeat in their first game, Angelina Johnson appeared to be obsessively driving them in an attempt to make up for the missed practices during Hogwarts's closure. Personally, Violet suspected all this self-improvement was a lost cause. You couldn't unearth talent where none existed. If someone asked her, and no one had, she would suggest focusing less on improving the Gryffindor team and more on sabotaging the competition. With a simple strategic campaign of demoralization and sabotage, the Gryffindors might actually reclaim the cup for the first time in over a decade.

Violet sarcastically gave them a thumbs up. "Looking good, Fred, George. The Bludger decide to fight back today?"

"The bloody Bludger isn't the problem," George grumbled. "It's the Seeker who literally couldn't find the Snitch if it flew up their arse. I don't know what Angelina's playing at with all these practices. At this rate, we'll lose to Hufflepuff."

"Why play at all, then?"

Both Fred and George stared at her incredulously. "It's Quidditch."

Sometimes, Violet really couldn't understand people.

The twins stormed up the dorms to shower, but she had only just returned to her work when by someone clearing their throat. One of the younger boys—Connor Cross, she recalled, as he had demonstrated an unusual aptitude for curses in Defense lessons—awkwardly proffered a sealed envelope.

"I'm to give this to you," he said. At least he could meet her eyes. That put him ahead of most of the younger students.

She briefly thanked him and took the envelope, breaking the seal and pulling out a short note.

Please come to my office as soon as is convenient for you. There has been a development.

- Dumbledore

Violet balled the note and tossed it into the fireplace. This was already odd. Dumbledore had been absent without warning for the past few days, leaving her to deal with two Defense classes alone. She had taken spiteful revenge by instructing the second years in the Howling Hex, which they had promptly put to gleeful and chaotic use throughout the halls of Hogwarts. Even now, if she concentrated, she thought she could make out a warbling shriek from somewhere on the lower floors.

Besides, what could be urgent enough to summon her this late at night? It had better be something more important than more of Dumbledore's memories, amusing as it had been to see him with ginger hair.

The bright moon cast an ethereal air upon the nighttime halls of Hogwarts, and she found herself stepping more lightly as if in sympathy. An excited shiver ran up her spine with seemingly no cause, and she became certain that whatever Dumbledore might wish to speak to her about, the night would not end uneventfully.

Gingerly easing open the door, Violet stepped into Dumbledore's office and was surprised to see it already had several occupants. Dumbledore was at his desk. Snape stared unreadably at her as she entered. Tonks, sitting across from Dumbledore, looked up at her entrance and raised her eyebrows in an expression of surprise.

The fourth figure was more mysterious. They were of average height and build, with a hood pulled over their head that utterly obscured their features. With a start, Violet realized that she had seen that kind of unnatural shadow before, on the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries. Though this person did not wear the signature robes, there was little doubt who they were.

"This is the third?" the Unspeakable asked in a thousand echoing voices. The haunting tone made it impossible to pick up any inflection.

"I assure you, I do not involve her lightly. Suffice to say that she is more qualified for this particular role than anyone else in the room," Dumbledore said grimly.

Snape snorted.

"Wait just a minute," Tonks put in. "Firstly, hi, Violet. But I really hope you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

Snape scoffed. "Miss Tonks, I assure you that by the headmaster's standards, this is practically reasonable."

"Enough. We are wasting time." The Unspeakable turned to Dumbledore. "All is prepared?"

"Excuse me," Violet said, "but was anyone planning on explaining what the fuck is going on?"

"I think I'd like to hear the answer to that one too," Tonks said, frowning. She jerked her head at the Unspeakable. "And who the hell is that?"

"I have, at times, worked with Dumbledore over the years. As it seems we are now faced with a matter of great urgency, I am forced to take a more active role. That is all you need know."

"Great urgency?" Violet asked. "What's urgent?"

"Severus, if you would?" Dumbledore said.

Snape grimaced but began to report in sharp, clipped sentences. "Just earlier, the Dark Lord began to organize a rushed raid to capture a former Unspeakable. It seems that this particular fool has some significance that I am apparently unworthy of being entrusted with by either our dear headmaster or the Dark Lord, leading to this farce."

"Succinct," the Unspeakable said, "but incomplete. Specifically, the Unspeakable in question—who we may, for clarity's sake, refer to as Echo and myself as Adept, headed the project codenamed 'Cold Room.'"

Violet cursed viciously, and the temperature in the room plunged. Tonks shivered and looked around in confusion.

"He knows," Violet hissed. "Dumbledore, I have told no one but you and Sirius. How could he know?"

"Certainly not from me, and in my estimation, not from Sirius either. Alas, I feel the most likely explanation is the least reassuring. You have amply demonstrated unusual magics in the presence of his followers, many of whom have the experience to recognize them as such. Naturally, this would have led him to explore all possible avenues to explain his followers' defeat at your hands. This would seem to be the logical conclusion of his research."

Snape's eyes narrowed as he took the conversation in, a calculating look coming over him. Violet put good odds on him doing whatever it took to learn just what they were talking about, even if it meant wheedling it out of Voldemort. Adept was entirely impassive, which might mean they were hanging onto every word or, just as likely, already knew everything.

"And if he gets Echo…" Violet trailed off. The possibilities were concerning, to say the least. Voldemort's current understanding of the Fair Folk was likely shaky and tainted by myth, but this Unspeakable had actually constructed an artificial arch—who knew what Voldemort would learn from him. Dire thoughts of an alliance between Voldemort and Summer, who would be all too happy to deal with Violet once and for all, came to mind, among other even more concerning possibilities.

Dumbledore nodded. "I imagine the results could be quite catastrophic."

"Apocalyptic," corrected Adept's chorus of voices.

"Right, then," Violet said, gathering herself. "Who will be going, besides me?"

It was Dumbledore who answered.

"Regrettably, the force will consist only of yourself, Nymphadora, and Adept." His expression flickered. "It would… imprudent for me to exert myself, and Severus cannot risk his cover."

Violet let out a sharp hiss. No Dumbledore, and Voldemort would definitely be there. This wouldn't be easy.

"Just three?" she asked. "What, is the Order on holiday?"

Snape, sneering, put in, "Before the Dark Lord even began to gather his team of his best duelists, he ordered indiscriminate strikes across Britain. The Order is spread far too thin to possibly mobilize in time, as he obviously predicted."

"It is fortunate, then, that Nymphadora was already stationed at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said mildly.

"It's bloody Tonks," she muttered, but her hair was flashing erratically between colors, suggesting that she too realized the gravity of the situation.

"How long do we have?" Violet asked.

"It is likely the assault has already begun," Snape said. "However, it may take them some time to work through the defenses. Apparently, we have an advantage there."

"I am acquainted with Echo and will be able to bypass the protections," Adept smoothly added. "In exchange, I would appreciate it if you ensured no harm befell him."

"We'll do our best," Tonks said, getting up. "Where are we going?"

"Switzerland," Dumbledore said. "This, at least, I can assist with."

Gingerly, he rose and selected an unassuming book from his collections. With a tap of his wand and a muttered word, the book flashed blue for a moment under the Portkey charm. He laid it on his desk and took a step back. "Activate it again when you are ready to return."

Violet's anticipation spiked. This was happening. She was about to measure herself against Lord Voldemort and could only hope she would not be found wanting. Not fifteen minutes ago, she'd been exchanging playful barbs with the Weasley twins. It was funny how these things tended to happen when you were most complacent.

She flicked her wand into her hand, and a silent spell later, her sword sailed through the doorway into her hand. She secured it to her waist as Snape gave the weapon a disgusted look.

"Are we really doing this?" Tonks asked. "I mean, Merlin, she's a student. I know that after Halloween… but still."

"Relax," Violet said, moving into arm's reach of the Portkey. Adept moved silently to match her. "I'll protect you."

Snape opened his mouth, presumably to add another acerbic comment, but Tonks joined them before he could, and the sensation of a hook settled somewhere around Violet's sternum before yanking them all into the aether.

~#~

The Portkey deposited them somewhere in a field, with short blades of grass only just managing to stick through the light snowfall. Adept performed some sort of charm and nodded.

"We're close. I will Side-Along you the rest of the way."

"Can you take us both at once?" Tonks asked.

"No."

"I'll go first, then," Tonks said firmly.

Violet shrugged, and Tonks and Adept vanished with a crack. She bounced on the balls of her feet in anticipation, bleeding off anticipatory energy. A few moments later, Adept reappeared next to her and offered her an arm.

Space twisted once again, and she now found herself buffeted by fierce winds and tiny flecks of ice. The icy ground beneath them sloped gently upward, before eventually steepening into mountains. Farther lowland, the lights of a town could be just made out through the haze.

"Bloody cold," Tonks complained. "How high up are we?"

"Only a few thousand meters," Adept replied. "But Echo's actual home is considerably higher. However, we will have to cross the actual wardline on foot before Apparating the rest of the way."

Violet frowned. "With how seriously this guy's taking security and the Unspeakables' general… secretiveness, how did Voldemort even learn he was in charge of the Cold Room?"

"There are no ideological barriers to entrance into the Unspeakables," Adept said. "It seems that policy may have betrayed us."

"No shit," Tonks muttered. "No one could possibly have guessed that hiring people who really like the idea of being able to research whatever they want without others seeing could have some overlap with the Death Eaters."

Adept tilted their head, somehow managing to look unimpressed despite their features being obscured. "Your opinion is hardly relevant. Come. It is not far."

Violet, more comfortable in the wintry environment, naturally gravitated to the front of the group as they moved up the mountain. Not long later, she stopped short, holding one hand up in front of her. Though it could not be seen, she could sense a practical wall of concentrated magic just ahead.

"It's here."

"Indeed."

Adept produced a short black rod from their robes, shiny like polished ceramic. Gripping it like a rapier, they motioned in midair as if turning a key in a lock. Suddenly, the overpowering emanation of magic vanished.

"Cross, quickly," Adept said, pocketing the rod.

Violet stepped across the threshold, Tonks not far behind, and both her eyebrows shot up in surprise. The ethereal weight of anti-Apparition wards pressed down on her, but that wasn't what had caught her attention. The freezing mountainside had been replaced by rolling green grass, a picturesque full moon, and a small house—no more than a cottage, really—sat cheerfully a few hundred meters away. The kind of magic it would take to hide something like this, on top of controlling the weather, was considerable.

"Pretty impressive setup," she said. "Is this the standard Unspeakable retirement package? Because if so, I…"

She trailed off. Adept hadn't followed them across the threshold. Turning, her eyes narrowed. "Aren't you coming?"

Adept slowly shook their head. "My role ends here. I suggest you do not linger long."

"That wasn't the plan!" Tonks barked, gripping her wand with whitened fingers. "How the fuck are we supposed to know this isn't a trap if you're backing out now?"

"I suppose you don't," Adept said even more coldly than before. "But seeing as you won't be able to get back through without the assistance of Echo or myself, you don't seem to have much choice. I would apologize, but I'm afraid I put rather too great a value on my own continued existence to go up against the likes of You-Know-Who. I wish you the best of luck."

Tonks muttered profanity under her breath, practically steaming with anger. Violet just watched, impassive.

"Well, it doesn't look like we have any choice," Tonks said eventually. "Let's go find the damned Unspeakable."

Violet cocked her head slightly, not responding. The barrier was potent. She wasn't sure how Voldemort planned to get past—maybe his contact in the Unspeakables had provided a solution, or maybe he was just that good at curse breaking—but she certainly wouldn't be able to break through without hours of effort and enough light and sound to alert every last Death Eater in the area. But for all that, Adept seemed to have overlooked something too.

Quick as a striking snake, her wand was drawing a jagged line through the air.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Stupid. An Unspeakable should have known that not even the strongest magical protections could block a Killing Curse.

"Fuck!" Tonks shouted, jumping back. "What the fuck?"

"I don't take kindly to treachery," Violet said. Adept's body lay face up in the snow just outside the wardline, faceless even in death.

Tonks grimaced. "Neither do I, but that was an Unforgivable."

"I assure you, it's unlikely to be the only one you see tonight." Turning away from the body, Violet shrugged. "Well, I suppose there's nothing for it. Let's go."

"Fine," Tonks hissed. "But we'll talk about this later."

"Oh, please." Violet rolled her eyes. "Are you saying you'd rather they got away with it? Spare me the sanctimonious performance. There's no one here to appreciate it."

Tonks shook her head. "You're one fucked up kid, you know that?" She sounded almost appreciative. "I suppose we should be glad you're on our side."

Entirely seriously, Violet nodded. "Yeah. You really should."

They began to advance on the cottage, but the completely open space, well illuminated by the full moon, was enough to make Violet's skin crawl. "Disillusion?" she asked.

Tonks nodded briefly and performed a capable Disillusionment Charm. Violet mirrored her and whispered, "Homenum Revelio."

"Looks clear for now. Maybe they haven't got in yet."

A quick, nervous grin flashed over Tonks's face. "That'd be nice, wouldn't it?"

They crept forward. Violet switched her wand to her left hand and rested her right on the pommel of her sword, the smooth steel a comforting reassurance. The grass rustled under a warm breeze.

"Should we knock, you reckon?" Tonks asked as they reached the door. Secure in the shadows beneath the eaves, they allowed their Disillusionment Charms to lapse.

Violet made a vaguely negative sound. "For all we know, Voldemort himself could be standing on the other side. Let's not do him the favor of politely alerting him."

"What, then?" Tonks asked. "The wood's clearly charmed. Look, the paint's not even chipped."

"Against magic, sure. Give me some space."

Tonks took a position to the left of the door, looking slightly puzzled. Violet shrugged her shoulders and firmly planted one foot, then abruptly slammed her boot into the door just under the latch. Wood splintered, large splinters shearing off as the bolt was torn through the wood, and Violet leapt to the side, half expecting a volley of curses to streak through the opening. But only silence answered.

"A little warning?" Tonks snapped. A wayward smile broke through her expression. "Nice kick, though."

Violet grinned briefly in response, then held up three fingers, counting down. As she clenched her fist, the two of them swept into the room simultaneously. Judging by its size, the cottage couldn't possibly consist of more than a few rooms, which meant that if the Death Eaters weren't already cursing them, they probably weren't here yet. This might not be too difficult after all.

"What the hell?" Tonks said, staring around. The room, a vast reception hall with none of the rustic humility of the exterior, was larger than the entire building when viewed from the outside. Three doors branched out in different directions, and Violet sighed. She really shouldn't have tempted fate.

~#~

"We've been here before," Tonks insisted. "I remember that headless bust—Merlin, that's gaudy. Who actually lives like this?"

"Shh." Violet held a hand up. "Let me think."

Whoever had laid out these twisting passages certainly seemed to have been more interested in demonstrating their prodigious ability in casting Extension Charms than in actually creating a sane living space. Keeping track of all the rooms' spatial relations was starting to become taxing, and she was a bloody Occlumens. She doubted this Echo had much company over.

"This way," she finally said. "The other corridor would take us back to the bathroom, I think. We haven't gone this way before."

"Right."

It was impossible to tell just how large this place was. For all they knew, they might stumble on their target in the next room. Or, they might be here for hours. What was worse, there was no telling just what kind of unpleasant surprises might be lurking. Even aside from the Death Eaters, there was always the possibility that Echo had prepared a welcoming committee for unplanned guests.

The floor was carpeted and they moved silently, so when faint voices reached Violet's ears, she was just able to make them out.

"…can't be far now…"

"…make sure to check…"

Violet gently tapped Tonks on the shoulder and put a finger to her lips and pointed in the direction of the voices. Tonks's eyes widened and she nodded. Together they crept closer. By the sound of it, there were only two men, they were definitely looking for something, and they were coming closer. Quickly.

"Disillusion," she whispered.

They hurriedly took up position near the back of the room, behind a well-stocked bookcase. Just seconds later, two wizards in black robes with ornate silver masks swept in, wands raised. Violet tensed.

One grunted in discontent. "Nothing. Merlin's arse, this is getting ridiculous. I'm starting to feel like rat in a maze."

"Hang on," said the other. "Best to check, right?"

He flicked his wand, and there was a flash of white light. A swooping, plunging sensation a bit like diving into a lake washed over Violet, and her Disillusionment Charm dissolved around her. She cursed and sprang to her feet, even as the Death Eaters reeled in surprise. Fantastic. Just fantastic.

"Bombarda!"

"Viscera Expuslo!"

"Crucio!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Curses flew wildly, ricocheting off shields and scorching and burning the walls and furniture. In the cramped space, the fight was brief and deadly. A dull gray curse partially seeped through Violet's shield, and she felt sharp pain erupt in her side as a rib cracked before fading in a wave of numbing cold. In response, she drew her sword while lunging forward, transforming the motion into a draw cut that sent blood spattering to the floor, soon joined by the Death Eater's still-masked head thudding wetly, then rolling under a burning ottoman.

Spinning on her heels, Violet saw that Tonks had got the better of the of the other Death Eater, who was now on the ground, trussed up as tightly as a holiday roast. Without hesitating, she stepped over and plunged the sword into his chest, then twisted. He jerked, then fell still.

Blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes, she turned to Tonks. "You all right?"

"Yeah," she said, breathing heavily. She briefly glanced at the dead man as Violet pulled her sword free, then looked away. "You're quick."

"Not quick enough," Violet muttered, testing her ribs and wincing. A sound, like a heavy door slamming open, caught her attention, and her head snapped up, listening intently.

"Must have heard," she said. "Let's get the hell out of here before Voldemort shows up."

"No kidding."

They headed away from the sound as best as they could, but before long it became clear that they were being chased. Heavy footfalls and shouts hounded them, and by the sound of it, there were a lot of them.

"Colloportus," Tonks barked, sealing a door behind them. "Think we lost them?"

In answer, dust and wood splinters erupted into the room as a series of Piercing Curses ripped through the wall, sending them both diving to the ground.

"I'm going to take that as a 'fuck no'," Violet responded casually. Rolling onto her elbow, she hissed, "Intus Abrumpitur!" and a tiny, brilliant white light darted from her wand, penetrating the wall before detonating on the other side. The rolling overpressure made her ears pop, and a rafter broke loose from the ceiling, falling with a crash as dust billowed from all corners of the room.

Violet heard Tonks let out an exultant whoop, made distant by the ringing in her ears, but she didn't relax. Something told her that they hadn't earned more than a temporary reprieve. Gesturing with her hand for Tonks to follow, they retreated deeper into the mansion, sealing more doors behind them and leaving clouds of choking smoke and maliciously animated furniture.

The fundamental problem was that they had no idea where they needed to go, or even where they were. For all they knew, Echo had already escaped or was captured or dead. If Adept hadn't proven to be such a coward, they might have been able to help them navigate the oversized mansion, but as it was, they were left with little more than guesswork. Worse, without Echo, there was no clear way for them to even retreat. Violet certainly wasn't keen to test herself against an Unspeakable's anti-Apparition wards, though if the alternative was Voldemort flanked by his most loyal, she might not have much of a choice.

A faint, rising trill broke the steady rhythm of footfalls and heavy breaths. Violet's attention snapped to the side, light flooding the room from the tip of her wand. Standing in the middle of the room, and to all appearances utterly unconcerned by the night's chaos, was an inky black cat.

"What the hell?" Tonks said, staring.

Violet eyed the cat suspiciously. Something about this felt just a little off, and when the cat's eyes flickered orange for just a moment, that was confirmation enough. She rolled her eyes.

"Follow it," she said curtly. "I have funny feeling it's going to lead us where we need to go."

"Er, what?" Tonks looked befuddled. "You do realize it's a cat, right?"

In the driest way possible, Violet replied, "I do seem to have a way with the damned things."

The cat gave them what could only be described as a contemptuous look, then flicked its tail in an unmistakable gesture. Tonks threw her hands up in despair. "Oh, why not. The night's been mad from the start. I suppose this is only fitting."

~#~

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Violet asked, looking between the cat and the completely unremarkable expanse of wall it had led them to. "Because this along with the fountain, I can't say I think much of your sense of humor."

The cat hissed and thudded its tail against the wall. Tonks just stared incredulously at the ludicrous scene.

"Yes, I see it. It's a wall. Brilliantly done."

The cat began to growl, low and discontent. Violet drew breath to deliver another pithy comment, but Tonks broke in first.

"Maybe it's an illusion?"

"And maybe I'm a—wait. That could be it, actually." It could be some sort of safe room, cunningly concealed in plain sight.

Finite. Revelio. Mysteria Revelio.

Violet glared at the stubborn expanse of wall. There was something there. The ever-present glamours and illusions of the Winter Court had taught her to see the unseen, but this was no simple illusion. It felt perfectly solid, and in many ways it probably was. It was akin, perhaps, to the barrier of Platform Nine and Three Quarters in that it could selectively shift between illusion and reality.

She delved into ever more esoteric magics in her attempts to pierce the veil over the wall, but to no avail. She was about to try something a bit more direct and explosive when a bored, muffled voice came through the wall.

"You needn't bother," the man said. "You aren't going to get through, and all the valuables are out there with you."

Violet froze, mid-cast. "Echo?"

"Echo? Echo?" the man mocked. "No, I can't hear one. Fuck off."

"Oi," put in Tonks, "We're here to help you. I'm an Auror."

"Sure. Pull the other one, will you?"

"Enough," Violet said, jerking her hand in a cutting-off motion. "Echo, you're not being robbed. Lord Voldemort himself is here, and he's very interested in talking to you about your research. On a somewhat related note, Maeve sends her regards."

In reality, the Winter Queen had almost certainly never even learned the man's name during their brief and ill-fated alliance, but it would probably serve to make him jump.

Dead silence followed.

"All right. I'm coming out," he said, voice shaky and absent of its earlier sarcastic assurance. Slowly, the wallpaper's patterns to distort, smearing into each other like wet paint, before the wall vanished entirely revealing a spacious, if sparsely furnished, room stocked with jars of preserved food. Echo was a man somewhat past middle-age, which would likely put him in his seventies or eighties in magical terms. He looked very pale indeed and rather lost in his luxurious silk pyjamas. Violet rolled her eyes at the sight.

As the wall faded, the orange tint disappeared from the cat's eyes, replaced by a more natural yellowed blue. It gave them one final look of feline superiority before stalking off.

"Come through," Echo said, gesturing toward the interior of the safe room. "I have a tunnel leading out to the back of my property. We'll come up just inside the wardline, and from there, we should be able to make a run for it." He did a double take as Violet came nearer and his jaw dropped. "Violet Potter?"

"In the flesh," she replied and feigned a bow. "I must say, I have a bit of a bone to pick with you once we get out of here. Your little project's caused me a great deal of inconvenience."

If anything, he paled further.

The underground escape route was very cramped, forcing them to crawl along the raw stone. Judging by Echo's labored breathing, he wasn't much of a fan of confined spaces illuminated only by tenuous wandlight. At one point, the muffled voices of Death Eaters on the floor above them reached them, and they all stopped, scarcely breathing.

Bootfalls sounded through the flooring. A woman with a slight French accent spoke. "I found them. They're both dead. Amateurs."

"Watch your mouth, mercenary," a man growled. "They were true believers. Was it the Unspeakable?"

"How the fuck should I know?"

Discomforted murmurs rippled between the Death Eaters, and Violet began to carefully crawl forward once more. Then a new voice, devoid of any kind warmth, spoke, making Violet' skin prickle.

"I think not… Our quarry hides like a cornered rat as another competes with us to reach him first." A dry chuckle. "I warned you she might come. It would be a mistake to underestimate her in any way, perhaps your last…"

Tonks glanced backward, meeting Violet's eyes. "Do you think that's him?" she mouthed.

Violet shrugged in a how-am-I-supposed-to-know way, but gestured to keep moving. Lingering here, just meters away from the enemy, was putting her on edge. A single presence revealing spell could spell disaster, but if they just made it out, Voldemort would be left searching the mansion for hours, only to come to the embarrassing discovery that they had already escaped—

An invisible wave passed through her, tingling as it passed. She jolted, banging her head on the low ceiling. A fragile moment of silence followed.

Tonks's eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to speak. "Bollocks—"

A piercing bang came down from above, accompanied by a shockwave palpable even through the dirt and stone. Cracks spread through the tunnel's roof and dust filled it, ruining visibility and making them cough. Another explosion followed a moment later, and then a third.

"What the hell are you waiting for, written orders? Fucking move!"

Violet pressed herself to the side of the tunnel, letting Echo squeeze past. At least this way she could make sure he actually kept moving, which, by his shell-shocked expression, was very much an open question.

Behind them, the tunnel finally collapsed with an awful finality. There really was no way but forward now. At least the bombardment had stopped, now that there were a number of doors and wall between the Death Eaters and their location.

Straining to hear, Violet managed to pick out the voice that was probably Voldemort's give the order to follow them. Whatever happened, a clean escape seemed to have become a pipe dream.

"Here," Echo eventually gasped, finally able to stand in a cylindrical chamber slightly more spacious than the rest of the tunnel. A metal ladder led up to the surface.

Tonks regarded the ladder grimly. "I'll go first. You two make a run for it while I make a distraction."

Echo looked like he thought that was quite a good idea, but Violet scoffed. "Come off it. Voldemort would blast you without a second's thought. He'll probably want to at least talk to me."

She still didn't look convinced, but Violet just grinned. "Don't worry. Dumbledore sent me here for a reason, yeah? Let me do my job."

"Well—I mean—oh, I don't know!" Tonks threw her hands up in the air. "Fine, go fight You-Know-Who on your own, then. Everyone else seems to know something I don't anyway, so why not?

Violet snickered at her frustration. "That's the spirit."

She turned to Echo, who still looked rather dazed. Grabbing him by the arm, she shook him, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Listen up. I'm not going to be able to take on Voldemort and his Death Eaters forever. You need to bring down the wards so I can Apparate out."

He took a deep breath, then looked off into the distance at nothing at all, clearly calculating some sort of complex magical interaction. "It should be possible. I didn't plan to ever have to take the wards down quickly, but perhaps if I destabilize the—never mind. I can do it it, but it will take time."

"Don't worry," Violet said, her voice turning crisp and sharp. "I plan to ensure their attention is fully occupied."

"Good luck," Tonks whispered.

Violet turned away and began to climb the ladder. Each even step produced a metallic clang, vaguely reminiscent of marching drums.

At last.

She heaved up the heavy iron seal, dislodging the earth and grass that had concealed the escape route, then rapidly yanked herself up, fairly sailing out of the shaft. With a minor exertion of Winter magic, fog began to roll in to hopefully cover the others' escape, looking nigh unearthly in the vivid moonlight. She then began to maneuver to one side to conceal the exact location of the exit.

It wouldn't take long for someone to notice her. Black-robed figures were dispersed across the field, searching for them. Violet itched to strike from stealth, to begin to even the odds and spread terror through their ranks until they feared every shadow and flinched at the rustling of the wind, but she reigned the impulse in. The longer she delayed the confrontation, the more time Echo would have to lower the wards.

Instead she walked, steadily and without hesitation, deeper into the maw of the trap. Eventually, one of the Death Eaters saw her and called out, the cry spreading through their ranks. Violet drew in a deep breath of beautifully cold air, feeling her broken rib finally snap back into place and came to a stop, relaxed in posture. Somehow, she'd always assumed that when she finally confronted Voldemort, she would do it alone.

As if in response to the thought, cold mist swirled around her of its own accord, and she caught a pair of glowing cat's eyes watching from afar. Her lips quirked. Not so alone after all.

The Death Eaters cautiously approached to surround her in a semicircle. So intent were they, they didn't react to the slight creak of the shaft opening once more, nor the barely audible footfalls on damp grass. They'd got out. Now she just had to stay alive.

One of the Death Eaters, who stood out for her gender and the luxurious blond hair curling around the edges of her mask, broke into genuine laughter.

"It is you, isn't it? I thought you looked familiar from the photos in the paper, but it just didn't seem possible that the Savior was scrapping in a dingy Knockturn Alley basement. But here, with blood in the air and facing you again…" She removed her mask, dropping it to the ground. Renée Malfoy looked largely the same as their last encounter, except the eyes she had lost were replaced with black spheres that glittered like onyx, the surrounding skin scarred and taut. The profound beauty that she had once possessed was but a hollow shadow now.

"Well, I could hardly fail to recognize you, could I? Do you like them, by the way? You certainly can't deny that the Dark Lord rewards his followers well. Most employers would have cast me aside after I returned with bloody holes for eyes, but he was most generous. I think I might actually like them more this way."

Violet shook her head too, amused. "You should have sought greener pastures after you lost them. I do not think we will meet for a third time."

Malfoy gave a mocking salute and stepped back in line with the other Death Eaters. "I can live with that."

Violet returned the gesture as she slowly pulled her sword free. It glittered darkly through a thin sheen of blood still coating it from earlier.

"Shall we get started, or are we perhaps waiting for someone?"

The line of Death Eaters seemed to ripple at her words, and one man from the left flank stepped forward. He was neither particularly tall or short, and his mask was undecorated, but all the others followed him with bated breath.

With a faint hiss, his mask dissolved into silver smoke, revealing the disconcertingly normal features of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Dumbledore had told her that, prior to his defeat, Voldemort's appearance had grown more and more inhuman, a wax statue brought to life by unspeakable power that seemed literally to shine out his baleful red eyes. This… wasn't that. He looked far more like the Tom Riddle she had seen in Dumbledore's memories. He was handsome, but not improbably so; his skin was pale, but not bleached; his eyes were red, but they did not glow. It didn't seem right that someone of his incredible might should look so unremarkable. He should have been monstrous, like before, or entrancingly beautiful like a fae Lord. Instead, he appeared only as man in his early thirties whom time had forgot.

"Violet Potter," he said in a soft whisper that nonetheless carried effortlessly to her. "It has been a very long fourteen years."

"Has it?" Violet asked, her voice higher and more coldly formal than earlier. "I would have thought, given your much-vaunted longevity, such a period would feel fleeting."

He dipped his head, considering her. "And yet," he continued, "it seems that it was all worth it. For if not for you, my eyes would remain closed to the truth." His eyes followed the beads of blood rolling off her sword onto the grass below. "An archaic weapon fit for a more elegant world. Yet it seems you have put it to use tonight, have you not?"

"Sometimes you just need something a little more personal than a wand." Violet brandished said weapon, and Voldemort's lip curled in distaste as his robes were splashed by droplets of blood, before chuckling briefly.

"I only regret not being able to see Dumbledore's face when he met you. But no matter." He swept his arm to the side. "Give us room. I wished to learn of your past, but it seems that won't matter, now. Thus ends the faerie tale of Violet Potter."

No sooner had the last Death Eater leapt out of the way than Voldemort's arm flashed through the air and the night was awash with green light.

~#~

One thousand and some kilometers away, Albus Dumbledore was not idle. With Voldemort's location confidently known for perhaps the last time in his lifespan, he could not afford to miss this opportunity. A throb of guilt arose unbidden—he had implied, after all, that he was unable to confront Voldemort because of his cursed hand. Bluntly, that had been a lie, albeit a necessary one. With Severus's assistance, he would suffer few real symptoms until the very end.

Alas, such deceptions were at times necessary. Aside from the absolute importance of his current task, he had another motive, one colder and more calculating. When Violet Potter had at last revealed herself, he had celebrated. At last, he had thought, his patience had born fruit. Even as Voldemort rose again, so too did his destined adversary. Fate was rarely so generous in making clear its intentions.

At first, he had naturally assumed her potential could not possibly come in the form of magical power or martial strength. She was a child, after all, and wizards far older and more grizzled than she had found themselves hopelessly outmatched in combat by Voldemort. What could she possibly know of violence that he did not? But as Dumbledore grew to know her, it became ever more clear that whatever warmth and kindness she had once possessed had been ruthlessly and efficiently driven from her. And so, he had been forced to accept that the power Voldemort knew not was not love or courage or even luck, but the merciless power of a freezing dream-world.

Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it had been a fool's hope to think that Tom Riddle's hatred could be matched by anything except more of the same. He always had thought too much with his heart.

Well, he was certainly in no danger of doing that now. Dispatching a student, whatever her past, to a certain confrontation with Voldemort must have been a new low. But what choice was there? If he was truly to commit to this course, to arm Violet with the dark and terrible secrets of his youth, he had to be certain that it really was for the greater good. If she wasn't able to stand against him, wouldn't it be better to know sooner than later?

Of course, he reminded himself, a greater good was synonymous with a lesser evil. But it felt fitting to use Gellert's words now, that the end of his life should not be so different from his younger years. Everything looked like a circle from far enough away.

It was still sickening to contemplate. Of all of war's crimes, there were none he loathed more than its way of leading good people to do terrible things.

With practiced familiarity, he brought the whirling pool of his thoughts to order as he reached his destination. Churning seas crashed against the rocky entrance to a cave; were he in the mood for fancy, he might have described the very air as malevolent.

It had been a long journey, finding this place. Too many days spent away from his rightful place at Hogwarts, immersed instead in dark memories and old mistakes. Seven had never seemed so many.

A deep pain pulsed in his chest at the memory of what he had done to a man he considered a friend to get that most priceless information. War and its crimes.

Turning, he Apparated down the cliff, alighting at the entrance to the cave. It would not do to attempt to retrieve the Horcrux on his own. He would not be repeating the disaster of the Stone. But inspecting the defenses, assessing the danger—that he could do.

Entrance demanded a sacrifice of blood, which must have been intended more to satisfy Voldemort's grandiose sense of drama than as any actual protection. Any wizard competent enough to present a real threat would hardly be inconvenienced by a scratch.

Deeper he descended, down the slick stone, until the narrow path eventually swelled to reveal an enormous underground lake. Strange green light shone from somewhere amid the stalactites in the center of the vast ceiling, the sole exception to the impenetrable darkness that was the sole dominion of places the sun never touched.

Cautiously, Dumbledore made his way around the edge of the dark water. What secrets could lurk beneath? By his estimation, this must have been one of Voldemort's earlier Horcruxes. How strange it must be to leave a piece of yourself in a place like this. Not for the first time, he felt a pang of pity for the man, who had destroyed himself more completely than any other.

He would not linger long. There was no way of telling how long Voldemort would be occupied for, and it was only logical to assume he would monitor the sites of his Horcruxes diligently. If Dumbledore were discovered, it would mean the end of their greatest advantage, that Voldemort didn't know his Horcruxes were in danger. And that was quite without mentioning the obvious fact that a duel with Voldemort in an environment so suited to him might very well end in Dumbledore's death.

Too late, Dumbledore realized he had taken a step too many as green-black mist swirled from the wet stone, whirling around him and rising to the ceiling. The magic was accompanied by a sound like howling wind, likely to drive a man to irrationality within the hour. Gingerly, Dumbledore plucked a long, wiry hair from his beard and held it to the barrier. Immediately, the hair was reduced to ash.

Huffing slightly, he turned around to inspect his newfound prison. The spell was not one he recognized, and he suspected any attempts to divine its workings would cause it to immediately collapse upon him. Voldemort would not risk an intruder escaping this place alive.

It was fortunate, then, that he knew a few things Voldemort did not.

Making no motion for his wand, Dumbledore instead drew himself up and closed his eyes. He began to hum.

The tune was slow at first, soft, but it eventually grew in pitch and volume. It swooped, triumphant and defiant, and continued without the slightest interruption. Conscious of his breath, Dumbledore took a step forward and another. By his judgment, he must be very close to the barrier now.

He took a third.

The spell was one of the most beautiful he had ever had the good fortune to master. It was elegance perfected, an ultimate protection without the slightest flourish or pretense. Faith alone guarded its caster, but that faith left them untouchable by all but the Killing Curse. For as long his breath lasted and his confidence did not waver, he could traverse a vacuum or wade through magma without the slightest harm. Someone seeking to do him harm would find their arm waver at the last moment, their intent not quite enough. Not all magic felt magical, but this did.

And, he noted, opening one eye a crack and seeing the swirling mist safely behind him, it had saved his life. It was hard not to appreciate something like that.

AN:

SOB: I do indeed read all my reviews. I always look forward to reading your messages, and I appreciate all the support you've shown throughout the story's progression!

Thanks for reading and reviewing, all.