Chapter Text
~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~
I
~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~
The wind howled through the empty and ruined shells of buildings that lined the road, a mournful symphony echoing through the desolation. A lone cloaked figure treaded carefully through the debris and rusted-out cars that littered the once-busy street. The skeletal remains of a world long lost stretched around them, the brittle whispers of dead leaves and crumbling concrete their only company.
Signs of life had once bravely attempted to reclaim the city, small green shoots forcing their way through cracks in the pavement and the hollow husks of buildings. But even those had withered away, succumbing to the inevitable decay that now ruled. What little life remained across the world hid deep underground, dwindling, barely clinging to existence. Even those pockets would not last much longer.
The figure stopped beside the remains of an old phone box, the red paint long since stripped away by time and the elements. A sharp cry split the silence—a raven’s call. The figure lifted their gaze, emerald green eyes peering from beneath the hood at the lone raven circling above. Its wings sliced through the air with graceful precision, a dark silhouette against the sickly grey sky.
The figure extended an arm. The raven dove, landing gently on the outstretched limb with a soft rustle of feathers. From the shadows of a nearby ruin, a wolf emerged, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly light as it padded silently across the cracked asphalt. A panther followed close behind, its sleek form weaving through the rubble with fluid grace, each step soundless yet commanding.
A soft trill whispered through the ruins. From the gloom above, another figure descended—a snowy owl, her wings outstretched in silent flight. The owl landed on the figure’s shoulder, talons gripping the worn fabric of the cloak with a familiar ease. The presence of the owl, despite the bleakness of the world, felt grounding, a tether to something that had survived alongside her.
Together, they formed a solemn procession, a spectral reminder of a world that had once thrived. A world that had fought, burned, and finally, fallen.
“Here we go, then. We are doing this… I wish it never reached this point,” the figure murmured, their voice barely more than a whisper yet laden with a weight of grief. The words lingered in the cold air, the ruins around them absorbing the sorrow they carried.
A white wand appeared in their hand with a subtle flick of the wrist. The ground beneath them shuddered, stone shifting with an ancient groan as a circular disc slowly descended, carrying them below the surface. The mechanical hum of long-abandoned magic reverberated through the hollow spaces, the sound a relic of a time when the world still dreamed.
The descent was brief but felt eternal in the silence. When they emerged, they stepped into a vast chamber, a reflection of the decay above. What had once been a grand space, a pillar of power, now lay in ruins. Chunks of stone littered the ground, the air thick with dust and forgotten echoes. Moss and vines clung desperately to the wreckage, fragile tendrils of life struggling in the dark. A massive statue, once dominating the center, lay in shattered ruin, its face indistinguishable beneath the rubble.
The figure stepped forward, halting in front of a slab of reflective metal, its once-polished surface dulled by time. They lifted a hand, brushing away the grime. Their reflection stared back—haunted, scarred. Lines traced faint paths across their face, but none more defining than the long, lightning-bolt scar that cut from temple to cheek, across the right eye. Strands of white wove through the black of their hair, the evidence of time and war etched into their being.
Violet let out a slow breath, her exhale misting against the metal. A ghost of a life before flickered in her eyes before she turned away, her steps taking her deeper into the ruins of the Ministry of Magic. The pull of her magic guided her downward, leading her to the depths where echoes of the past still whispered, waiting for the Mistress of Death to return.
The silence is oppressive, broken only by the occasional drip of water echoing through the corridors. Each step Violet takes reverberates softly against the cold stone, her presence a mere whisper in the vast emptiness of the Ministry’s ruins. Shadows loom from the shattered remnants of the once-grand Hall of Prophecies, where glass orbs had long since fallen and shattered, their whispered futures forever lost. The dust in the air glows faintly under the dim, flickering remnants of magical torches that struggle to stay alight.
Hedwig glides silently above her, spectral in the dimness, her white feathers a stark contrast against the gloom. She lands on a broken shelf, talons gripping the edge as she observes Violet with a quiet, knowing gaze. The owl’s presence is a tether, a reminder of what had been and what was yet to come.
Violet descends deeper, past the wreckage of forgotten battles, where time itself seems to stall. The oppressive weight of lingering magic thickens as she enters a vast chamber, one left untouched by time’s decay. The veil of Death looms before her, a stone archway draped in thin, silvery fabric that ripples despite the absence of wind. Faint whispers seep through, curling around the edges like ghostly tendrils reaching into the present.
The whispers tug at her mind, some voices familiar, others unknown. They murmur secrets, regrets, echoes of those who have crossed into the abyss beyond.
Hedwig swoops down, landing on Violet’s shoulder. The owl presses her head gently against Violet’s, an act of comfort, of silent understanding. A warmth blooms in Violet’s chest despite the icy pull of the archway before her.
She steps onto the stone platform, her fingers tracing the cold surface of the arch. The pulse of Death’s magic thrums beneath her fingertips, threading through her veins, ancient and eternal. It does not pull her, not yet—it waits, sensing her hesitation, her contemplation.
She breathes deeply, inhaling the weight of it, the raw potency that seeps into her bones. The whispers rise, urging, calling. It would be so easy to step forward, to surrender to the current and let the tide take her.
She steps back, her gaze shifting to her companions. The wolf, the panther, and the raven stand watchful, their eyes carrying an understanding beyond words. They know. They have always known.
“Well then,” she whispers, a tired smile ghosting across her lips. “I had a feeling this was what was calling us.”
She kneels, her hands running through the fur of the wolf and the panther, feeling their steady warmth, their unwavering presence. The raven flutters onto her arm, pressing its beak gently against her wrist in quiet affirmation. Hedwig remains, ever present, her amber eyes reflecting something akin to sorrow… or perhaps pride.
“Guess it’s time to find out what’s on the other side. Maybe… maybe I’ll finally get to rest.”
The animals respond not with words, but with understanding. The wolf and panther close their eyes before dissolving into a swirling mist, their forms flowing into her, embedding themselves into the inked tattoos upon her skin. The raven follows, vanishing into the markings of its brethren. Only Hedwig remains, perched silently, watching.
Violet reaches up, fingers brushing over the owl’s feathers one last time. “Together,” she murmurs, and in response, Hedwig trills softly before fading into shimmering light, becoming one with the magic that binds them all.
With a final breath, Violet turns, stepping forward into the veil. The magic consumes her, wrapping around her in tendrils of shadow and light.
The void is vast, cold, yet not empty. Stars flicker like distant beacons, pinpricks of light in an abyss of infinite expanse. The voices rise in a crescendo of whispers, stories of the past, of futures unlived, of echoes that never faded. They swirl around her, a symphony of everything that was and everything that could have been.
She falls—no, she is carried—toward one of the growing points of light, a sphere of radiance expanding until it engulfs her completely.
For a moment, all is still. Suspended in the silence, she feels a gentle pressure on her shoulder, the phantom touch of talons she will never forget. A breeze stirs her hair, though no wind exists here. The presence is unseen, but felt.
A whisper, softer than the rest, a voice achingly familiar.
You are not alone.
And so she lets go, surrendering to the light, to the unknown, to what lies beyond the veil.
Suddenly, light bursts into a brilliant blue sky. The scent of fresh air floods her senses, a jarring contrast to the decay she had left behind. The warmth of the sun touches her skin, a sensation she had almost forgotten. Violet blinks against the brightness, realising she's falling. With a swift flick of her wand, her descent slows, and she rolls upon hitting the ground, softening the impact. She comes to her knees, gasping for breath—fresh, pure air that burns her lungs, so used to pollution and radiation. Magic, abundant and alive, thrums around her, rejuvenating her until it almost aches. Her body, so long accustomed to a dying world, trembles in protest, her senses overwhelmed by the vitality of this place.
A husky emerges at her side—the form Anand takes when he is hiding in plain sight—and he leans against her, helping her steady herself. His fur is soft, his presence grounding. “Thanks, Anand,” she manages between deep breaths, her hand resting on the dog’s fur, fingers tangling in the thick coat. The warmth of his body is a comfort, a reminder that she is not alone in this strange new place.
A rustle of wings draws her attention upward. Hedwig circles above, her white feathers almost luminous against the midday sun. With a graceful arc, the owl descends, landing lightly on Violet’s shoulder. She trills softly, nuzzling against Violet’s cheek, offering silent comfort. Violet exhales, a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, as the weight of displacement settles more gently against her.
After a few moments, Violet pushes herself upright, brushing the debris off her cloak. She looks around, her gaze sweeping across the unfamiliar landscape. Fields stretch out around her, wildflowers dotting the grass, and the sun hangs high—midday, she reckons. Not far off, a small playground sits in silence, the swings swaying gently in the breeze, and beyond it, rows of identical houses, their brick walls almost glowing in the daylight. The sight of such normalcy makes her pause, a pang of something akin to longing tugging at her heart, a reminder of what had been lost, of the world she had once known.
The wind carries the scent of flowers and fresh grass, the sound of birdsong reaching her ears. She takes another step, and then another, her feet carrying her forward, away from the ruins of her past and toward whatever future awaits her here. Anand stays close, his eyes never leaving her, a silent guardian in this strange new world. As they walk, Violet feels the weight on her shoulders lighten, just a little, the grief that has defined her for so long easing in the presence of this untouched place.
The playground draws closer, the bright colours of the equipment standing out against the green of the grass. Violet pauses by the swings, her hand brushing against the cool metal of the chains. For a moment, she closes her eyes, listening to the creak of the swing as it moves in the breeze, the sound oddly comforting. Memories of a childhood long lost flash through her mind. She lets out a shaky breath, her eyes opening once more.
Violet’s breath catches. Her pulse thrums in her ears.
“Damn it all,” she mutters under her breath, her tone a mix of frustration and resignation. Of course, it had to be here. Of course, she had been pulled to this place.
Hedwig shifts on her shoulder, as if sensing her hesitation, trilling a soft encouragement. Anand presses closer against her leg, offering silent support. She feels the presence of her other familiars, their quiet reassurance keeping her steady.
Right. No sense in hesitating.
With Anand walking alongside her, Violet starts towards the rows of identical houses, their perfectly manicured lawns standing in stark contrast to the chaotic emotions roiling within her.
Violet walks along a path she hasn't walked in years, a route that feels strangely foreign yet hauntingly familiar. The houses seem to loom over her as she moves, their uniform facades almost suffocating in their sameness. Her steps slow as she approaches number four, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath catching at the sight of the door she never thought she would see again. Memories of her childhood flicker like ghosts—the harsh words, the cold stares, the bruises that never fully faded. She pauses at the foot of the path, her fingers brushing against Anand's fur, grounding herself before she moves forward, her resolve hardening. She shifts her appearance slightly, her hair taking on a more red tint, her gaze steeling as she knocks on the door. Anand sits by her side, his eyes fixed on the door, ready.
The door opens to reveal a woman with a sharp, disdainful expression. Petunia Dursley's eyes travel from Violet's practical, worn outfit up to her face, and the sneer that had been forming quickly morphs into a look of horror. Her face pales, her eyes widening in shock. “You… You can't be!” Petunia stammers, her voice cracking as fear replaces disdain.
“I think you'd prefer to have this conversation inside,” Violet says evenly, her voice a calm contrast to the storm of emotions raging within her. She steps forward, guiding Petunia back into the house, her presence commanding and unyielding. The door closes behind them with a soft click, the sound echoing in the tense silence. As they pass the small cupboard under the stairs, Violet's magic briefly flares—a pulse of awareness that tells her what she already knew. Anand, at her heel, offers a silent confirmation as they make their way to the living room where Vernon sits, his eyes narrowing the moment he notices her.
Vernon's face darkens, his skin taking on a mottled red hue as he stands, his fists clenching. “What are you doing here? We made it clear we didn't want any of your kind poking around!” he barks, his voice rising in anger. He takes a step forward, but Violet is faster, her wand already in her hand, its tip glowing faintly.
“Sit down, Vernon,” she says, her voice cutting through his bluster like a knife. “I'm not here to stay long, so I suggest we keep this civil.” The sharp edge in her tone brooks no argument, and Vernon hesitates, his gaze flicking from her wand to her eyes, the fear there betraying his bravado. He sits back down heavily, his expression twisted into a scowl. Petunia lingers behind him, her hands trembling slightly, her eyes filled with fear.
“What do you want?” Vernon growls, his voice lower now, the hostility not entirely gone but tempered by caution.
“I'm here to collect Rose,” Violet replies, her eyes fixed on the pair. Her hand tightens around her wand as she speaks, her gaze flickering briefly over their expressions. “She'll be coming to live with me from now on.” She allows her magic to slip past her barriers for a moment, a delicate legilimency probe that brushes against their minds. The difference between their memories and her own—the casual cruelty, the utter lack of remorse the same—but the small differences shock her, her heart tightening with an old, familiar ache.
Vernon's eyes widen, and then a twisted smile curls at the corners of his mouth. “Good. We'll be glad to be rid of the freak,” he sneers, gesturing towards the back garden with a dismissive wave. “She's out there. She's all yours.”
Violet holds his gaze for a beat longer before nodding curtly. She strides through the kitchen, her footsteps steady and purposeful, the tension in her body evident as she passes through the threshold and steps into the garden. Anand stays by her side, his eyes sharp, watching for any sign of trouble. As she steps outside, she lets her hair shift back to its natural black and white strands, the tension easing slightly from her shoulders.
She scans the garden, her eyes narrowing as she spots a small figure crouched in front of some bushes, her tiny frame nearly hidden by the foliage. Violet approaches slowly, making sure her hands are visible, empty, her movements deliberate and careful. Anand stays by the door, watching with alert eyes.
“I'm Violet… Violet Potter,” she says softly, her voice carrying across the garden with gentle warmth. The girl looks up, startled, her emerald green eyes meeting Violet's, wide with confusion and a glimmer of hope. A jagged lightning-bolt scar runs across her forehead, just like Violet's, though smaller, less defined.
“Potter? Are… are you related to me?” Rose's voice is barely a whisper, her small frame trembling slightly, the question filled with so much hope it makes Violet's heart ache.
“I am,” Violet replies, nodding. “And I'm here to take you away from here, if you'd like that.” Her words are gentle, her expression softening as she sees the emotions flicker across the child's face—fear, hope, disbelief. Before she can say anything more, Rose launches herself forward, her thin arms wrapping around Violet's neck in a desperate embrace. For a moment, the girl tenses, as if expecting rejection, but Violet's arms wrap around her in return, her hand smoothing through Rose's tangled hair, her touch tender.
“Please,” Rose whispers, her voice breaking, tears welling in her eyes as she clings to Violet. The single word holds everything—her fear, her longing, her desperation to escape.
Violet nods, her own throat tightening with emotion. “Of course,” she murmurs, her voice steady. She holds Rose close for a moment longer before slowly standing, the small girl in her arms. “Let's get out of here. We have a lot to talk about, but first, let's leave this place behind.” She looks down at Rose, her voice softening. “Is there anything you'd like to bring with you?”
Rose nods, her face still buried in Violet's shoulder, and Violet waits patiently, feeling the girl’s small nods against her. “Okay. I'll get it,” Violet promises. She walks back into the house, her gaze never straying towards the living room where Vernon and Petunia sit in tense silence. With a flick of her wand, the few books Rose had owned in her cupboard float out, shrinking and tucking themselves into her pocket. Violet turns on her heel, striding out of the house without sparing the adults another glance, Anand trailing beside her.
They move quickly, Violet's steps confident as they leave the street behind, passing neighbours who glance their way, curiosity flickering in their eyes but no questions asked. She keeps Rose close, her grip secure yet gentle, her mind racing with the enormity of what she has just set in motion.
The air hums with life, a stark contrast to the world she left behind. The scent of fresh grass, the distant laughter of children playing in their gardens, the golden hues of the setting sun—it is all too much, too bright, too warm. It overwhelms her senses, a sharp reminder that this world is not the one she fought so hard to survive in. It is untouched, full of magic, full of possibility. Full of second chances.
They retrace Violet's path to the field where she had first arrived, and she stops at a bench on the edge of it, sitting down with Rose still in her lap. Anand lies at her feet, his eyes never leaving them. The husky’s presence is grounding, a tether to the here and now, keeping her steady amidst the torrent of emotions.
“Alright,” Violet begins, her voice gentle, “there are a few things I want to explain to you, and I’m sure you have questions. First off, I am related to you, but it's a bit complicated. I never got the chance to know your parents, Lily and James, but I knew people who cared for them and told me about the good they tried to do. I know they were brave, and they loved you very much. Whatever your relatives said about them—about our family—you can ignore it. None of it was true.” As she speaks, her fingers gently run through Rose’s hair, the motion soothing, an unconscious act of comfort.
Rose listens intently, her small hands gripping the edges of Violet's cloak as if afraid to let go. Her emerald eyes, identical to Violet’s, shine with uncertainty, with the quiet yearning of a child who has been told too many lies and given too little kindness.
“The biggest thing you should know, though,” Violet continues, “is that magic is real. You have magic, and so do I.” She pauses, watching as Rose lifts her head, her eyes wide with a mix of emotions—fear, disbelief, wonder. Violet smiles softly, drawing her wand and holding it where Rose can see. With a small flick, she transfigures a few branches scattered around the garden into a series of delicate shapes—a stag, a dog, a wolf, and a doe.
Rose's eyes widen, her gaze transfixed on the small figures. “Magic… it's real?” she breathes, her voice tinged with awe. Her eyes flick up to meet Violet's, her expression filled with wonder.
“It is,” Violet confirms. “And it's something you’ll learn to use too, when you're a bit older. You'll go to a school called Hogwarts, and they’ll teach you all about magic.” She gestures to Anand, who wags his tail, his eyes bright as he watches Rose. “And this is Anand, one of my familiars. He’s here to help protect us.”
Rose looks at Anand for a moment, her gaze curious. She reaches out tentatively, her small hand brushing against his fur, a giggle escaping her as Anand licks her palm. She glances up at Violet, her eyes bright. “Can you show me more?” she asks, her voice timid but filled with excitement.
Violet's smile softens, her heart warming at the sight. “Of course,” she says, her voice filled with affection. She spends the next few hours showing Rose simple spells—transfigurations, charms that make leaves dance through the air, small illusions that make flowers bloom before fading away. Each spell brings a smile to Rose’s face, her laughter ringing out across the field, a sound that lifts something heavy from Violet’s heart.
As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, Rose lets out a yawn, her eyes growing heavy. Violet stands, undoing her spells with a flick of her wand, the transfigured shapes returning to their original forms. “Alright, time to go,” she says, her voice soft. She adjusts her grip on Rose, the girl resting her head against Violet’s shoulder. “I’m hoping my memory is good enough to find some old friends. If not, we’ll make do until we can access one of our family’s properties.”
“Our family’s properties?” Rose mumbles, her voice sleepy, her curiosity still piqued even through her exhaustion.
“Yes,” Violet says, her voice gentle as she begins pooling her magic around them. “The Potters were a noble family, and we have a few places we can call home. I’ll tell you all about it once we’re settled and you’re rested.” She feels the magic surge, wrapping around them both, preparing to take them far away from this place. “Hold on tight. This might feel a bit strange.”
Rose's small arms tighten around Violet, and with a final breath, Violet lets the magic take them, the world around them dissolving into a swirl of shadows as they vanish from the park, leaving behind only the faintest shimmer of magic in the air.
The two Potters are engulfed in shadows, vanishing from the field, and emerge in a different field, miles away from where they were. A new beginning, a new path—one Violet is determined to walk, with Rose safely by her side.
The air is crisper here, the sky a dusky shade of indigo as the sun begins to set, painting the horizon with faint pinks and purples.
Violet rubs Rose’s back, setting her down gently to allow her to regain her balance. Even though Violet prefers her method of travel compared to apparition, she knows it can be unsettling for those unaccustomed to the sensation. She watches Rose closely, waiting until she’s sure the girl is steady, the color returning to her cheeks. When Rose gives her a small nod, the two of them step onto a narrow path leading up to a small house that overlooks the village below, Anand emerging silently from a shadow to join them, his paws making no sound as they walk.
The path is lined with overgrown wildflowers and tufts of tall grass swaying in the breeze. The house ahead is modest, tucked amidst a patch of trees, its windows glowing with the soft, welcoming light of a hearth within. As they reach the gate, Violet draws her wand and taps it twice, the magic sparking briefly as it makes contact, rippling through the air like a pebble dropped into a pond.
“I’ve just knocked on their wards,” Violet explains to Rose with a reassuring smile. “They should be out in a moment to see who it is. Think of it like ringing the doorbell.” She keeps her voice calm and gentle, trying to put the little girl at ease. Rose nods, her small hand still clutching the edge of Violet’s cloak as she peers around, her eyes wide.
The door to the house opens, spilling warm light onto the porch, and an older woman steps out, her silhouette framed by the glow. She squints in their direction before stepping cautiously towards them, her wand held discreetly behind her back, her eyes sharp and wary.
“How can I help you?” she asks, her gaze flicking between the cloaked figure and the child. She stops a few feet away, far enough to react if there were any danger.
“Mrs. Tonks, I...” Violet’s voice catches for a moment, the familiarity of Andromeda’s face bringing a flood of emotions she hadn’t expected. She takes a breath, steadying herself. “I merely seek a place for my ward to rest while I look for a more permanent home for both of us. I know you were close with her family... before everything that happened.” Her voice softens as she speaks, her eyes meeting Andromeda’s, and she fights to keep her composure.
Andromeda studies them for a long moment, her eyes lingering on Rose’s face, a look of recognition dawning. She lets out a small gasp, her expression softening. “Rose...” she whispers, her voice filled with emotion. “Please, come in, both of you,” she says, stepping back and gesturing for them to enter.
“Who is it, Andi?” A voice comes from the living room as they step inside, the warmth of the house wrapping around them like a blanket. Violet can hear the crackle of a fire, the smell of herbs and freshly baked bread lingering in the air.
“I’m Violet, and this is Rose,” Violet offers with a polite smile to Ted, who is seated on the couch. His eyes narrow slightly, a frown forming as he takes in their appearances, his gaze flicking between them and his wife.
“They needed somewhere to stay for the night, at least,” Andromeda says, her eyes still on Rose, who lets out a soft yawn, her small frame sagging with exhaustion.
“I can answer any questions you might have once Rose is settled, if that’s alright,” Violet says, her gaze shifting between Andromeda and Ted, who exchange a look before nodding in agreement.
“Of course,” Andromeda replies, her voice gentle as she leads them towards the stairs. Rose’s hand tightens around Violet’s, and Violet gives her a reassuring squeeze as they follow Andromeda up the steps.
The house is deceptively spacious, the corridor lined with old family photos, the walls painted in warm, earthy tones. Andromeda guides them to one of the spare rooms, her hand resting on the doorknob as she turns to them with a soft smile. She opens the door, revealing a cozy room with a large bed, the covers neatly folded back, and a small lamp casting a soft glow.
“This will be your room for the night,” Andromeda says, her voice kind. Violet nods in thanks, guiding Rose to the bed and sitting her down on the edge.
“I’m going to be just downstairs,” Violet says, her voice soothing as she crouches in front of Rose, her eyes meeting the girl’s. “Anand will stay with you. She’s good company and will let me know if you need anything.” Anand steps forward, her head resting gently on the bed, her eyes watching Rose attentively.
Rose looks at the husky, then back at Violet, her lips trembling slightly as she bites down on them, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Okay...” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Violet smiles, her fingers threading gently through Rose’s hair, smoothing it back as she sits beside her. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep, alright?” she murmurs, her voice barely audible, her heart aching at the vulnerability in the child’s eyes. Rose nods, her body relaxing against the pillows as Violet begins to hum softly—a lullaby Andromeda taught her years ago. It doesn’t take long before Rose’s eyes flutter closed, her breathing evening out as sleep claims her.
Violet stays for a moment longer, her eyes tracing the young girl’s features, a fierce protectiveness settling in her chest. She leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to Rose’s forehead before standing and slipping quietly out of the room, Andromeda waiting in the hallway. They exchange a silent nod before making their way back down the stairs, the warmth of the house settling around Violet like something she hadn't known she needed.
In the living room, Ted has poured a cup of tea for Violet, placing it on the table in front of an empty armchair. She takes a seat, adding sugar and milk before taking a sip, the warmth of the tea helping to calm her nerves. She takes a deep breath, organizing her thoughts, knowing that the conversation to come would not be easy.
“You seem good with her,” Andromeda says, her voice gentle, her eyes searching Violet’s face. “She seems to trust you.”
Violet lets out a soft sigh, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “I only met her earlier today,” she admits. “I think most of her trust comes from the simple fact that I showed her kindness and got her away from where she’d been left… by Dumbledore.” Her brow furrows, anger simmering beneath her calm exterior.
Andromeda’s frown deepens at the mention of the old Headmaster. “I always had a feeling he knew where Rose was,” she says quietly. “He refused to even let me see her when I asked. I knew something wasn’t right.” Ted reaches over, his hand resting on her arm, a comforting gesture.
“He knew you wouldn’t approve of where she was,” Violet says, her voice sharp with bitterness. “Or how she was being treated.” She pauses, her gaze dropping to her tea for a moment before looking up at them. “As for how I knew… please bear with me, because it’s unbelievable even to me.” She takes a deep breath, a wry smile touching her lips. “I have the infamous Potter luck, after all. I am Violet Potter, born to James and Lily Potter. And… I seem to be from the future—or at least a future. Things here are clearly different from how they were for me.”
She begins to explain, her voice steady as she tells them about her life at Hogwarts, the war, and the desolation that followed. She speaks of the dying world she left behind, her voice catching at times, though she leaves out some of the more painful details, focusing instead on the larger picture. Andromeda and Ted listen in silence, their expressions shifting from disbelief to horror as the story unfolds.
“That… that’s a lot to take in,” Andromeda finally says, her voice trembling slightly. She takes a deep breath, her healer’s instincts kicking in as she looks at Violet. “Would you mind if I performed a quick diagnostic scan? Just to confirm… everything?”
Violet nods in agreement, her expression open as Andromeda lifts her wand and murmurs the incantation. The spell glows faintly, a piece of parchment appearing in her hand, the list of injuries and conditions growing longer as she reads. Andromeda’s eyes widen, her face paling.
“What?! How are you even alive?” she exclaims, her voice filled with disbelief as her eyes scan the parchment, taking in the numerous ailments and injuries that have clearly plagued Violet for years.
Violet shrugs, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “It’s been like that for a while,” she says, her voice almost flippant. “You can ignore the strange heart rate—that’s normal for me. The rest is just a mix of potions, magic, and luck.”
Andromeda shakes her head, her eyes narrowing in determination. “No. Both of you are getting full check-ups and treatments tomorrow,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Violet’s eyes soften at Andromeda’s firm words, tears welling up as she nods. “Of course,” she whispers, her voice breaking slightly. She takes a shaky breath, trying to hold back her emotions. “I’ll need to go to Gringotts and get some supplies, though.”
Andromeda’s expression softens, a sad smile forming on her lips as she moves around the table, sitting beside Violet and gently rubbing her back. “Sshh… you’re safe here,” she murmurs. “You don’t need to worry about finding somewhere else. You and Rose are welcome here, for as long as you need.” She hesitates, her eyes meeting Violet’s. “We were close, weren’t we? In your timeline.”
Violet nods, her tears spilling over as she lets out a soft sob. “Yes,” she says, her voice barely audible. “Towards the end, we were all each other had. You taught me everything you knew—about our family, about how to navigate the world of the Noble houses.” Her voice breaks, and she lets herself lean into Andromeda’s embrace, her body shaking with quiet sobs.
Andromeda wraps her arms around Violet, her expression gentle. “I might not be her,” she says softly, “but if she called you family, then family you are.” She pulls back slightly, her hand cupping Violet’s cheek. “You’re not alone anymore.”
She helps Violet to her feet, guiding her towards the stairs and leading her to a guest room beside Rose’s. “Here,” she says, her voice soothing. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning, and we can talk more then.”
Violet nods, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. She steps into the room, her body heavy with exhaustion. She quickly disrobes, stacking the daggers she had hidden on her body next to the bed before collapsing onto the mattress.
Macha curls up beside Violet in her cat form, while Badb watches from above, a quiet sentinel.
Violet closes her eyes, feeling the protective warmth of her familiars surrounding her. For the first time in a long while, she allows herself to believe she is safe, letting sleep pull her into its depths.
~~
The early morning stillness was broken by a gentle pulse through Violet’s familiar bond with Anand. Even half-asleep, she recognized the urgent yet steady call, the subtle tug of distress. Her eyes snapped open, instincts honed by years of hardship overriding exhaustion.
Springing out of bed, she moved with practiced ease, slipping through the dimly lit corridor and into Rose’s room without hesitation. The moment she crossed the threshold, her heart clenched at the sight before her. Rose sat curled on the edge of the bed, her small frame trembling, quiet sobs wracking her body. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps—on the verge of a panic attack.
Without thinking, Violet moved. She knelt beside the bed, arms wrapping securely around the little girl, her hold firm yet gentle. Rose tensed for a brief second, then melted into her embrace, clinging to her with desperate need.
“Shh… it’s alright,” Violet murmured, stroking Rose’s hair in slow, calming motions. “You’re safe, I promise. I’ve got you.” Her voice was a steady whisper, soft but sure, grounding them both in the moment.
Anand lay at Rose’s feet, his warm presence a solid, reassuring weight. Hedwig fluttered to the headboard, her golden eyes watching over them with quiet vigilance.
Violet could feel the way Rose shook against her, her fingers curled into Violet’s nightshirt as though afraid she might disappear. Memories of her own nights spent in the suffocating grip of fear resurfaced, but she pushed them aside. This wasn’t about her. This was about Rose.
Taking a deep breath, Violet continued to hold her, her fingers tracing slow circles against the child’s back. “You don’t have to talk about it,” she murmured, pressing a light kiss to the crown of Rose’s head. “Just breathe with me, okay? In… out… nice and slow.”
She felt Rose struggle to follow the rhythm at first, her breath still shaky, but as the moments passed, her sobs began to subside. The rapid rise and fall of her chest slowed, her grip loosening slightly. Violet stayed with her, whispering reassurances, offering comfort in the way she wished someone had been there for her at that age.
Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, but eventually, Rose’s trembling ceased, her breath evening out into soft, exhausted sniffles.
Violet pulled back just enough to meet Rose’s gaze, wiping away the lingering tears with gentle fingers. “Do you want to stay up for a bit, or try and sleep some more?”
Rose hesitated, then mumbled, “Stay… just for a little.”
“Alright,” Violet agreed easily, shifting so they could lean against the headboard together. She kept Rose close, their warmth shared beneath the blankets. Anand curled protectively at their feet, while Hedwig remained perched, ever watchful.
In the quiet that followed, Violet hummed a familiar tune—something soft, something comforting. She felt Rose relax, her head resting against Violet’s shoulder, the tension finally slipping away.
Time stretched, the world beyond the four walls forgotten. Slowly, Rose’s breathing evened out, her body growing heavier against Violet’s side. A small, sleepy mumble escaped her lips, barely audible, but it sent a tremor through Violet’s heart.
“Mum…”
Violet’s breath caught. For a long moment, she didn’t move, her arms tightening ever so slightly around the small girl curled up against her. The word settled deep within her, wrapping around her heart in a way she never expected. She swallowed hard, blinking away the sudden sting in her eyes.
She pressed another gentle kiss to Rose’s temple, her voice barely a whisper. “Sleep well, love. I’ve got you.”
As the last traces of tension faded, Violet closed her own eyes, finally allowing herself to drift. With Rose tucked safely in her arms, Anand at their feet, and Hedwig standing guard above, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt at peace.
And as sleep claimed her, she held onto that fragile warmth, the certainty that, no matter what came next, Rose would never feel alone again.
~
The scent of warm butter and freshly baked bread drifted through the air, stirring Rose from the haze of sleep. Her small body remained curled up against Violet’s, the warmth of the embrace anchoring her in a way she hadn’t known she needed. For a few blissful moments, she simply let herself be held, the safety of the moment so foreign that she feared breaking it would make it disappear entirely.
She cracked her eyes open, blinking blearily against the soft light filtering through the curtains. The quiet rustling of wings drew her gaze upward, where Hedwig perched on the headboard, her sharp golden eyes watching with a kind of quiet understanding. Anand shifted at the foot of the bed, his large form rising and stretching before he settled again, letting out a deep, contented sigh. Macha, in her sleek black cat form, lay curled in a tight ball against the pillows, her tail twitching lazily. Badb, ever watchful, perched by the window, her dark feathers ruffling slightly in the gentle morning breeze.
For a moment, Rose allowed herself to believe this was normal, that waking up surrounded by warmth and guardianship was something she could expect every day. Hope curled in her chest, fragile yet insistent, like the first signs of spring after a brutal winter. She could almost pretend that this was how mornings had always been for her—that there had never been cold, lonely nights or mornings filled with the ache of hunger and the sting of harsh words. But pretending could only last so long.
Then the fear crept in.
Her fingers instinctively tightened around the fabric of Violet’s shirt, her heart thudding against her ribs. This wasn’t her cupboard. This wasn’t the too-thin mattress she was used to, the cold draft seeping through the cracks in the door. She wasn’t waking up to Petunia banging pots in the kitchen, already annoyed with her presence. There was no Vernon shouting for her to hurry up and make breakfast, no Dudley stomping around, waiting to shove her aside.
Her stomach twisted as old instincts warred with the tentative hope stirring within her. What if this was a mistake? What if she did something wrong? What if Violet changed her mind, realized that Rose was too much trouble, too broken to keep? What if this was just another temporary kindness, destined to be taken away like all the others? The weight of those thoughts settled over her like a shroud, pressing down with an ache she didn’t quite understand.
A shaky breath escaped her, her fingers trembling as she pressed closer to Violet, seeking reassurance in the steady warmth. Would she be punished for lingering too long? For staying in bed when she should already be moving? The instinct to shrink, to make herself smaller, was hard to shake. Her whole life had been spent making herself invisible when she needed to be. But here, Violet had pulled her close rather than pushing her away.
As though sensing the shift in Rose’s emotions, Violet stirred beside her. A strong yet gentle hand smoothed over Rose’s hair, fingers threading through the tangled strands with an ease that sent a lump rising in her throat.
“You’re safe,” Violet murmured, her voice still thick with sleep but filled with quiet certainty. “No one’s going to hurt you here, love.”
Rose swallowed, the words striking something deep within her, unraveling the knots of fear wound so tightly around her chest. She wanted to believe Violet—wanted it more than anything—but years of harsh words and cold indifference weren’t so easily forgotten. She wanted to ask, to beg for reassurance that she wouldn’t be sent away, that she wouldn’t wake up tomorrow to find that it had all been a cruel dream.
Violet shifted, sitting up slightly so she could look down at Rose, her emerald eyes kind and knowing. “You don’t have to rush,” she said softly. “We can stay like this as long as you want. Breakfast isn’t going anywhere.”
The reassurance nearly broke her. No demands. No expectations. Just patience and understanding.
Tears pricked at Rose’s eyes, and she ducked her head, ashamed of the emotion welling up so strongly. But Violet didn’t scold her. She simply gathered Rose a little closer, rubbing slow circles along her back, letting her feel what it was like to be wanted, to be cared for. The steady, rhythmic motion soothed the tremors in her small body, grounding her in a way nothing else had before.
For the first time in her young life, Rose allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t temporary. That this warmth, this safety, was something she could have. Something she could keep. The thought terrified her as much as it comforted her. She had never known permanence, never known what it was to be someone’s priority. She wanted to hold onto it so desperately, even though a part of her still feared it slipping through her fingers.
She hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. “You won’t change your mind?”
Violet’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, with deliberate certainty, she cupped Rose’s cheek, tilting the girl’s face up so their eyes met. “Never,” she whispered. “You’re mine, Rose. No one is ever taking you away from me.”
The last wall inside Rose cracked, the weight of Violet’s words settling deep in her chest. She clung to her, burying her face in Violet's shoulder, and for the first time, she let herself believe in the future. In a home. In love.
And with that hope settling deep in her chest, she nodded against Violet’s shoulder, her voice barely audible.
“Okay.”
Violet smiled, pressing a light kiss to the top of Rose’s head. “Take your time, love. We have all the time in the world.”