It was a cold winter's night perfect for a swim.
Black crags overlooked the churning ocean while heavy clouds loomed overhead. It was dark.
"—need not swim if you do not wish to, as I believe you are quite capable of Apparition," Dumbledore was saying. "It would be quite cold."
Violet laughed. "Who are you talking to, old man?" And then she cast herself off the cliff, rushing wind screaming in her ears before the plunging silence of the ocean surrounded her, its freezing embrace an ecstatic joy. She opened her eyes and saw that the water was perfectly clear and surprisingly bright, lit by soft, bobbing lights far below, which could have been bioluminescent creatures or perhaps something more supernatural. Her trusty steel sword hung heavy from her belt, trying to pull her down into the yawning depths.
Dumbledore splashed beside her a moment later despite his talk of Apparition, churning tiny bubbles around him. Immediately, he began kicking toward the surface, and Violet followed. His constitution was impressive given his age, but she expected little less.
Cutting through the sea, it wasn't long before her fingers brushed the stone on the other side of the channel. Clambering upward, she soon broke the surface of the water and got to her feet on the slick rock. She wrapped a hand through her damp hair, wringing it like a whip and scattering water across the already damp walls of the cave. Dumbledore arose a moment later, chuckling. At her raised eyebrow, he simply shrugged and said, "It looked rather bracing."
Their steps echoed hollow in the cave. Dumbledore led, and Violet followed.
"I trust I do not have to tell you to be on your guard," he said. "Though I have previously disarmed some of the traps defending the Horcrux, we would underestimate Voldemort's ingenuity at our peril."
Violet nodded, drawing her wand and channeling the cold of Winter through her veins. Droplets of water, half-slid down her face, froze and cracked off. Her vision sharpened, and the darkness seemed to recede even as the preternatural sixth sense of Winter whispered to her of old black magics done in this place.
It had been the night after Gryffindor's second Quidditch match, in which they had actually managed to eke out a hard-fought victory over Hufflepuff, and Violet had allowed herself to be drawn into ensuring celebrations, always one to appreciate a spot of revelry. The combination of McGonagall's unspoken one-night pass of benevolent neglect, Gryffindor house's impressively sophisticated system of alcohol smuggling, and the thrill of actually winning a match for a change had produced an impressively raucous atmosphere that she was interested in seeing to its end. She'd ended up in a gambling card game with the Weasley twins and several other older Gryffindors where the objective was to create a "jinx"—an arrangement of cards which, if done properly, would actually hex the other players in amusing fashion. It had not been going well, likely because everyone was cheating outrageously and Violet barely even knew the rules, but it was gloriously fun anyway.
She had been in the process of convincing the others to play for something more exciting than coin when Dumbledore's phoenix appeared in the middle of the table, setting several of the cards ablaze and giving them all a somehow disapproving look before depositing a scorched parchment in front of Violet.
Tonight, it had said.
And now she was here. It was a bit less lively, but she gave the decor high marks for dramatic effect.
"The entrance is concealed," Dumbledore said. "I did not want to dispel the enchantment in case someone happened to come here before I had a chance to return—ah, it was here somewhere."
"I see it," Violet said. A patch of solid stone shuddered faintly with latent magic, dark and hungry in its nature. She frowned. "I shouldn't think it will allow us to enter freely."
"It will not," Dumbledore agreed. "But a little blood is a small price to pay."
Swiftly, he produced a knife and dotted the stone with blood. Silver light blazed in the shape of an archway, and the solid wall seemed to dissolve into air. Dumbledore chuckled.
"Despite everything, he still has the same sense of the dramatic as the student I knew."
They soon reached the underground lake, vast and black as coal. At its center was an island illuminated by green light without source or direction. Something shifted in the water, and Violet thought it likely that it was something less pleasant than a fish.
"I made it no farther than this on my own," Dumbledore said. "Be on your guard, but remember that we have an irrefutable advantage. Voldemort, who trusts no one, would not have accounted for the power of cooperation."
Violet slowly nodded, looking from one side of the cavern to the other. It was vast enough to be a popular tourist attraction if not for its inaccessibility and the layers of magic obscuring its location and warding off curious muggles. Aside from the water gently lapping at the shore, it was ominously still. Presumably, Voldemort would have left some way across, but she wasn't at all eager to blunder about looking for it when it was only logical that in finding the way across they would find encounter the deadliest traps as well.
"I could freeze it?" Violet suggested, assessing the expanse of the lake. Coating the entire surface in ice would be prohibitively time-consuming, but a thin path was well within her abilities.
Dumbledore hummed softly and cast some nonverbal spell with no visible effect. "The water carries a number of charms, though I am unable to divine their specific purpose. It would, however, be logical to assume that Voldemort would have thought of that possibility and taken measures against it."
"Against a Freezing Charm, maybe," Violet said. "I do hope you've not underestimated Winter's power so drastically as to include it in the same assessment."
Dumbledore spread his arms. "You are, of course, welcome to try."
Violet nodded, held her hand up to her lips as if blowing a kiss, and exhaled. A white fog spread out, rolling in a line until it stretched from her to the tiny island in the center of the lake before seeping down into the water. A tremendous surge of magic surged through her, far greater than should have been needed for something so simple as freezing water. Something about the lake resisted, and the water plunged far, far colder than zero without any sign of becoming solid. But she would not be denied, and if she desired to bring ice to the world, ice there would be.
Rippling cracks filled the air as, like a spiderweb, ice spread across the water in thin, jagged lines as if the Winter magic was having to carve its way through the water. But before long, the ice built upon itself, rising up out of the lake as a crystalline, faceted bridge. Its surface was rough with tiny crystals such that no boot would find treacherous footing. Violet took a breath, flushed and tingly after the much stronger than expected rush of magic.
She bowed deeply, but her voice came out slightly mocking. "After you."
"I stand corrected," Dumbledore said with good humor and confidently stepped onto the bridge.
Halfway across the bridge, Violet did a double take, staring down into the black abyss. "Hey, Dumbledore? I'm pretty sure I just saw a body in the water."
Dumbledore turned around and raised his wand, washing the water in a warm, yellow light. But its surface was still once more.
"Tom has made use of Inferi in the past," he said, lowering his wand. "They make for tireless and loyal guardians for those who can look past their distasteful nature."
"Lovely," she muttered and picked up her pace to get off the narrow bridge as quickly as possible. The idea of slipping into that deceptively placid water was not one she relished.
The island was a black rock that barely rose above the water, barren except for the pedestal at its center. On it was a basin shaped like a large goblet filled with eerily glowing green liquid. Violet joined Dumbledore next to it, bouncing on the tips of her toes in anticipation of an attack at any moment. Dumbledore, in contrast, looked more like he was about to sit down for tea.
She watched, fascinated, as he went about conducting a symphony of magic. Each stroke of his wand teased at the nature of the liquid, which in turn seemed to shift under his gaze, defying description by constantly becoming something it was not before. Some of what he did she could follow, but most of it was an abstruse mess of Dumbledore's quiet murmurs and strange pulses of magic. At times, she regretted her extreme focus on combat magic, though she knew it was the wisest option. If she could survive these next few years, she would have nearly limitless ones to dedicate to studying any obscure branch of magic that caught her eye.
Four or five minutes passed as Dumbledore sank deeper and deeper into a nearly trancelike focus. Violet kept an eye on the lake; she may not be able to help divine the nature of the Horcrux's protections, but she could at least make sure they were not devoured by the reanimated dead.
Dumbledore's voice broke the silence, seeming too loud in the desolate cavern. Violet twitched. "It would seem that the potion's purpose is to prevent me from retrieving the locket within it." Demonstrating, he reached into the basin, only for his hand to meet more and more resistance, repelled by an invisible force before it could touch the potion's surface. "You see?"
"The locket is the Horcrux, then?" Violet asked, leaning closer to get a better look. "Can you get to it, you think?"
He chuckled. "I will certainly give it a very earnest attempt."
A few more minutes passed but, at least as far as Violet could tell, to no progress. Dumbledore hummed under his breath, seemingly unperturbed by his inability to penetrate the protections. With one last exploratory prod of the Deathstick, he nodded.
"Tom's Charmwork always was inspired. It seems that if we are to get the locket, we will have to empty the pool as it was intended."
Violet blinked repeatedly and tilted her head to see if she still had water in her ears from her earlier swim. "Sorry, but did you just say we should drink the poison?"
"We?" Dumbledore said. "I should think not. One of us will have to keep their wits about them, and your health is—forgive me—somewhat more important than mine. Besides, I do not think the contents of this goblet will prove deadly. Voldemort would not want anyone who discovered his secret to die before telling him all they knew of his Horcruxes. I suspect it is instead intended to leave the drinker merely incapacitated. But, as always, he has overlooked the value of cooperation and trust."
"Are you—" Violet bit off the rest of a series of tart, and in her opinion quite practical, suggestions that they might try before literally drinking the glowing green liquid, including but not limited to making a conjured animal drink it, making an Imperiused Malfoy drink it, and consuming the entire pedestal in Fiendfyre. A sly, enticing thought had crept into her mind. Even if it did prove more lethal than expected, Dumbledore was dying anyway. And there would be certain advantages to having him mentally incapacitated for a time.
It was not a choice to be made lightly. It would be treachery against a man who seemed to finally be beginning to trust her. Worse, he was someone she had actually started to like.
"Are you ready to do it now?" she finally said, crushing a brief pang of regret beneath unfeeling cold.
"I am certainly not getting any younger," Dumbledore said cheerfully. He conjured a small crystal glass and dipped it into the basin, passing through the barrier as if it were not there. Carefully, he tilted the glass, and the emerald liquid streamed downward. But just before it splattered against the stone, it faded into nothing and the liquid in the basin raised slightly as it was replenished.
"How curious," he murmured. His eyes met Violet's. "It is imperative that I finish all of the potion. We cannot leave here today without the Horcrux. However terrible it may be, you must ensure I continue to drink. Do you understand?"
She nodded sharply, and Dumbledore downed the potion without further hesitation. His brow twitched slightly but he showed no other reaction, dipping the glass into the pool of potion once more. He drank again.
Again and again he drank. The heavy gloom around them seemed to press nearer in anticipation, and soft splashes could be heard as tiny ripples in the lake broke against the island. Violet's hand repeatedly tensed over and released the pommel of her sword.
Dumbledore's hoarse cry caught her attention, her head whipping around. There was a clinking sound as he dropped the partially drunk glass, the spilt potion immediately vanishing from the stone to reappear in the basin. He stood hunched over, whispering in a haunted tone under his breath. The basin was no more than half emptied.
Her choice was made. Again and again, she filled the cup and held it to his lips. Each time, he drank without prompting as if dying from thirst.
"Ariana!" he cried, knocking the cup aside. "Gellert, Tom, and Violet! James and Lily, Father and Aberforth. Why must I make the same mistakes again and again? I wither with age, but where is my wisdom? How I have failed them all!"
He screamed and doubled over, fingers clawing at the ground. "Why? Why again? What… how?"
Dispassionately, Violet refilled the cup and pressed it to his lips. He drank greedily as if it promised panacea and not further poison but immediately moaned once more. Something uncomfortable turned in her stomach at the sound.
"Failed… failure, failure. Whatever happened to the little girl? The flower has grown poisoned thorns.It hurts."
He was rambling. Perhaps there was some hidden meaning in the words that could be deciphered, but Violet made no effort to. Above all else, Dumbledore had always been a man of utmost composure and collection. To see him like this was tragic, and if she had decided to put him through it, she could at least offer him that small dignity.
The cup scraped the bottom of the basin as she refilled it. Two more.
"Foolish boy… couldn't you see what really mattered? What good… could eternity do? Foolish boy… what good could the stone have done? Foolish boy… crude to have disturbed her rest."
Last one.
No sooner than last drop had trickled down Dumbledore's throat, Violet whipped her arm to the side, dashing the crystal glass against the stone. Her breaths came rapid and sweat ran down her ribs as though it had been her that drank the poison, not him. Fuck.
"Water," Dumbledore croaked, reaching out with his blackened, desiccated fingers. "Water."
Taking just a moment to snatch the small, glittering locket from the bottom of the basin, Violet quickly knelt beside him, heedless of her knee banging against the rough rock and proffered her cupped hands, the cold and refreshing water of Winter filling them. But the water, trickling between her fingers, vanished into thin air before it could reach Dumbledore's parted lips, who moaned in anguish. Confused, Violet tried once again, and this time she sensed an infinitesimal presence of magic as the conjured water disappeared again. She cursed again.
No. Dominion over cold water, the damp and dark, was hers alone. Within her, Winter screamed in indignation, and a shock of air ripped out from her, sending a powerful circular wave rippling through the lake that shattered its tranquil surface. The stone of the island became coated in white frost.
For a third time, Violet conjured water, and this time she was not denied. "Thank you," Dumbledore gasped, arching his back to come closer to her hands and the water that flowed from them.
As he drank, utterly transfixed, Violet slowly pulled one hand away. As water continued to pour from her other, she slipped the Deathstick from where it half poked out of Dumbledore's robes. He didn't even blink.
"Such thirst," he said, despite having gulped down a great volume of water. "I don't want to die. KILL ME!"
Violet bit her lip. She considered herself capable in a wide variety of situations, from a formal dance to a pitched battlefield, but this was none of them. Dumbledore didn't seem to be in danger of death despite what he might say, but she had no idea how to go about neutralizing the poison. Snape had certainly never described anything of the like in Potions.
Snape. If anyone could cure him, it was Snape with his passionate love for poisons and antidotes. She would just have to get Dumbledore to him alive. With a clear objective in mind, she slipped into action.
"Dumbledore," she said, as gently as she could. "Albus. We have to go.
"Water," he said as she pulled her hand away, but she didn't relent. It clearly wasn't actually helping him. His eyes widened and he raised a single pointing figure.
"I know," she replied. "I promise they'll have water in Hogwarts—"
She shrieked a thoughtless exclamation in the fae tongue as something heavy clamped down on her left shoulder and squeezed with enough force that she feared the slender bone beneath would break. Twisting around, she recoiled from the slimy, decaying horror of a corpse that walked. Half of its face was caved in and rotting, revealing the empty cavern of its skull. Its remaining eye was a black void unwaveringly fixed on her.
With a cry, she drew her sword from its sheathe, slashing outward and severing the arm of the Inferius that had grabbed her. Thoughtlessly, wordlessly, wandlessly, she exerted some mortal magic, and the steel blade was suddenly aflame as if soaked in burning oil. The fingers that held the Deathstick in her other hand tingled, as if the wand itself was eager to join the fray, but she reluctantly hid it in her robes. Dumbledore, even out of his right mind, might recognize it; if she were to be so blatant, she might as well have forgone this deception entirely and merely slipped a knife between his ribs. He had little time left and likely less since drinking the poison. He did not need to die knowing she had betrayed him.
The shambling corpses fell to whirling arcs of crimson flame and flashing steel. Others were torn apart by vortices of cutting wind, each as sharp as a blade. Still more were reduced to dust by bolts of dark power or frozen solid to forever stand.
A greater wave of the dead rose up from the water, but Violet merely twisted her hand, and an enormous wave of water erupted from the lake. Each shining droplet became a shard of razor ice, and the wall of blades reduced the onslaught to strips of writhing, decaying flesh.
For minutes or perhaps hours, she held the dead at bay. Voldemort had thought to create a terrible tomb, dark and cold, to drown his enemies in. Perhaps he had not considered that this future enemy could be as cold as the water and as tireless as the dead that climbed from it. Two rose for every one she cut down, but neither could their clumsy, slow hands touch her.
Another wave of water arose, soaking the entire island and hurling a dozen Inferi off their feet and dashing them against the jagged rocks. It occurred to her that this would actually make for a convenient explanation for Dumbledore losing the Elder Wand. It wouldn't be hard to believe that it had slipped out of his pocket as he suffered from the curse and was washed out into the bottomless lake. Perhaps it would even provide some relief for him to think its power was gone forever. From what she knew of the man, Violet suspected he had never been quite comfortable with wielding it.
"Atroxus Igni," she hissed, viciously twisting her temporary wand. A jet of vivid purple fire issued forth, and she waved the wand to create a wall of flame. Dozens of dead died, their flesh melting away under the arcane heat, those with functional lungs screaming for a final time. More fire splashed onto the water and burned only hotter for it.
"My wand," Dumbledore murmured as Violet pulled him to his feet with one arm, transferring her sword to the other and continuing to cast bolts of fire with short twists of her wrist. He patted at his robes, growing increasingly distraught. "Have you seen it? I seem… to have misplaced it."
"There's no time, professor." His feet dragged on the ground as she guided him him toward the ice bridge, and when he suddenly stumbled, she nearly fell over keeping him upright. She wasn't looking forward to crossing the narrow path while evading hands grabbing at their ankles, but there could be thousands more Inferi lurking in the depths. Waiting them out would not be an option even if Dumbledore didn't require prompt treatment.
A third of the way across the bridge, an Inferius managed to evade her blade and wand and, half dragging itself out of the water, latched onto the bottom of her foot. Pinwheeling wildly to keep her balance, she yanked her leg free with a kicking motion, leaving the Inferius holding only her boot. A second later and it was dispatched with a jet of flame.
Kicking off her other boot to even her gait, she made sure Dumbledore wasn't in danger of being pulled under and pressed forward. The moment's delay had allowed a large clump of corpses to pull themselves up on the bridge ahead of them, stalking toward them with eerie arcane grace. Fire would have accomplished little except turning the wall of bodies into a burning wall of bodies, so Violet instead snapped her wand outward like a whip.
"Hecatoncheire!"
In this gloomy environment, the effects of the spell—distorted space, flashing purple illumination—was even more dramatic than when she first used it in her duel with Dumbledore. Elongated, twisting arms that curved in ways impossible to explain through conventional geometry descended from above and erupted from the water, each seizing one of the Inferi and yanking them away from the bridge. When they should have been impaled on the ceiling's stalactites or dragged back into the water, though, they instead slowed drastically and seemed to sink through solid stone and water, becoming one with the misty smoke until that too faded away.
"Hey, what do you know?" she said under her breath. "It fucking works."
With the path clear, they soon arrived on solid ground, and from there it was simple to ward off the following swarm by indulging her inner pyromaniac. Violet guided Dumbledore the rest of the way out of the cavern, the entrance thankfully not demanding another blood sacrifice. The first breath of fresh air brought caused wave of tension to wash off her, and she fished in her pocket to withdraw the Horcrux. They'd done it.
~#~
Pacing back and forth outside Snape's laboratory, Violet couldn't help but consider the possible outcomes of her rushed decision. If Dumbledore died, it would be a disaster. She and Rufus were planning for that eventuality of course, but they weren't nearly prepared. Not only would they miss their chance to take advantage of the public's grief at the news, there was every chance that an immediate offensive by Voldemort would be enough to topple the Ministry entirely. No, they needed him to hold on a little longer, even if it meant giving him a Draught of Living Death and having someone take Polyjuice until the time was right for his "death."
By the time she had made it far enough away from the influence of any of the Horcrux cave's magic to risk Apparating, Dumbledore was completely delirious. By the time they made it to the castle, he was nodding in and out of consciousness and was fully out of it not long after. It seemed Dumbledore had not seen fit to inform Snape that they would be conducting an expedition, and he had given the impression of being profoundly displeased at being woken in the dead of night. The ludicrous image of Snape in fluffy white pyjamas was one she would never forget. But that brief moment of levity aside, she was soon left with nothing to do but ruminate.
There were other possibilities beyond Dumbledore outright dying, such as surviving but never recovering his wits, which might be an even greater disaster. Hopefully the Elder Wand was worth it. A part of her wished he had simply considered a few logical alternatives to drinking the potion and not offered her the temptation in the first place.
Of all the possibilities she considered, none were for Dumbledore to come walking out, smiling and visually no worse the wear for his ordeal save for a bit of paleness about the cheeks. He chuckled at her expression.
"It is at times like these that I am reminded just how fortunate we are to have a Potions Master of Severus's caliber available. Perhaps if he saved the Board of Governors from a similarly unpleasant compound they would stop piling complaints on my desk about his teaching methods."
Quickly recovering from her surprise at seeing him, Violet replied, "You know, I'm not sure that his poison-curing abilities hinge on his Longbottom-bullying activities. I'm pretty sure half his attitude is just because he really hates teaching children."
"Ah," Dumbledore replied, the ghost of mischief alive in his eyes. "But perhaps the youthful spirit of the young students will have a positive influence on him."
Violet shook her head, smirking. "You're a cruel man, Dumbledore." She reached into her robes, producing the locket. Its fine gold chain pooled underneath the clasp.
"It's much more subtle than I would have expected from a Dark Artifact containing a part of a soul, of all things. From what I can tell, it's not magical at all, but I suppose it's not surprising that Voldemort would want it to stay secret." She handed it to him. "Have a look?"
"Certainly." He took the Horcrux, holding it at arms length like something distasteful and prodded it with his ordinary wand, which he had either had on him the entire time or retrieved at some point during his treatment. He frowned.
"Oh dear," he eventually said. "The joke seems, as it were, to be on us."
"Lovely. How so?"
"Because this is not a Horcrux."
With a flourish, Dumbledore unlatched the clasp and opened the locket. Violet tensed, expected something, but the seconds crept by, leaving them with nothing but a growing sense of anticlimax. The locket, to all appearances, was just a locket. When he tilted it slightly, a strip of white paper slipped out, slowly drifting downward until he deftly snatched it from the air.
Unfurling the paper, Dumbledore's eyes scanned over it. His great white beard twitched. "We truly are the fools today, it seems." He handed the paper to her, chortling softly. "Someone appears to have beaten us to the punch."
To the Dark Lord
I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more.
R.A.B
"A fake," Violet said. "Who the bloody hell is R.A.B? Damn it. The Horcrux could be anywhere now."
"I suspect it is not so bad as that," Dumbledore said. If he was bothered to learn that he had drunk poison for nothing, he didn't show it. Instead, he merely stroked his beard with his gnarled, cursed hand. "I believe we will have to speak to Sirius if we are to learn where the true Horcrux is."
"Why?"
"Because Regulus Arcturus Black was your godfather's brother and known—wrongly, it might seem—supporter of Lord Voldemort."
It was agreed that they would wait pay a visit to Grimmauld Place the next day, as if Voldemort had not noticed his Horcrux was replaced with a fake for however many years had passed since Regulus's death, he was unlikely to find anything amiss now. It suited Violet just fine. She and the Elder Wand had further business that night.
~#~
The hunt began with a sacrifice.
The blood of a rooster, running down her hands into a dark puddle upon the virgin snow, showed for just a moment in its reflection her quarry as they slept fitfully in a too-large bed, tangled in expensive silk blankets. With the knowledge Violet had earlier taken from Draco Malfoy's unguarded thoughts confirmed, she strode toward the Forest until she was outside the enclosing protections of Hogwarts.
The Elder Wand knew what was coming, and she could feel its eager anticipation—either for her imminent triumph over her foe or the chance to be wielded by a more worthy master, for it cared not which. The Wand of Disloyalty indeed, she supposed, though she liked to think that she might be able to secure at least some measure of respect from its Thestral hair core as she had from her first wand.
Even now, with more power at her fingertips than she had ever wielded before, a part of her missed that familiar yew.
She would keep the wand from Dumbledore's old friend. Aside from the obvious value of a backup she knew would function reasonably well in her hands, there was also the concern that if she used the Elder Wand in Dumbledore's sight, he could hardly fail to come to the obvious conclusion. Besides, she suspected it would not do to use the Wand of Destiny for something as trivial as giving a teapot wings in Transfiguration lessons.
She appeared far from Hogwarts, a dot on a sloping landscape coated in snow that shimmered bluish in the moonlight. Pine trees dotted the skyline, and stars winked in the obsidian sky. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf's howl echoed between the hills. It was the deepest time of the night, when weird magic and phantasmal creatures were strongest. Witching hour.
The manor stood grand and imperial, half between a Victorian fever dream and a Roman palace. Its wards were ancient and proud, ever watchful and never forgiving, but not even Death had been able to peer beneath Cadmus's cloak.
Her steps left no marks in the soft snow. On her waist, her sword dangled, but its weight seemed less than the wand in her hand. She exulted in it. The Deathstick was all her first wand had been and far more, and though she still felt a sentimental sense of loss for it, she could readily acknowledge that she had come out the better for its loss. The Elder Wand was meant for one thing and one thing alone, and for however long as her ownership of it should last, it would never go idle for long. The Thestral core was comfortingly familiar. The ancient elder wood was thrillingly powerful.
There were three targets she sought. One strategic, one fateful, and one vengeful.
Scrimgeour had spoken often of the pernicious influence of Lucius Malfoy, whom despite never holding any official political office beyond some sort of ridiculous management board for Hogwarts, still retained enough influence in the Ministry to make him dangerous and an official move against him risky. Though he had not explicitly suggested she deal with him personally, it was abundantly obvious that he had known how his comments would be taken. She often thought he understood her far better than most.
Renée was the real reason she was here. Twice they had met in battle, and each time one of them had left badly injured but not by the other's hand. Renée's own spell had taken her eyes, and it had been Voldemort who impaled Violet. Their third encounter would be their last, and it felt fitting that it should be Violet's first true test of the Elder Wand. Fate did not always work in such poetic fashion, but tonight she would ensure it did. There was nothing personal about it. Violet could respect the woman Renée had been, uncompromising in her mercenary sort of freedom. In a way, Violet suspected she had died as soon as she accepted Voldemort's gift of eyes and the implicit declaration of loyalty that came with them.
She might have been a touch peeved at Ron, but he was still hers, even if not so closely as Sirius or Jon or Satria, and a wound to him must be answered in kind. If Draco thought it amusing to torment him with the memory of his dead sister, let him see if it was still so entertaining when it was his flesh and blood becoming one with the earth.
O Voldemort, how alone you shall be once your followers see what it means to be my enemy.
At her will, a heavy storm began to gather. Great winds battered the manor, and the cold became terrible. The howling wolves and hooting owls fell silent. Dry lightning thundered to the earth, splitting the roar of the wind.
A light appeared in one of the building's windows, perhaps someone investigating the storm. Violet released a slow breath and cast an anti-Apparition Jinx. A heartbeat passed, and the light winked out.
"Fiendfyre!"
Astounded by the sheer ease at which the cursed flames bent to her will backed by the Elder Wand, she conjured more with wild abandon, bringing forth a great burning dragon flanked by flocks of crows that circled twice before descending on the mansion. As they did, she allowed the Invisibility Cloak to slide off her shoulders and slipped it into her pocket. Somehow, she knew that it would be of little use in open battle. Its nature was subtle, even peaceful, and she suspected that in a duel it would be no harder to counteract than any other cloak of invisibility.
The mansion's construction was ancient and unyielding, both in the heavy stone and stout wood that made it up and in the generations of protective layers of magic placed upon it. All of it counted for nothing more than a few seconds as the all-devouring flames fell upon it.
A minute passed, and Violet began to wonder whether anyone would escape the inferno. But then two dark streaks shot from an upper window, visible only by the stars they blotted out. It was logical that with Apparition prohibited and Floo travel extremely inadvisable in the presence of so much Fiendfyre, they would attempt to escape by broom. At least, it would have been logical if not for the fact that any remotely competent attacker would be prepared for it.
Down from the sky.
The brooding clouds suddenly lit up, and a cacophonous blast of thunder shook the air as lightning flashed from the heavens to one of the fliers to the ground. Night returned, darker for the moment of light, and Violet could just barely make out the graceful separation of rider and broom before both began to plunge downward. The second flier immediately began to dive as well, likely both in pursuit of whomever had been struck and to avoid sharing their fate.
A moment before the body would have struck the ground, the second flier cast a spell that flashed white, and their fall slowed to gentle decline. The flier landed by them and immediately knelt next to the injured figure.
Breaking into a sprint, Violet pursued them, unwilling to allow them even a chance of escape. They were still too distant to make out their faces, but the still-standing figure's broad shoulders told her they were likely Lucius. Hopefully Renée had not been the struck hit by the lightning. She would prefer to defeat her in a duel, not take her by surprise.
Suddenly, on instinct alone, Violet twisted mid-sprint, flicking her wand upward. The snow in front of her rose up, turning glassy and hard just before the green streak of a Killing Curse crashed into it. For a moment, the storm's fury was drowned out by deathly winds.
Of course. Renée had demonstrated an ability to teleport through anti-Apparition wards before.
The infamous mercenary held her arm straight, her wand pointed at Violet's heart like a rapier. Her utterly black eyes held nothing but hatred. Perhaps she cared more for her British family than Violet had believed.
"You were a fool to come here," she spat and held up her forearm. The Dark Mark was stark on her fair skin. "I have already called our Lord, and you will not escape him by trickery again."
"Your Lord?" Violet asked. She shook her head in disapproval. "To think I once respected your free spirit. As for Voldemort?" She shrugged, and the Elder Wand pulsed in her hand. "I think he will find my jinx harder to sunder than most. And perhaps he will not try particularly hard. After all, the last time we met, he was flanked by his loyal followers and he still emerged injured. Will he risk an encounter on my terms just to save you?"
"He told us about you," Renée said, her voice bitter. "You're not even human anymore."
Violet tilted her head, curious. "Is that what he thinks? Avada Kedavra!"
And so they dueled.
Three red stars burned toward Violet, leaving trails of melted, steaming water where once had been snow. A void of blackness, so cold the air creaked at its presence, swallowed them whole, then expelled a solid beam of crimson light back toward Renée, who gracefully pirouetted, vanishing and reappearing a meter to the side.
"Crucio!" she said crisply, forcing Violet to duck away. "Damn you. Narcissa did nothing to you."
"She chose her side. Dissoluti Lux!"
A silent spell encircled Renée in a softly translucent shield. Violet waited in anticipation for the golden light to pass through the shield as it had all others before, but instead a Blood-Boiling curse came rocketing back toward her. She shielded with an exasperated hiss.
"You've shown a predilection for that spell since you killed my partner with it," Renée said. "It makes you predictable."
"Oh, him. I haven't forgotten him, you know. Here, Omni Vorans!"
Renée laughed and moved her wand in a mimicry of Violet earlier, crying, "Dissoluti Lux!" The swarm of black, shadowy insects vanished under the light, and Violet was forced to defend herself against her own curse.
Protego.
The curse, which should have shone through a standard Shield Charm like a pane of glass, instead faltered before the supremacy of the Elder Wand. Renée, visibly surprised, failed to react in time as Violet whipped her wand forward.
Confringo! Reducto! Contundito! Crucio!
As a bright orange and blue explosion detonated against Renée's partially formed shield, stronger than any Violet had cast before, the ensuing spells streaked toward her, giving her no time to do anything but desperately defend, wrapping layers of shields around herself, batting away curses, and conjuring sheets of steel and stone. The sheer power of the Elder Wand was intoxicating. Violet's magic had always been more powerful than most, especially when further empowered by Winter, but now it was like she had crossed some unseen barrier that separated the likes of Renée, Snape, or Mad-Eye from Dumbledore or Voldemort, against whom no amount of cunning or luck could hope to suffice without first equaling their power.
"Avada Kedavra!" Violet whispered, striding forward to close the distance, triumph singing in her veins. Ruina Corporis! Confringo!
The Organ-Rupturing curse forced Renée to hastily cast a specialized shield to stop it, allowing the following Blasting Curse to rip through it and hurl her backward from the strength of the explosion. Half of her body scorched black, she lay unmoving in the snow.
With a final look at her foe, Violet turned to where Lucius Malfoy was still attempting to help his limp wife onto his broom with him. As soon as he saw her approaching, he cast a silvery curse toward her. A flick of her wand, and it dissolved halfway to her.
She threw her left hand up into the air, and the storm gave her another thunderclap. The lightning twisted around her arm, crackling with potential, and when she extended a single pointing finger, crashed across the distance between her and Lucius with another echoing roar. He shielded, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling, a hand clasped to his forehead.
"Avada Kedavra!" she cried, following it with another sequence of curses. Lucius was a skilled duelist, but his cousin had been legendary, and she lay dead or dying. He couldn't hope to win.
And indeed, he was faltering. A flock of birds sent to harry her were dashed apart by the storm's winds and transfigured into into beads of red-hot metal which pounded him, breaking his guard, bludgeoning him and burning his robes.
Reducto!
The silvery ribbon of Violet's curse folded his shield inward and struck him in the chest, blowing out his back in a fountain of dark blood and bone. A hole in his chest twenty centimeters wide, he remained standing for a single, impossible moment as he stared at her in uncomprehending disbelief before he collapsed dead to the ground.
A moment passed. Falling snow caressed Violet's cheeks and began to cover the stains of blood with pristine white. Violet smiled. For every one of her hopefully countless years, she would remember her first duel with the Elder Wand.
There was still one last bit of business before the night was done. Violet approached Narcissa Malfoy's slowly breathing form, barely moving in the snow. Burns that branched like lightning covered every inch of skin visible in her light sleeping garments. Violet raised her wand.
And twisted, arching almost double, to avoid a streak of green light that would have been her death. Renée, somehow standing once more with her wand in her left hand and the right side of her body a dead weight, stared at her with a single-minded fixation.
A dozen curses arced toward Violet, redirected to crash into the snow, cratering and scorching the land. She struck back, and they dueled for a time, but it was perfunctory at most. Even at her best, Renée had been unable to stand against her, and now she was half dead.
"Avada Kedavra!" Renée roared for one last time, then lifted her wand to the sky, a curiously peaceful smile on her face. She whispered something soft, and a silver light flickered.
Immediately after she cast, a flash of green light enveloped her and took her last breath away. But a point of brilliant silvery light drifted upward, up high into the sky as Violet watched curiously. It didn't seem to be intended to target her, but there was clearly power behind the spell. It was also somehow familiar…
The light erupted into a massive blue flare of light that lasted a second or two before fading. A faint ringing reached Violet's ears, gentle as birdsong. Realization struck her immediately, and she twisted around, wand already raising to strike Narcissa—
And the spell, the same one Renée had used once before to escape the wards when she had dueled Violet for the first time, completed its malignant resonance, placing unbearable stress on the anti-Apparition jinx and exceeding even the strength of magic of the Elder Wand. The barrier collapsed, and not a moment passed before a soft pop sounded.
Between her and Narcissa stood Lord Voldemort, who briefly admired the fury of the storm around them before offering her a shallow bow.
Violet laughed. "I didn't think you would come alone. I shouldn't have underestimated you. Seems I won't be finishing the job tonight after all."
Voldemort nodded, acknowledging her words. "You could try," he said.
"Not tonight, I don't think," Violet replied. She looked back over to Renée's body. "She was cunning to the end. Let her dying wish be granted. Au revoir."
She answered his earlier bow with a graceful curtsy before turning and vanishing with a snap.
All things considered, two for three wasn't half bad.