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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.”

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

II

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

The scent of breakfast—freshly baked bread, sizzling bacon, and brewed tea—filled the air as Violet and Rose made their way downstairs. Rose fidgeted slightly with the hem of her new shirt, the fabric unfamiliar but comfortable, and more importantly, hers. Violet had transfigured them for her that morning, ensuring they fit perfectly rather than hanging off her like the oversized, hand-me-down rags she was used to. For the first time in her life, her clothes didn’t itch, didn’t threaten to slip off her shoulders, and weren’t faded with age. It was such a small thing, yet it made her feel lighter, less like a burden and more like a person who mattered.

Rose stayed close to Violet, her small hand occasionally brushing against the older girl’s as they entered the warm, inviting kitchen. The sight of Andromeda and Ted sitting at the table, waiting for them, sent a small spike of nervousness through her. She wasn’t used to this—being acknowledged, having a seat at a table that wasn’t just a begrudging afterthought. A quiet voice in her head whispered that this was all a dream, that at any moment, she’d wake up back in the cupboard under the stairs, her ribs aching from sleeping curled too tightly, her stomach gnawing with hunger.

Violet gently guided her forward, offering a reassuring squeeze to her shoulder before leading her to one of the chairs beside her. Rose climbed into it carefully, her legs swinging slightly as she settled, still staying close to Violet, comforted by her presence. Her gaze flickered to the food in front of her—a generous serving of eggs, toast, and fruit, with a small cup of tea set beside it. She hesitated, glancing up at the adults, waiting for the sneers, for the reminder that she didn’t deserve this. But none came. Andromeda and Ted observed her with kind, patient expressions. No disgust, no impatience, just quiet warmth. It felt strange.

Violet smiled, taking her own seat before gesturing between them.

“Rose, I’d like you to properly meet Andromeda and Ted Tonks,” Violet said, her voice gentle. “They’re friends. Family, in a way.”

Rose hesitated for a moment before peeking up at them, her fingers still curled against the fabric of her shirt. Family. She had no memory of what that word was supposed to mean, but she liked the way Violet said it, like it was something good. 

“Hello,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Andromeda smiled, her eyes warm. “It’s lovely to meet you, Rose. We’re so glad you’re here.”

Ted nodded in agreement, his easygoing nature shining through. “Hope you’re hungry. Andi went all out with breakfast.”

Rose glanced back down at her plate, suddenly aware of how hungry she really was. She felt the weight of their kindness, of their patience, but most of all, she felt the safety in Violet’s presence beside her. With a small nod, she picked up her fork and took a tentative bite, savoring the warmth of the food and, for the first time, the feeling of truly belonging.

Each bite felt almost surreal. She was used to eating quickly, keeping her head down, afraid that if she looked too eager, the plate might be snatched away before she could finish. But here, no one was watching her like a hawk, waiting for an excuse to tell her she had eaten too much, that she didn’t deserve it. Violet ate beside her, unhurried, relaxed, her presence a steady comfort.

Halfway through her meal, Rose felt a lump rise in her throat. The kindness, the warmth—it was almost too much. Her fingers clenched around her fork, her breath hitching as emotions swirled in her chest. She didn’t want this to end. She didn’t want to wake up from this dream.

Violet must have noticed, because her hand found Rose’s beneath the table, squeezing gently. “You’re safe,” she murmured, just loud enough for Rose to hear. “You don’t have to rush. Take your time.”

Rose swallowed, her grip loosening slightly. No one had ever told her that before. No one had ever given her time. 

Andromeda, sensing the moment, shifted the conversation lightly. “I imagine this is quite a change for you, dear,” she said, her voice warm and understanding. “But you’re welcome here for as long as you need.”

Ted nodded in agreement, setting his tea down with an easy smile. “And I hear from Violet that you’re quite the strong little witch. I bet Hogwarts will be lucky to have you someday.”

Rose blinked, the idea of Hogwarts still distant and surreal to her, but the thought of a future—of anything beyond just surviving—sparked something inside her. She nodded slowly, feeling, perhaps for the first time, that she might have something to look forward to.

As breakfast continued, the initial tension in her shoulders began to ease. It wasn’t perfect. Fear still clung to her like a shadow, whispering that it was too good to last. But as she sat there, in the warmth of the morning sun, surrounded by food, by patience, by family—she dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, she had finally found a place where she belonged.

~~

After breakfast, with the warmth of a full meal settling in their stomachs, Violet and Rose made their way toward St. Mungo’s, Andromeda leading the way. The morning air was crisp, but Rose barely noticed as she clung tightly to Violet’s hand, her small fingers gripping with a quiet desperation. It was as if she feared letting go might make everything disappear.

Violet gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they stepped through the enchanted entrance of the hospital, the large waiting area bustling with healers, patients, and floating diagnostic charts. The scent of antiseptic potions and fresh parchment filled the air, mingling with the quiet hum of magical energy that pulsed through the building. The magical hospital was unlike anything Rose had ever seen—floors shifting with unseen spells, portraits of past healers whispering incantations to one another, floating potion vials traveling between stations as though on invisible hands. It was overwhelming, but Violet’s steady presence kept her grounded.

Andromeda, a seasoned healer, was immediately recognized by the reception witch, who greeted her with a polite nod before waving them through the staff doors.

“Right this way,” Andromeda said, guiding them through the winding hallways to a private examination room. “I arranged for a quiet space so we won’t have to wait.”

Rose stayed close to Violet, her grip tightening as they stepped into the sterile yet comfortable exam room. The walls were lined with shelves of neatly organized potions, various magical diagnostic tools floating idly in the air. There was a small enchanted fire in the corner, warming the room to a cozy temperature, yet despite that, Rose shivered slightly.

A nurse entered shortly after, a kind-looking woman with a clipboard in hand. She glanced between them before offering a warm smile.

“This must be your daughter?” she asked, her voice pleasant as she made a note on her parchment.

Violet blinked, glancing down at Rose, who had stiffened slightly but made no move to correct the woman. Instead, she kept her grip on Violet’s hand, her expression unreadable. Inside, a war raged within her—she wanted this, wanted to believe that Violet could be hers, that she could have the kind of love she'd only ever dreamed about. But fear coiled in her stomach, whispering that it was dangerous to hope, that if she let herself believe in this too much, it would be taken away just like everything else.

Violet’s heart clenched, understanding settling in her chest. She could feel the quiet battle within Rose, the way she seemed to both cling to and resist the idea at the same time. Violet refused to rush her, to make her feel as though she had to fit into something she wasn’t ready for. Rose wasn’t a replacement for the childhood Violet had lost—she was her own person, someone who deserved to forge her own path, but if Rose needed her, if she wanted a mother, then Violet would be that for her. No hesitation, no conditions.

“She’s with me,” Violet said simply, brushing a hand through Rose’s hair in a soothing motion. She wouldn’t push, wouldn’t expect for Rose to see her as a mother. But she would be there. Always.

The nurse nodded, either unaware of the significance of her mistake or choosing to let it slide. “We’ll start with a basic diagnostic scan,” she continued, waving her wand as a soft glow enveloped Rose. Numbers and runes hovered in the air, shifting slightly as the scan took note of her overall health. The nurse’s smile faltered just a bit as she read the results, her eyes flickering with quiet concern before she smoothed her expression.

Violet didn’t miss it, and neither did Andromeda, who stepped forward. “I’ll handle the assessments from here,” she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. The nurse gave a polite nod and excused herself, leaving them in the quiet of the exam room.

Violet gently nudged Rose onto the exam table, crouching beside her. “It’s alright,” she murmured, brushing back a stray curl from Rose’s face. “Andromeda just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

Rose nodded hesitantly, though she made no move to let go of Violet’s hand. If anything, she held on tighter.

Andromeda lifted her wand and whispered a series of incantations, more numbers and symbols glowing in the air around Rose, shifting and reorganizing into a more detailed account of her health. Violet could see the tension in Andromeda’s shoulders as she read them, her lips pressing into a thin line. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words.

“She’s malnourished,” Andromeda finally said, her voice carefully measured, though Violet could hear the anger simmering beneath the surface. “There are signs of past fractures that didn’t heal properly—her wrist, two ribs, possibly her ankle at some point. And…” She trailed off, exhaling slowly. “There are traces of untreated magical exhaustion. Small amounts, but consistent, as if her magic has been suppressed rather than nurtured.”

Violet’s grip on Rose’s hand tightened slightly. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm for Rose’s sake. “What can we do?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm.

Andromeda’s expression softened slightly as she met Violet’s gaze. “It’s all reversible with proper care, nutrition, and some strengthening potions. The emotional scars… those will take longer.” She glanced at Rose, who was watching them both with wide, uncertain eyes. Andromeda offered her a reassuring smile. “But you’re safe now, and we’ll make sure you get everything you need.”

Rose swallowed hard, her grip on Violet’s hand trembling slightly. “I don’t have to go back?” she whispered, her voice so small that it nearly broke Violet’s heart.

Violet shook her head immediately. “Never,” she said, absolute certainty in her voice. “You’re with me now, and no one is ever going to hurt you again.”

Rose stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to gauge whether Violet was telling the truth. Then, slowly, hesitantly, she nodded.

Andromeda reached for a parchment and quill, making notes for recommended potions and treatments. “We’ll start her on a regimen today,” she said. “And I’ll make sure everything is documented properly. Dumbledore will have no claim over her, not with what we’ve just seen.”

Violet exhaled, a weight lifting from her chest. She had feared that, despite everything, the old man might still find a way to interfere. But Andromeda was right—there was no justifying what had been done to Rose. And Violet would fight to keep her safe, no matter what.

Rose remained quiet, still processing, but as Violet shifted to sit beside her on the exam table, she leaned into her side. After a moment, Violet wrapped her arms around Rose, holding her close, tucking the small girl into her embrace. Rose hesitated, then let herself relax against her, her head resting against Violet’s shoulder.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. There was no need for words.

And Violet was going to make sure she never suffered alone again.

With Rose’s examination complete, Andromeda set aside the parchment detailing her treatment plan and turned her sharp, assessing gaze onto Violet.

“Now it’s your turn,” she said, her voice firm but laced with care.

Violet sighed but nodded, knowing there was no escaping this. She gently pried Rose’s fingers from her sleeve, offering the little girl a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right here,” she promised, her voice calm and steady.

Rose hesitated, her grip tightening for a moment before she nodded. She stepped back but stayed close, her wide, watchful eyes never leaving Violet as she moved onto the examination table. 

Andromeda wasted no time, lifting her wand and beginning the diagnostic scan. The floating runes and numbers shifted in the air, and as she read them, her expression darkened. The silence that followed was telling.

“Violet,” she murmured, shaking her head. “How long have you been running yourself ragged like this?”

Violet shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “A while.”

Andromeda let out a quiet sigh, giving her a pointed look before continuing her scan. The list of untreated injuries, magical strain, and deep exhaustion was damning. Old wounds that had never fully healed, scars both physical and magical that had been left to settle rather than mend properly. Traces of overuse, of magic stretched far beyond what it should have endured. A body pushed too hard, a mind weighed down by burdens far too heavy for any one person to bear. 

“You push yourself far beyond what’s reasonable,” Andromeda muttered under her breath, jotting down notes with a flick of her wand. “Your body is worn, Violet. You may not feel it now, but at this rate, even your magic won’t be able to keep up forever.”

Violet huffed a quiet laugh, but she didn’t argue. She knew she was a mess—had been for a long time—but she’d never had the luxury of stopping to fix it. There was always another battle, another war, another reason to keep moving forward without looking back. If she slowed down, the weight of everything might finally catch up to her.

But now… now she had Rose. 

Andromeda’s expression softened as she glanced between them. “You need proper treatment, Violet. Not just potions to keep you going, but actual rest, actual care. You’re strong, but strength only lasts so long when you don’t let yourself recover.”

Violet exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the truth in Andromeda’s words. But before she could answer, small hands found hers. 

Rose had moved forward the moment the scan was over, pressing into Violet’s side without hesitation. She clung to her, burying her face against Violet’s shoulder, her unspoken worry evident in the way she held on. Violet felt the tremble in Rose’s fingers, the quiet plea for reassurance. 

She wrapped her arms around her instinctively, pressing a light kiss to the top of Rose’s head. “I’m okay,” she murmured, her voice softer now, quieter.

But Rose wasn’t entirely convinced. She had heard Andromeda’s words, had seen the concern on her face, and she knew—knew in the way that children always knew—that Violet wasn’t okay.

Andromeda watched the exchange with a knowing smile, her gaze lingering on the way Rose curled into Violet’s embrace, on the way Violet instinctively held her close, as if anchoring them both.

“You will be,” Andromeda corrected gently. “But only if you let yourself be.”

Violet didn’t argue. For the first time in years, she found she wanted to listen.

She held Rose a little closer, pressing her cheek against the girl’s hair as she breathed in the quiet warmth of the moment. Maybe, just maybe, she could let herself heal—if not for herself, then for the small child in her arms who had already claimed a space in her heart.

~~

With their examinations complete, Andromeda busied herself preparing treatment plans, leaving Violet to take Rose to Diagon Alley. The visit was necessary, both to secure their financial footing and to begin gathering what Rose needed. Yet, as they stepped out into the bustling street beyond the Leaky Cauldron, Violet found herself momentarily distracted—not by the errand ahead, but by Rose’s reaction.

The moment the bricks shifted to reveal the winding, cobbled road of Diagon Alley, Rose’s breath hitched. Her small hand, already curled tightly around Violet’s, gripped even tighter, but it was not from fear. It was awe.

The street was alive with movement and sound—witches and wizards bustling from shop to shop, the chatter of vendors advertising their wares, the glittering displays of potions, books, and enchanted trinkets in shop windows. Every corner seemed to hold some new wonder. A tiny dragon, no bigger than a cat, sat perched outside a shop selling exotic pets, its wings flaring slightly as it stretched. A cauldron in a window stirred itself, a shimmering potion swirling inside, shifting colors every few seconds. 

Rose’s emerald eyes, wide with wonder, darted from one spectacle to the next, absorbing every flicker of enchantment. She barely seemed to breathe as she took it all in. 

“Is this all real?” she breathed, barely above a whisper.

Violet squeezed her hand, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, love. This is Diagon Alley. And it’s only the beginning.”

Rose barely heard her. She was already entranced by the sight of an enchanted quill display in a stationary shop, the feathered tips twirling gracefully in midair. Further along, a group of children pressed against the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, their excited chatter carrying through the street. Even from here, the gleaming golden snitch, fluttering rapidly inside its case, caught Rose’s attention. A mannequin dressed in a Quidditch uniform hovered in midair, twisting as if it were riding an invisible broomstick. 

Her grip on Violet's hand wavered slightly as if she wanted to reach out and touch the wonders before her but didn't dare. She clung to Violet’s side as they walked, her excitement warring with an ingrained hesitation—an old instinct whispering that she shouldn’t touch, shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t hope for too much. But Violet could feel her wonder, could see the way she longed to take in everything, and she made a silent promise that this world would be hers to explore freely.

As they made their way through the alley, Rose turned her gaze up to Violet, as if searching for permission. “Can we come back here? Again?”

Violet glanced down at her, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “Of course, we can, love. As many times as you like.”

The words settled into Rose like a promise, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as if, maybe, just maybe, she could believe it.

Their first stop was Gringotts. The imposing white building loomed over the rest of the alley, its marble steps leading up to massive bronze doors guarded by goblins. Rose’s awe turned to nervousness, her grip on Violet’s hand shifting from excitement to reassurance. The goblins, with their sharp eyes and long fingers, looked unlike anyone she had ever seen before. 

“The goblins run the bank,” Violet explained quietly as they ascended the steps. “They’re sharp, fair, but don’t try to cheat them. Just be respectful.”

Rose nodded quickly, her expression turning serious as she took in the small, sharp-eyed creatures stationed at the entrance. Their beady eyes followed them for a moment, but they did not speak. As the great doors swung open to reveal the grand hall inside, Rose’s eyes widened once more. 

The ceiling stretched high above them, chandeliers of enchanted crystal casting a soft golden glow over the marble floors. Rows of goblins sat behind massive desks, scribbling away on long scrolls, counting piles of gold, or speaking in hushed tones to witches and wizards dressed in fine robes. Every sound seemed to echo in the grand space, adding to the weight of the moment. 

“It’s… massive,” Rose whispered, pressing closer to Violet as she took it all in. 

Violet guided her toward one of the tellers, stepping forward with practiced ease. She knew exactly what she needed to do, but she also knew that today was about more than securing finances. It was about showing Rose that she belonged here, that this world was hers just as much as anyone else’s. 

She gently pulled Rose forward to stand beside her as she addressed the goblin behind the desk. “I need to access the Potter vaults.”

Rose tensed slightly, watching as the goblin's sharp eyes flickered between her and Violet before nodding and pulling out a long, curled parchment. He dipped a quill in ink, tapping it against the page before speaking.

“Name?”

“Violet Potter,” she said clearly. Then, after a slight hesitation, she squeezed Rose’s shoulder gently. “And this is Rose Potter.”

Rose sucked in a quiet breath at hearing her name spoken like that, as if she truly belonged here, as if she was meant to stand at Violet’s side. A warmth bloomed in her chest, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something new.

The goblin behind the desk studied Violet with sharp, assessing eyes before setting his quill aside. He leaned forward slightly, his long fingers tapping against the polished surface of the counter. "The Potter vaults require proof of lineage for access. As far as our records show, Rose Potter is the last living Potter. If you claim otherwise, you will need to provide evidence."

Violet remained calm, meeting the goblin’s gaze without hesitation. She had expected this. "I understand. I request to see the Potter account manager to verify my identity properly."

The goblin inclined his head, signaling to another goblin nearby. "Very well. Follow me."

Rose gripped Violet’s hand tightly as they were led through the grand hall of Gringotts, past rows of goblins working diligently at their ledgers. The further they walked, the quieter the bank became, the clinking of gold and murmured conversations fading behind them. Rose's gaze darted around, taking in the grandeur of the towering marble columns, the enchanted torches flickering with an ethereal glow, and the sheer weight of importance that clung to this place. She pressed even closer to Violet, her small fingers tightening as they passed an armored goblin standing guard by one of the deeper vault corridors.

Eventually, they reached an imposing iron door adorned with intricate runes. The goblin escorting them pressed a clawed hand against the markings, and the door swung open soundlessly. The chamber beyond was dimly lit, its walls lined with shelves stacked high with ancient scrolls and ledgers. At the center sat an elderly goblin behind a massive oak desk, his silver-rimmed spectacles perched low on his hooked nose. His piercing black eyes flickered over Violet and Rose before he gestured for them to sit.

"State your claim," the goblin said, his voice gravelly with age but steady with authority.

Violet reached into her cloak, pulling free a simple yet elegantly crafted ring. As she placed it on her finger, the metal shimmered, and the crest upon it shifted seamlessly from the Potter emblem to that of the Black family, and finally, to the ancient mark of the Peverells.

"I am Violet Potter, rightful head of House Potter, House Black, and House Peverell," she stated firmly.

The goblin leaned forward, examining the ring with evident intrigue. He flicked his fingers, summoning a parchment from the air, which hovered before him. As his claw traced the surface, ink appeared, detailing a magical confirmation of her claim. The room was silent as the parchment's symbols rearranged themselves, verifying her bloodline and status.

After a long moment, the goblin nodded slowly. "It appears your claim is legitimate. You are indeed the head of these houses."

He then reached for a key from his desk, its surface embedded with ancient enchantments, and held it out to Violet. Before she could take it, the goblin tapped the key to her ring, and a faint golden glow pulsed between them. "Your ring is now bound to your accounts. You may authorize purchases with a touch, and your status as Head of House will be recognized in all matters of financial and property dealings."

Violet accepted the key with a nod, feeling the weight of responsibility settle over her shoulders. "Thank you. I’d also like to ensure that Rose has unrestricted access to the Potter accounts under my authority. She is a Potter by blood and has every right to what belongs to our family. Additionally, I would like copies of the financial ledgers for all three houses sent to me by owl. I need to review the full extent of our holdings and ensure everything is in order."

The goblin inclined his head once more, marking the request down in his records. "It will be done. We will dispatch the ledgers within the next hour. Do you wish to make any immediate withdrawals from the vaults today?"

Violet considered for a moment before nodding. "Yes, I’ll take some funds for immediate expenses. I need to ensure Rose has everything she needs, and I may need to purchase property in the near future."

The goblin nodded once more, scribbling down further notes before sealing the parchment with a wax stamp bearing the sigil of Gringotts. "It will be arranged. Your vault is well-stocked with galleons, sickles, and knuts, as well as assets in various investments. We can arrange for an in-depth review at your convenience."

As he finalized the process, he retrieved a small ornate box, opening it to reveal a delicate silver ring embedded with the Potter crest. "For the heir of House Potter," he announced, sliding the box toward Rose.

Rose hesitated, looking up at Violet for reassurance. Violet smiled warmly, squeezing her shoulder. "Go on, love. It’s yours."

With careful fingers, Rose picked up the ring and slid it onto her finger. The metal was cool against her skin for only a moment before it warmed, pulsing softly as it adjusted to her. The enchantment settled, and the magic in the room seemed to acknowledge her as a rightful Potter heir.

As they concluded their business, Rose let out a quiet breath, still holding tightly to Violet's hand. This was more than just money or vaults—it was proof that she wasn’t alone, that she truly had a place in this world. She wasn’t just some forgotten child, an afterthought to be discarded. Violet had claimed her, protected her, and now, in this sacred space of magic and wealth, Rose saw the undeniable truth: she belonged.

With their finances secured and the weight of Gringotts' business behind them, Violet led Rose through the bustling streets of Diagon Alley. The air was filled with the hum of conversations, the occasional crackle of magic from enchanted wares, and the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery. Rose stayed close, still taking in everything with wide eyes, though she seemed more settled than before. She wasn’t just watching now—she was starting to believe she belonged here.

Their destination was Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, a well-known establishment catering to wixen attire. As they stepped inside, the soft chime of a bell rang above the door, signaling their arrival. The shop was warm and inviting, lined with racks of robes in all colors and materials, from simple day wear to extravagant dress robes adorned with shimmering threadwork.

Madam Malkin, a plump woman with sharp eyes and a practiced smile, bustled toward them. “Ah, welcome! Shopping for school robes?” she asked automatically, before taking a closer look at Rose and Violet. She hummed thoughtfully before smiling. “Ah, custom fittings for mother and daughter, then? You certainly share a resemblance.”

Rose stiffened slightly at the assumption, but she didn’t pull away from Violet’s side. Instead, she pressed a little closer, as if savoring the thought but hesitant to claim it. Violet only smiled, giving Rose’s hand a light squeeze, before nodding at Madam Malkin. “Yes. Rose needs a full wixen wardrobe—casual robes, formalwear, outerwear. The works.”

Madam Malkin beamed. “Wonderful! Step up onto the fitting platform, dear, and we’ll get started.”

Rose hesitated for only a moment before Violet gave her a reassuring squeeze, gently guiding her forward. The young girl climbed onto the small pedestal, glancing back at Violet as if to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere. Violet gave her an encouraging nod and leaned against the counter, watching as Madam Malkin set to work.

Magical measuring tapes flitted around Rose, noting her sizes while bolts of fabric floated off shelves, shifting in color and texture under the seamstress’s direction. “Any color preferences?” Madam Malkin asked, glancing between them.

Rose bit her lip, thinking carefully. Her eyes drifted to Violet’s robes—the deep blacks, the muted greys, the subtle hints of color woven into them. “Dark blues… and greens,” she murmured finally, her voice quiet but sure.

Madam Malkin nodded approvingly. “Excellent choices. Those will pair beautifully with black and grey, adding just the right contrast. We’ll do a mix of warm and cool tones, with proper layering for all seasons.”

As the fitting continued, Rose's initial apprehension slowly melted away, replaced by curiosity. She watched as the enchanted sewing needles began their work, stitching together fabrics seamlessly. For the first time, she started asking questions about the different styles of robes, about how some fabrics shimmered when touched with magic, and about the enchantments that could be woven into them.

Violet observed quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips. This was what she had wanted—to give Rose a life where she could explore, choose, and take joy in the simple things others often took for granted.

Once the measurements were finalized, Madam Malkin set about preparing the final adjustments. “These should be ready within the hour. Would you like anything else while you wait?”

Violet glanced at Rose. “Gloves, boots, and a proper winter cloak,” she said. “She’ll need the full set.”

“Of course,” Madam Malkin said brightly. “We have enchanted boots designed for all terrains and warming charms woven into cloaks. I’ll bring out some options.”

As Rose stepped down, she instinctively moved back to Violet’s side, slipping her hand back into hers. Violet gave her a gentle squeeze, feeling the trust growing between them. The warmth in Rose’s gaze spoke volumes, but she remained quiet, still processing the way Madam Malkin had so easily assumed she was Violet’s daughter. 

She had never been seen that way before—never been wanted enough for someone to assume she belonged. 

Violet noticed the way Rose’s grip tightened just slightly, as if holding onto something fragile and precious. She let her, offering silent reassurance.

“After this, we’ll get you some non-magical clothes as well,” Violet told her softly. “You should have both, just in case.”

Rose looked up at her, something soft and unreadable in her gaze, before nodding. “Okay.”

As they waited for the final fittings, Rose stood a little taller, her eyes alight with something that hadn’t been there before—hope.
After leaving Madam Malkin’s, Violet and Rose made their way down Diagon Alley towards the apparition point, their bags filled with neatly wrapped parcels of new robes and outerwear. The alley was still alive with the bustle of shoppers, the scent of fresh parchment and potion ingredients wafting from the stores as witches and wizards moved about their daily business.
As they passed by the pet emporium, Rose suddenly stopped mid-step, her small hand tightening around Violet’s. Her head tilted slightly, her brows drawing together in confusion. She didn’t move forward, her feet rooted to the ground as if caught by something unseen.
Violet immediately picked up on the shift in the air, turning to her ward with a questioning look. “Rose? What is it?”
Rose blinked, her green eyes wide and filled with something uncertain, something just on the edge of comprehension. “I don’t know,” she murmured, her fingers flexing slightly. “It’s… strange. I feel like—like something is calling me, but not with words.” Her hand moved absently to her chest, pressing lightly against her sternum. “It’s like… my magic is stretching out for something, but I don’t know why.”
Violet stilled at Rose’s words, recognition dawning swiftly. She had felt something like that before—years ago. It was the unmistakable sensation of a familiar bond forming, but for it to happen at Rose’s age was highly unusual. Most wixen didn’t experience that kind of pull until well into their magical education.
Violet’s gaze flickered to the pet store’s entrance. “Let’s go inside,” she said gently. “Follow your magic, Rose. See where it leads.”
Hesitant but trusting, Rose nodded and stepped forward, her small frame tense with curiosity and apprehension. The bell above the door chimed softly as they entered, the scent of hay, feathers, and enchanted aquariums filling the cozy shop. Various animals—both mundane and magical—watched them from their enclosures.
But Rose didn’t stop to look at any of them. Her steps carried her forward with an unseen force guiding her, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for something only she could sense. Violet followed closely, her own magic humming in resonance, a quiet confirmation of what she already suspected.
Then, Rose came to a halt before a small enclosure nestled among the larger ones. Inside, perched on a low branch, was a snowy owl chick, barely past its hatching stage. Its feathers were still fluffier than they would be in adulthood, its tiny beak clicking softly as it turned its golden eyes toward Rose. The moment their gazes met, the air in the shop shifted, a pulse of unseen energy snapping into place between them.
Violet inhaled sharply, the resonance thrumming through her very bones. She knew this owl—she would know her anywhere. Hedwig. But impossibly, a young version, untouched by time and yet undeniably the same spirit.
Rose knelt before the enclosure, her breath hitching. “It’s her,” she whispered in wonder. “She’s the one.”
The owl chick ruffled its feathers, letting out a quiet, knowing hoot, as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.
Violet’s throat tightened, her own familiar bond with Hedwig vibrating in recognition, an echo of the connection now forming between Rose and the small, snowy owl.
Violet crouched beside Rose, resting a hand on her shoulder. “She’s your familiar,” she confirmed, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s meant for you.”
Rose reached forward tentatively, her fingers brushing against the enclosure’s bars. The little owl hopped closer, pressing its small chest against the metal, seeking her touch. A quiet gasp escaped Rose’s lips, overwhelmed by the feeling of magic settling into place, as though she had found a missing part of herself.
Violet watched with quiet awe, knowing that whatever cosmic forces were at play, they had brought them here for a reason. And this, more than anything, was proof that Rose was stepping into the life she was always meant to have.
After the magical bond settled between Rose and the snowy owl chick, Violet wasted no time. She approached the shopkeeper, quickly paying for the small owl, who now sat perched on Rose’s arm with surprising ease. The chick nuzzled against Rose’s fingers as if she had always belonged there, content in her new place, letting out soft, happy chirps.

With their purchase complete, Violet guided Rose out of the pet shop, her heart still buzzing with the strange familiarity of the moment. The connection between Rose and the tiny owl was undeniable, as if fate itself had woven their paths together. They made their way toward the apparition point, and with a firm grip around Rose and the small owl, Violet transported them back to Andromeda’s house.

The shift from the bustling streets of Diagon Alley to the peaceful atmosphere of Andromeda’s home was stark. As they landed, Rose stumbled slightly, adjusting her hold on the chick as Violet steadied her. The warm, comforting scent of herbs and fresh parchment filled the air, a welcome contrast to the chaotic energy of the alley. The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting a warm ambiance over the sitting room. 

Andromeda was already there, standing beside the table where several neatly arranged potion vials and stacks of parchment lay. She had clearly just returned from St. Mungo’s, and her sharp, observant gaze instantly took in the tiny owl nestled against Rose. A knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she folded her arms.

“You’re back,” Andromeda noted, tilting her head as she studied the chick. “And it seems you’ve brought home more than just robes.”

Rose beamed, holding the owl close as if afraid it would disappear. “She’s my familiar,” she said in a hushed voice, reverence lacing her words. Saying it aloud made it feel more real, more permanent. “I felt her calling me.”

Andromeda’s expression softened, her keen eyes flicking to Violet. “That’s quite rare at her age,” she mused, stepping closer to examine the young owl. “But not unheard of. Some bonds are simply meant to be.”

Rose, eager to settle, moved toward the couch and carefully arranged a blanket over her lap. The owl chick hooted softly, hopping onto the soft fabric and fluffing her feathers. Just then, a rush of cool air swept through the room as another, much larger presence arrived—adult Hedwig had returned.

The older snowy owl glided through the open window, her golden eyes sharp with curiosity as she perched gracefully on the arm of the couch. Her gaze locked onto the chick, and for a long moment, the two simply regarded each other. The smaller owl let out a hesitant chirp, shifting slightly under the weight of the larger owl’s attention, before ruffling her feathers in what seemed to be determination.

Violet felt the moment deep in her bones, her own familiar bond with Hedwig vibrating with a strange sense of shared recognition. It was as if the very fabric of magic acknowledged what was happening—something unusual, something special. 

Hedwig let out a low, soft hoot, hopping down onto the blanket beside the chick. Rose watched, breath caught in her throat, as the older owl gently nudged the smaller one with her beak. The chick trilled in response, leaning into the touch. 

“She doesn’t mind,” Rose whispered, her voice tinged with awe. “She really doesn’t.”

Violet smiled, brushing a gentle hand through Rose’s tangled hair. “Of course not,” she murmured. “She knows she’s meant to be with you, just as she was meant to be with me.”

Andromeda exhaled softly, her lips twitching into a fond smirk as she picked up one of the parchment stacks from the table. “Now that you’re all settled, let’s go over your healing regimen,” she said, amusement clear in her tone. “You may have a new companion, but that doesn’t mean we’re neglecting your recovery.”

Rose groaned playfully, reluctant but understanding, as she curled around her tiny familiar, her fingers running lightly over the owl’s soft feathers. “Fine,” she said, her voice barely above a murmur, already feeling the weight of exhaustion creeping in.

Violet chuckled, settling onto the couch beside her. She reached for one of the potions Andromeda had set out, her gaze flickering over the list of prescribed treatments. The warmth of the room, the steady presence of her familiars, and the quiet hum of magic settling around them made everything feel just a little more right. For the first time in a long time, the chaos of war and survival felt like a distant memory, replaced instead with something new, something softer.

She looked down at Rose, who was already halfway to sleep, her tiny owl curled up beside her, and felt something settle deep in her chest—something she hadn’t dared to hope for in years. 

Home.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

III

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

That evening, as the golden hues of sunset bathed the cozy dining room, the small family gathered around the table, preparing for dinner. The warm scent of roasted vegetables, freshly baked bread, and simmering stew filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of herbs from Andromeda’s carefully prepared healing potions. The atmosphere was peaceful, a comforting lull that settled over them like a soft blanket, a stark contrast to the chaos that had once dominated their lives.

At the far end of the room, perched comfortably on a well-crafted wooden stand, the still-unnamed chick nestled under Hedwig’s wing. The older snowy owl had accepted the little one without hesitation, preening her fluffy white feathers with gentle care. Every now and then, she would let out a soft, approving hoot, shifting slightly to make sure the chick remained comfortably tucked beneath her warmth. Beside them, Badb sat regally on the perch, her dark feathers gleaming in the soft candlelight, her sharp gaze sweeping the room with quiet amusement, as if she alone knew some great secret none of them had yet uncovered.

Macha and Anand lay sprawled on the floor near the hearth, where the warmth of the crackling fire kept the chill of the evening at bay. Macha, ever the opportunist, had curled herself atop Anand’s broad back, her sleek feline body completely at ease as the large wolf-like form beneath her barely stirred. Anand’s deep, steady breathing and half-lidded eyes betrayed her utter contentment, the flick of her tail the only movement she made as the two of them rested in the shared comfort of companionship.

Rose sat between Violet and Andromeda, her small hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea that Andromeda had prepared for her , a soothing blend meant to ease any lingering tension from the day’s excitement. She had been quiet since they arrived home, her mind clearly preoccupied with something. The young girl was still brimming with unspoken thoughts, her gaze occasionally drifting toward the little chick, an affectionate smile tugging at her lips before she fell back into contemplative silence.

“You still need to name her,” Violet murmured, nudging Rose gently. “She’s yours now, after all.”

Rose’s eyes flicked toward the little owl, watching as she sleepily tucked her head further under Hedwig’s wing. A quiet hum of thoughtfulness escaped her. “I want to pick something perfect,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, as though afraid to wake the chick.

“There’s no rush,” Andromeda reassured her, passing her a bowl of warm soup. “Sometimes names take time to find you.”

Rose nodded, still contemplating as she absently reached for a piece of bread. The bond between her and the chick was still fresh, delicate , but already strong. She could feel it deep inside, a tether of magic that pulsed gently, as if waiting for her to understand it fully. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced, like a soft thread tying her heart to another’s, warm and unshakable.

Violet reached over, squeezing Rose’s shoulder lightly . “She’ll let you know when she’s ready,” she said knowingly . “Just like you felt her call to you today.”

Rose nodded slowly, leaning into Violet’s side just slightly, her small fingers trailing along the rim of her cup. “It’s strange,” she admitted after a moment. “I’ve never had something just… be mine before.” Her voice was quiet, vulnerable , as if the thought itself was foreign and unfamiliar.

Violet’s heart clenched at the words, but she kept her voice even, gentle . “She’s not just yours, Rose,” she murmured, pressing a light kiss to the top of the girl’s head. “She chose you just as much as you chose her. That’s what makes it special.”

As they were settling in to eat, the comforting hum of conversation and the clink of utensils against bowls filled the dining room with a warmth that had become familiar in the past few days. The steady glow of candlelight flickered over the table, casting soft shadows against the walls. Just as Violet lifted her spoon to take a bite, the front door swung open with force, the impact rattling the nearby coat rack.

A loud thud followed, accompanied by a string of muttered curses as someone collided with the wall. The disruption shattered the peaceful atmosphere, making Andromeda and Ted sigh in unison, their expressions filled with exasperation.

“Nymphadora,” Andromeda called without even turning around. “Must you always enter like a human hurricane?”

A familiar voice groaned from the entryway. “Wotcher, Mum. It’s not my fault the wall got in my way.”

Ted chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, but before any further teasing could be exchanged, a sharp intake of breath cut through the room. Rose, startled by the sudden noise, had frozen in her seat, her small hands trembling slightly. The unexpected crash had sent a jolt of fear through her, and without thinking, she turned toward Violet, seeking safety.

Violet moved before her mind fully registered the action. Instinct overrode everything else, honed through years of battle and loss. In one fluid motion, she yanked Rose into her arms, shielding her with her body. Her other hand snapped up, wand at the ready, eyes sharp and blazing with protective intent. The room seemed to crackle with energy as her magic surged, the fierce instincts of a warrior and mother intertwining in a single breath.

The commotion at the doorway ceased instantly. Nymphadora, who had just finished dusting herself off, took one look at the tense stance Violet hel d —h er protective grip around Rose, the rigid readiness of her wand hand—and raised her hands in surrender.

“Whoa, easy there,” she said, taking a careful step forward, her usual playful demeanor replaced with careful understanding. “It’s just me. Didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

Violet’s breathing was steady but sharp, her heart still pounding. She glanced down at Rose, who clung tightly to her robes, her small form trembling. The girl’s wide eyes darted to Nymphadora, wary but curious. Slowly, Violet lowered her wand but didn’t release her hold on Rose, keeping the child tucked securely against her.

Ted let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and turned to Nymphadora. “You could at least try to be less of a disaster when you come home, you know.”

Nymphadora huffed, though there was warmth in her tone. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Andromeda shook her head, finally turning to give her daughter a once-over. “You’d better not have broken anything, including yourself.”

“Still in one piece,” Nymphadora assured her, then glanced back at Violet and Rose. She softened, rubbing the back of her head. “Sorry about the scare , really .”

Violet exhaled, her muscles finally beginning to relax. She looked at Rose, brushing a comforting hand through the girl’s hair. “It’s alright,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “You’re safe.”

Rose nodded hesitantly, slowly unwinding her grip from Violet’s robes, though she stayed close. Nymphadora gave the young girl a reassuring smile. “You must be Rose. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Rose peeked up at her, still uncertain but intrigued. Violet gave her a gentle squeeze. “She’s family,” she reassured, and at those words, Rose seemed to relax just a little.

Nymphadora grinned. “That’s right. And family means putting up with my clumsiness.”

Ted groaned playfully. “Unfortunately.”

The tension in the room finally began to ease, and as everyone resettled into their seats, Violet kept Rose close, the protective instincts in her still humming. She had spent so long fighting, so long losing, that having something—someone—to protect like this was new, but it was something she would never let go of.

Dinner resumed, the warmth returning to the room, and while Violet stayed attuned to every shift in Rose’s emotions, she also allowed herself something she hadn’t in a long time—ease.

As Nymphadora sat down, she leaned toward Rose conspiratorially. "So, what’s the verdict? Am I terrifying or just ridiculously clumsy?"

Rose hesitated for a moment , then a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "A little of both," she admitted, voice still soft but no longer shaking. 

Ted laughed, reaching for a bread roll. "She’s got you pegged already, Dora."

Nymphadora placed a dramatic hand over her chest. "Betrayed by my own kin! This is a dark day indeed." Her hair, which had been its natural dark brown, shifted into an exaggerated shade of blue, as if to punctuate her despair.

Rose’s eyes widened at the transformation, momentarily distracted from her earlier fear. "How did you do that?" she asked, curiosity taking over.

Nymphadora waggled her eyebrows. "Metamorphmagus, love. Means I can change my appearance at will. Comes in handy for Auror training too—though, unfortunately, it does not make me any less clumsy."

Rose nodded, taking in the information as she finally reached for her own plate. Though the initial fear still lingered in the back of her mind, she was beginning to realize that, here, with these people, she was safe. 

Violet watched the exchange with quiet contentment, her hand resting lightly on Rose’s back as they ate. There were still battles ahead, still truths to face, but for now, for this evening, they could simply be a family.

After dinner, with the warmth of a full meal settling in their bellies and the gentle glow of candlelight flickering against the walls, Violet led Rose upstairs to her room. The air was still, peaceful, carrying the comforting scents of lavender and chamomile from the herbal sachets Andromeda had left near the pillows. The faint sound of the wind outside rustled the trees, but inside, the home was a sanctuary, wrapped in warmth and quiet safety.

Rose clung to Violet’s hand, her small fingers wrapped tightly around her own , reluctant to let go just yet. The day had been long, filled with so much wonder and newness—her own robes, her own familiar, her own place in a world that felt safer than anything she had ever known before . Yet, beneath that budding excitement, the ingrained uncertainty still lingered. What if it all disappeared by morning? What if it was only a dream?

Violet felt the hesitation in the girl’s grip and squeezed her hand gently. “You’re alright,” she reassured softly as they stepped into the room. “This is your home now.”

She guided Rose toward the bed, pulling the soft, warm blankets up to her chin. The mattress was plush, far different from the stiff, thin one she had been used to, and the pillows smelled of herbs and fresh linen. Anand circled twice at the foot of the bed before settling in, her silver eyes reflecting the dim light, ever watchful. Hedwig perched on the headboard, her golden gaze protective, while the chick nestled beside Rose, emitting soft, contented chirps, shifting slightly before settling against the warmth of her human.

Violet sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a stray strand of hair away from Rose’s forehead. The girl’s eyes fluttered sleepily, but she fought to keep them open just a little longer, uncertainty still written in her young features.

“Will you stay?” she asked, her voice small, uncertain.

Violet smiled gently, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Of course,” she murmured. “I’ll be right here.”

Rose’s grip on the blankets loosened slightly, her body relaxing into the mattress. But she still watched Violet, needing something more. So Violet began to hum, the soft melody filling the quiet room—a lullaby taught to her by Andromeda during the war. 

It had been a song meant to soothe the young and frightened, a melody carried through ruined shelters and battle-worn hideaways, bringing comfort to children who had known too much fear, too much loss. Violet herself had clung to it during nights when sleep was scarce, when the weight of the world had threatened to crush her. Andromeda had sung it for the orphaned, the wounded, the children who had woken screaming in the night, their dreams filled with fire and shadow. 

Now, Violet passed it on to Rose, offering her the same sense of reassurance and warmth. The tune was simple, slow, and soft, a song meant to comfort, to remind the listener they were not alone. As she hummed, Rose’s eyelids grew heavier, her breaths evening out into a slow, steady rhythm. The melody wove itself into the room, a quiet spell of peace wrapping around them both, the magic of something safe and familiar easing Rose into a quiet place where nightmares could not reach her.

Violet stayed a while longer, watching as Rose finally surrendered to sleep, the smallest of smiles gracing her lips, her fingers still curled slightly in the blankets as if holding onto the feeling of safety. A sense of peace settled over the room, wrapping them all in a quiet embrace. She traced a gentle hand over Rose’s hair one last time before whispering, “Sleep well, love. You’re safe.”

After ensuring Rose was soundly asleep, Violet lingered in the room for a moment longer. The gentle rise and fall of the child’s breathing, the peaceful stillness that had settled over her, reassured Violet that she was truly resting. Hedwig and the chick remained perched on the headboard, their feathers slightly fluffed as they dozed, and Anand curled protectively at the foot of the bed, her large form radiating warmth. The sight of them standing guard gave Violet the reassurance she needed. Rose was safe.

Satisfied, Violet silently slipped from the room, closing the door with the softest click before descending the stairs. The warm glow of the fireplace illuminated the sitting room, the flickering embers casting long shadows against the walls. Andromeda, Ted, and Nymphadora were already gathered, the soft hum of conversation filling the room as a fresh pot of tea sat on the table, steam curling from the cups as if they had anticipated her arrival.

Nymphadora, now comfortably leaning back against the armchair, watched Violet with open curiosity. "So," she began, a lopsided grin tugging at her lips, "from what Mum and Dad have told me, you’ve had quite the journey."

Violet exhaled, running a hand through her hair as she took a seat , grateful for the warmth of the fire seeping into her skin. "You could say that." Her voice was dry but not unkind. "I appreciate you all taking us in. It’s… more than I expected."

Andromeda gave a dismissive wave of her hand, her expression firm but kind. "You’re family. That’s all that matters."

Violet’s lips quirked up slightly, the warmth in Andromeda’s voice something she hadn’t realized she missed so dearly. It was a strange thing, sitting in a house filled with people who didn’t see her as a weapon, or something to be wary of. She glanced at Nymphadora, finally allowing herself to take in the woman properly. It was uncanny, seeing her like this—older than she should be, her hair a muted auburn instead of its usual vivid colours . 

"I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to already be an Auror ," Violet mused, leaning back into the chair, cupping her hands around the warm ceramic of her tea. "In my time, you were only about six years older than me. You should still be in Hogwarts."

Nymphadora’s brow furrowed slightly before her expression shifted into one of understanding. "Another difference, then? Graduated Hogwarts a few years ago and went straight into Auror training."

Violet hummed, absorbing that information. It was one thing to know she had crossed into another world, but these little differences—ones she hadn’t even considered—were reminders of just how much had changed. Her mind turned over the possibilities. If Nymphadora was older, what else had shifted? Had key events happened differently? Were there people she had lost who still lived in this world?

Ted chuckled, shaking his head. "She’s been an Auror for just over a year now. Still as clumsy as ever, though."

"Oi!" Nymphadora shot her father a playful glare. "I’ll have you know I’m quite competent at my job, thank you very much."

Violet smirked slightly, shaking her head. It was strange , but comforting, seeing them like this—alive, well, together. It was another reminder of how different this world was, how not everything was shadowed in loss. There was something grounding about it, something that made the sharp edges inside her feel just a little bit duller.

She took another sip of tea, letting the warmth settle deep inside her before Nymphadora spoke again.

"So," she said, tilting her head. "What’s next for you and Rose? Any grand plans?"

Violet let out a slow breath, setting her cup down carefully. "First, I make sure she’s safe. That’s my priority." Her voice was steady, unwavering. "Then… I figure out where we go from here. What kind of life she should have. One that doesn’t involve fear."

Andromeda nodded approvingly, her expression unreadable for a moment before softening. "You’ll have our support, however long you need it. Raising a child is not something you should have to do alone."

Violet blinked, the words settling heavily in her chest. She had spent so much of her life isolated, carrying burdens that weren’t meant for one person to bear alone. The idea of being offered help, of having a place she could rely on, felt foreign. But as she looked at Andromeda, Ted, and even Nymphadora—who was still watching her with curiosity and a hint of admiration—she realized something. She wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down , her voice quieter this time. "Thank you."

She meant it. For the first time in a long time, she truly meant it.

As the fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the sitting room, Violet took a steadying breath. The weight of the conversation ahead pressed on her shoulders, but she knew it had to be done. She set her cup down, looking at the three people who had already offered her and Rose more kindness than she had dared to hope for. The warmth of the room contrasted starkly with the gravity of what she was about to say.

"I’ve been thinking about what comes next," Violet began, her tone measured but firm. "It’s not just about making sure Rose has a safe, happy childhood—though that is my priority. It’s also about ensuring that what happened in my world doesn’t happen here. Or worse."

Andromeda, seated with a cup of tea in her hands, nodded, her sharp gaze locked onto Violet. "You're talking about Voldemort."

Violet inclined her head. "He’s still out there. Or at least, I strongly suspect he is. If there’s one thing I learned in my world, it’s that he doesn’t stay dead unless you make sure he’s well and truly gone. He always has contingencies, always a way back. And if I don’t stop him, no one else will."

Nymphadora, who had been listening intently, leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees. "So what do you know? Do you have any leads? Anything we can act on?"

Violet hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. "Not enough. But I know one thing for certain—he used Horcruxes."

At the word, Andromeda stiffened. Her eyes darkened, her grip tightening slightly around her teacup. "That word is not spoken lightly," she murmured. "It’s one of the darkest of all magics."

Ted glanced between them, his brow furrowing. "What exactly is a Horcrux?"

Andromeda exhaled through her nose. "A way to cheat death," she explained grimly. "A soul anchor. A wizard who creates a Horcrux splits their soul and binds part of it to an object, ensuring that even if their body is destroyed, they will not truly die. It’s an abomination, something that corrupts not only magic but the very essence of the person who does it."

Ted paled, looking at Violet. "And you think he did this?"

Violet nodded. "I know he did. In my world, there were several. And I have no idea how many exist here. If anything, there could be more. If I do nothing, he will return. And this time, he could be even stronger."

Silence settled over the room, heavy and thick. The implications of what Violet had said hung between them, unspoken but undeniable.

"If he has Horcruxes, then destroying them is the only way to truly end him ," Andromeda said after a moment, her voice resolute. "But finding them… that’s an entirely different challenge. They could be anywhere."

"I know," Violet admitted. "Which is why I need to start gathering information. I need to learn what’s different in this world compared to mine, who I can trust, and what resources I have. I don’t intend to do this alone, but I can’t drag Rose into this either. She deserves a childhood. A life. Something I never had."

Nymphadora tapped her fingers against her knee, her sharp mind already working through the possibilities. "So, you need allies. People who can help gather intelligence, who won’t run to the Ministry and cause a panic. People who are willing to fight, even if they don’t fully understand what’s coming yet."

Violet gave a short nod. "Exactly. And more than that, I need to know what kind of damage has already been done. If any of his followers have already started making moves, if there are signs we haven’t noticed yet. The Death Eaters may not be openly active, but that doesn’t mean they’re gone."

Andromeda took a long sip of her tea before speaking again. "I can help with research. The Black family may have its darkness, but our archives are extensive. If there’s anything in our records that might hint at locations he might have used, I’ll find it. The older generations hoarded knowledge of forbidden things, and I’m sure some of it could be useful."

Ted glanced at his wife but then nodded as well. "And if you need cover stories for your movements, I can help there. You’re under our roof now, which means we can help ensure you have freedom to move without raising suspicion. If you need to disappear for a while to track something down, I can make sure the right people hear what they need to hear."

Nymphadora cracked her knuckles. "And I can keep an ear out in the Auror office. If anyone starts sniffing around anything connected to You-Know-Who or his old followers, I’ll hear about it. We might not have had Death Eater activity recently, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t stirring in the dark."

Violet’s throat tightened. The burden she had expected to carry alone was already lighter than she had thought possible. She had spent so long fighting alone, always the one making the hard choices, but now, here they were, offering to stand beside her. 

"I… thank you. All of you." Her voice was quieter than she intended, but the sincerity in it was undeniable.

Andromeda met her gaze with something fierce and unwavering. "You’re not alone in this, Violet. Not anymore. We fight together."

For the first time in years, Violet believed her. The world might be different, but this was something she had never allowed herself before—hope.

~~

The house was silent in the deep hours of the night, the only sounds the occasional creak of settling wood and the gentle whisper of wind against the windows. The embers in the fireplace had dimmed to a soft glow, casting faint shadows along the walls of Violet’s room. Wrapped in the quiet comfort of the night, Violet had finally allowed herself to drift into a rare, peaceful sleep, her body and mind worn from the weight of the day’s events.

A soft weight at the edge of the bed stirred her gently from her slumber. Macha, in her sleek feline form, nudged her shoulder with a cool nose before curling up beside her. It wasn’t urgent, but it was enough to pull Violet from the depths of sleep, her battle-honed instincts slowly returning to alertness. Macha rarely woke her unless something important had happened. Blinking groggily, Violet’s hand reached to scratch behind Macha’s ears when a soft shuffling sound from the doorway made her pause.

A small figure hesitated in the threshold, clutching a pillow tightly in one hand while the other rested against Anand’s thick fur. The soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window illuminated Rose’s hesitant expression , her green eyes wide and filled with the remnants of whatever nightmare had disturbed her rest. Her small frame was tense, wrapped in the soft, well-fitted pyjamas they had bought for her earlier that day.

Anand gave a soft huff, nudging Rose gently forward, the silent encouragement all the push the young girl needed. Rose took slow, tentative steps toward the bed, hesitating as if unsure whether she should continue. Behind her, the snowy owls fluttered silently into the room, perching near the foot of the bed. Badb tilted her head, watching the scene unfold with quiet understanding, while Hedwig ruffled her feathers before settling down, as if satisfied that everything was as it should be.

Violet sat up slowly, brushing sleep from her mind as she took in the small, trembling form before her. She didn’t need to ask—she recognized that look all too well. A child who had woken up lost in the grip of old fears, reluctant to disturb anyone but longing for comfort. She had seen it too many times in war orphans, in children who had known only cruelty, and most painfully, she had seen it in herself.

She extended an arm wordlessly, a silent invitation. Rose hesitated for only a heartbeat before she moved quickly, crawling into the bed and pressing herself against Violet’s side, her small fingers clutching at the fabric of her shirt like a lifeline. Violet shifted, wrapping her arms securely around Rose, shielding her in warmth and safety, her heart aching for how familiar the gesture was.

“You’re safe,” Violet murmured against her hair, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Nothing can hurt you here.”

Rose let out a shaky breath, her small body still rigid with leftover tension, but gradually, she began to relax as Violet rubbed slow, soothing circles into her back. "I didn’t want to wake you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, guilt lacing her words. "But… Anand urged me that I should come. She said you wouldn’t mind."

Violet glanced at the husky, who had settled at the foot of the bed, watching them with knowing eyes. A small smile tugged at Violet’s lips. "Anand was right," she said softly. "You’re never a bother, Rose. If you need me, you come to me. Always."

Rose nodded against her shoulder, her small hands gripping a little less tightly now. The warmth, the steady rhythm of Violet’s heartbeat, and the soft, protective presence of their familiars wrapped around her like a cocoon. Slowly, her breathing evened out, and the tension in her small frame eased, though Violet could still feel the lingering tremors of fear from whatever had plagued her dreams.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Violet asked gently, her fingers continuing to run soothingly through Rose’s hair.

Rose hesitated, then shook her head against Violet’s shoulder. "Not yet," she whispered. "Just… stay?"

"Always," Violet promised.

Violet leaned back against the pillows, keeping Rose securely against her side. Hedwig and the chick shifted on their perch, their presence a silent watch over them both. Macha curled around Rose’s feet, her tail flicking lazily, while Anand stretched out at the foot of the bed, a warm, living shield, ensuring no nightmares would reach them tonight.

As Rose’s breaths evened out into the slow rhythm of sleep, Violet let her own eyes drift shut once more, pressing one last kiss to Rose’s forehead. Whatever haunted Rose’s dreams would not reach her here. Not while Violet was there to keep her safe.

And so, in the quiet of the night, surrounded by warmth and the silent guardianship of their familiars, Violet and Rose found peace once more. For the first time in what felt like forever, neither had to face the night alone.

~

The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the living room as the lingering scent of breakfast filled the air. The house was filled with a comfortable quiet, the kind that only came from being in a place that felt like home. The soft crackling of the fireplace added a gentle backdrop to the morning peace, making the space feel even cozier . 

Rose sat curled up on the couch, her small frame tucked into the corner as she gently stroked the tiny snowy owl chick resting in her lap. The soft, downy feathers felt like the lightest of clouds against her fingers, and the little creature let out a tiny chirp, content and trusting in her presence. It nuzzled against her palm, as if sensing her emotions, the warmth of the tiny body a comforting presence in her hands. 

Nearby, Violet sat in a comfortable armchair, sipping from a steaming cup of tea while Andromeda flipped through the morning paper, occasionally muttering about something printed in the headlines. Ted leaned back in his chair, enjoying the rare moment of peace before the day truly began, while Nymphadora sat cross-legged on the floor, absentmindedly twirling her wand between her fingers. She kept glancing toward Rose, amusement and curiosity flickering in her ever-changing eyes, though she remained quiet, letting the girl work through whatever thoughts were playing in her mind.

Rose had been thinking all morning, rolling different names over in her mind, whispering them under her breath to see how they felt. She knew this was important—her familiar wasn’t just any pet. The bond she felt with the tiny owl chick in her lap was something deeper, something special, something that made her feel as though she had finally been given something wholly hers. Something that no one could take away from her.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” Violet asked softly, setting her teacup down on the side table and giving Rose her full attention. 

Rose bit her lip, hesitating for a moment as she glanced down at the tiny creature nestled in her lap. She had considered several names—ones that sounded strong, ones that held an air of regality, ones that carried weight and power. But none of them felt right. None of them felt like her. 

She ran her fingers gently along the chick’s feathers again, watching as the little owl stretched one tiny wing before settling once more , a small noise escaping it. The soft touch of its feathers, the rhythmic rise and fall of its tiny body as it breathed, made something in her chest loosen. It wasn’t just a name she needed—it was something that felt safe, something that felt like belonging. 

Then, it came to her.

“Eira,” she murmured, testing the name aloud. It rolled off her tongue naturally, like it had always been there, waiting for her to remember it.

The chick gave another soft chirrup, shifting slightly in her lap as if responding to the name. Rose’s breath caught, a warmth spreading through her chest, filling the spaces inside her that had long been hollow. “Eira,” she said again, this time with more confidence. The name felt right. It was soft, but strong. Quiet, but certain. Just like the little owl that had chosen her.

Violet smiled, her emerald eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “That’s a beautiful name,” she said, her voice gentle and approving. “It suits her.”

Nymphadora grinned, leaning forward slightly, resting her chin on her palm. “Eira, huh? Good choice. Has a nice ring to it.”

Rose beamed, looking down at her familiar, the quiet happiness in her chest settling into something deeper. She had never had something—someone—who was hers before. But now she did. And in that moment, she knew Eira was more than just a name. She was family.

The chick gave another soft chirp, curling further into Rose’s hands, its trust in her absolute. For the first time in her life, Rose had something she could hold onto. And she wasn’t letting go.

~

Later that morning, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Violet decided it was time to take Rose out to the non-magical shops for more clothes and books. Though Rose now had her wixen wardrobe, there was still plenty she needed to blend into the Muggle world properly, and Violet wanted her to have options for every occasion. She also knew the importance of Rose experiencing the world outside the confines of magical society, allowing her to feel normal, like any other child.

Nymphadora, eager to escape the house and spend more time with them, volunteered to come along, making the excursion a trio. With their warm coats fastened against the late morning chill, they set off toward the bustling streets, the world around them alive with the hum of everyday life. Rose’s eyes flickered with curiosity as they stepped into the non-magical streets, the sight of moving cars, people bustling between stores, and flashing lights from electronic billboards captivating her in a way that made Violet smile. It was all so new to her.

Rose walked between them, her small hands firmly clasped in theirs. With each step, she swung their arms, giggling as she let herself enjoy the simple delight of acting like a child—carefree, loved, and safe. It was a sight that brought an ache of warmth to Violet’s heart, a reminder that this was what Rose deserved. The contrast to the wary, reserved child she had first met was stark, and Violet could only hope that moments like this would continue to outweigh the shadows of Rose’s past.

They started at a department store, browsing through rows of clothing. Rose marveled at the choices before her, running her fingers over soft jumpers, warm coats, and neatly folded jeans. Every colour , every texture, seemed to delight her in a way that made Violet’s chest tighten. Had she ever had the luxury of choosing her own clothes before? The thought was painful. 

Violet let her pick what she liked, wanting her to have the freedom to choose—something she had likely never had before. Nymphadora, of course, chimed in with playful suggestions, holding up a neon-pink jacket that made Rose wrinkle her nose before dissolving into laughter. “ Absolutely not,” Rose giggled, shaking her head at the absurdly bright garment.

“What? I think you could start a whole new trend, kid,” Nymphadora teased, winking at Violet.

Rose ended up choosing a variety of soft, warm clothing— cozy jumpers in deep blues and greens, comfortable jeans, a warm coat lined with fleece, and a pair of sturdy boots. Seeing her find joy in something so simple yet so significant made Violet all the more determined to ensure that Rose never went without again.

After clothing, they stopped at a bookshop, where Rose's excitement truly bloomed. Her eyes grew wide as she took in the endless rows of books, her fingers brushing over their spines as if she couldn’t believe she was allowed to take any home. She darted from shelf to shelf, occasionally looking back at Violet as if to ask for permission before carefully selecting each title. 

Violet and Nymphadora shared a glance before nodding, giving her free rein to pick as many as she wanted. Watching her carefully select each book, clutching them to her chest as though they were treasures, only reaffirmed to Violet that she was doing the right thing. Rose had been deprived of so much, but here, she was starting to bloom, to embrace the joy of discovery and choice.

“This one,” Rose murmured, holding up a book with a beautiful cover depicting a starry sky. “It looks… magical, even though it’s not.”

Violet chuckled, nodding. “Then it’s yours.”

They left the store with several bags filled with books and clothes, and eventually made their way toward a nearby café to rest before heading home. The air was crisp, but the warmth of the café welcomed them inside, the scent of fresh pastries and coffee filling the air. 

Rose, now balancing a book in one hand while still holding onto Violet, leaned into her side, her content sigh barely audible above the chatter of the streets. She took small bites of a warm croissant, occasionally glancing between her book and her surroundings as if trying to take everything in at once.

Nymphadora smirked as she sipped her tea, watching the two. “You’ve got her absolutely spoiled already.”

Violet smiled, resting her cheek lightly on the top of Rose’s head. “She deserves it.”

Rose, finishing her bite, looked up at Violet, her expression soft with something unspoken but deeply felt. She didn’t say the words, but in that moment, Violet could see them in her eyes. 

Thank you.

The cozy café was filled with the hum of quiet conversation and the comforting scent of fresh pastries and brewing coffee. The soft warmth from the fireplace at the far end of the room made the chilly air outside seem distant, allowing a sense of ease to settle over the small trio. It was a place of simple comforts, the kind that Rose had never experienced before, yet now she was slowly learning to embrace. 

Rose was tucked into her seat, absorbed in her new book while nibbling on a flaky croissant, her tiny fingers leaving behind crumbs as she turned the pages with careful reverence. Every so often, she would pause, her lips moving slightly as if mouthing out a difficult word before pressing on. It was a sight that made Violet’s heart ache with tenderness—this was what childhood should have been like for her. For both of them.

Violet glanced up from her seat, noticing Rose’s cup of tea was nearly empty. Deciding to get refills, she gave Rose’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before standing. "I’m going to grab us some more tea. Want anything else?"

Rose looked up, eyes thoughtful for a moment before she nodded. "Can I have a hot chocolate?"

Violet smiled. "Of course. Be right back."

She made her way to the counter where a barista, a friendly-looking woman with a warm smile, greeted her. Violet placed the order—two more teas and a hot chocolate—along with a few more pastries to take back to the table. As the barista prepared the drinks, she glanced at the hot chocolate order and then back at Violet.

"Is this for your daughter?" the barista asked kindly. "We can make sure it’s not too hot if it’s for a little one."

Violet hesitated for the briefest of moments, but then, something settled in her chest. She didn’t correct the woman. "Yes," she said, her voice steady. "That would be great, thank you."

The barista nodded, adjusting the preparation of the drink accordingly. "She’s a lucky girl. Not every mum makes sure of the little things like that."

Violet merely gave a small smile in return, accepting the drinks as they were handed over. As she walked back to the table, she found herself glancing at Rose—her small, fragile frame curled up around her book, her brows furrowed in concentration. The thought settled deeper within Violet’s heart.

She had told herself at first that she was doing this because Rose was another version of herself—a child who had suffered as she had, someone who needed saving. But that wasn’t true, not anymore. Rose was not just another version of Violet. She was her own person, with her own laughter, her own quiet thoughts, her own little quirks. And Violet didn’t love her out of some misplaced sense of responsibility—she loved her because she was Rose. Because she was bright and thoughtful, because she tried to act brave even when she was scared, because she was learning, growing, trusting. 

Rose had a way of making even the simplest things feel precious. The way she grinned when she picked up a book that caught her interest, how she quietly took Violet’s hand when they walked through the city as though it was the most natural thing in the world. How she had gone from uncertain and wary to curling into Violet’s side when she was tired, trusting her to be there. 

As she set the hot chocolate down in front of Rose, the little girl beamed up at her, completely unaware of the quiet shift that had taken place in Violet’s heart. "Thank you!" Rose chirped, wrapping her hands around the warm cup, her fingers fitting perfectly around it like it was meant for her. 

Violet sat back down, watching as Rose took her first sip, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

"Careful, it’s still warm," she murmured. Rose nodded, content, and nestled further into the cozy moment, unknowingly affirming what Violet had left unspoken. 

This wasn’t about fate or duty. 

Rose was hers, and Violet was hers in return. Family wasn’t about blood—it was about love. And love was something Rose would never be without again.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~
IV
~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

It had been a week since Violet had taken Rose from the Dursleys, and in that time, their lives had begun to settle into something close to routine. The warmth of the Tonks household had given Rose the security she had never known, but even as she adjusted, Violet remained quietly worried about one unresolved matter—the scar.

Late into the night, under the flickering glow of magical candlelight, Violet sat with Andromeda and Nymphadora in one of the quieter rooms of the house. The Black family library had provided them with a wealth of knowledge—ancient texts on dark magic, theories on soul magic, and the consequences of magical remnants. It was a trove of information Violet wished she had possessed in her own time, but now, at least, she could use it to ensure Rose was safe.

Rose was asleep upstairs, curled up with Eira tucked beside her, the snowy owl chick nestled against her like a guardian in miniature. Anand lay at the foot of the bed, always watchful, her protective instincts honed to a fine edge. Rose was safe for now, but Violet knew she couldn’t delay this much longer. If there was even the smallest possibility that Rose’s scar was something more sinister, she had to find out.

Violet carefully turned the page of an old tome, its faded lettering illuminated by the soft glow of a hovering light. The parchment was brittle under her fingers, the ink smudged in places, but the information was invaluable. She had spent every spare moment pouring over these books, cross-referencing spells, rituals, and magical theory to ensure that whatever method they used would not endanger Rose further.

“We have to know,” Violet murmured, her fingers tightening on the spine of the book. "I refuse to let her carry even the smallest trace of him if it’s there."

Andromeda, seated across from her, gave a slow nod, her expression thoughtful but tinged with concern. "I understand. If there’s anything left of him… it must be dealt with. But we have to be careful. If it is a Horcrux, reckless action could cause more harm than good."

“The problem,” Nymphadora added, tapping her fingers against the wooden arm of her chair, "is that there’s not exactly a standard guidebook on scanning for soul fragments. Everything I’ve read suggests that Horcrux magic is layered, built with defenses against detection. If it was easy to find and remove, they wouldn’t be so dangerous."

Violet exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face. "I know. But I refuse to sit here doing nothing. If she carries even the smallest trace of him, I need to know soon. Before it’s too late."

Andromeda leaned forward, retrieving a vial from a small collection of potions she had brought into the room. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, a blend of silver and deep blue. "This should stabilize her magical core if anything reacts badly to the scan. Just in case. It’s a mixture of magical grounding and protective wards condensed into liquid form. It won’t remove anything, but it should prevent backlash if there’s resistance."

Violet nodded, reaching for her wand, her grip steady despite the storm in her chest. This wasn’t a battle like the ones she had fought before. There was no battlefield, no clear enemy to face down. But that didn’t make it any less terrifying. Because this wasn’t about war or duty. This was about her child.

“I’ll perform the initial scan,” Violet said, her voice firm. "I’ve memorized the incantations, and my magic should be the best match for hers. If there’s something there, we’ll figure out the next step together."

Nymphadora sat up straighter, her usual playfulness replaced by something more serious. "We’ll be right here. You’re not doing this alone."

Andromeda nodded as well. "No matter what we find, we’ll handle it. Rose is safe here. We’ll make sure she stays that way."

Violet swallowed hard, gratitude flickering through her, but it was quickly overshadowed by the weight of the moment. She turned her gaze to the ceiling, toward the room where Rose slept peacefully, unaware of the worry that pressed down on them like a leaden weight.

"First thing tomorrow, we find out the truth."

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting warm golden light across the kitchen table where breakfast had just finished. The comforting scents of toast, eggs, and tea still lingered in the air as the household settled into the quiet hum of the day. Rose had eaten well, her appetite growing stronger each day now that she had consistent, nourishing meals. She still sat close to Violet, instinctively seeking the warmth and presence of the woman who had become her protector.

After clearing away the dishes, Violet exchanged a glance with Andromeda and Nymphadora. It was time.

"Rose, love," Violet said gently, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from the girl’s forehead. "We need to talk to you about something important."

Rose blinked up at her, setting down the book she had been flipping through at the table. "Is something wrong?"

Violet gave her a reassuring smile, squeezing her small hand before standing. "Nothing is wrong, but there is something we want to check, just to make sure you're perfectly safe. Why don't we move to the living room?"

Rose nodded, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face, though she quickly hopped down from her chair, reaching for Violet’s hand as they moved toward the living room. Anand trotted beside them, and Eira, the small snowy owl chick, fluttered onto the armrest of the couch as they all settled in.

Andromeda took a seat in one of the armchairs, her expression calm and composed, while Nymphadora leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed but offering a small, encouraging smile to Rose.

Once they were settled, Violet took a deep breath and spoke, keeping her voice soft but steady. "Rose, do you remember when we went to St. Mungo’s and Healer Andromeda gave you a check-up?"

Rose nodded slowly, glancing between them. "Yes. She said I was healthy."

"And you are," Andromeda assured her warmly. "But we wanted to take another look at something the scan didn’t fully explore. Your scar."

Rose’s small fingers instinctively went up to touch her forehead, her expression guarded now. "Why?"

Violet shifted so that Rose could see her fully, her fingers tracing the deep, jagged scar that ran across her own face—a mark that dominated her features, a permanent reminder of what she had survived. "Because magic leaves traces," she said softly, "and sometimes, when a spell is powerful enough, it can linger. Scars don’t just mark the skin; they can hold onto the magic that caused them. I know that firsthand."

Rose’s gaze flickered to Violet’s scar, her small fingers curling against her own forehead. There was something thoughtful in her expression, as if for the first time, she understood that she wasn’t the only one carrying a mark from the past.

"We just want to make sure that there’s nothing left behind from the night… the night everything changed for you," Violet continued.

Rose frowned slightly but didn’t shrink away. "You mean from when—when my parents…?"

Violet’s heart clenched, but she nodded. "Yes. We don’t think anything is wrong, but I want to be sure. You deserve to be safe and free from anything that could hurt you."

Rose studied Violet’s face for a long moment before finally giving a small nod. "Okay. Will it hurt?"

"Not at all," Nymphadora chimed in with a grin. "It’ll just feel like a tingle, like when your foot falls asleep but not as bad."

That seemed to reassure her somewhat, and Rose relaxed a little, shifting closer to Violet. "Alright. You can check."

Violet exhaled softly, relieved at her trust. "Good girl. We’ll do it gently, and you can tell us if you feel uncomfortable at any point, okay?"

Rose nodded, and Violet gave her hand a final squeeze before glancing toward Andromeda and Nymphadora. It was time to begin.

Violet took a steadying breath, pulling out her wand as she positioned herself in front of Rose. The girl sat still, her wide green eyes watching closely, a mixture of curiosity and nerves flickering across her face. Violet offered her a reassuring smile, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Rose’s ear before shifting her focus to the task at hand.

Andromeda, seated beside them, uncorked the small vial filled with the shimmering potion she had prepared the night before. The liquid pulsed faintly with stabilizing magic, ready to be used if necessary. "I’ll monitor her magical core and apply the potion if there’s any instability," Andromeda said, her voice calm and professional.

Nymphadora stood nearby, arms crossed but eyes sharp, ready to assist if needed. She wasn’t her usual playful self—this was serious, and she understood that more than anyone. "We’re here, Rose. You’re safe," she reassured, her voice softer than usual.

Violet inhaled deeply, lifting her wand, and began the incantation. A soft glow radiated from the tip, forming intricate golden lines in the air, weaving together into a layered spell. It was a delicate balance—too much force, and she risked disrupting Rose’s magic; too little, and they wouldn’t get the answers they needed.

The first layer of magic spread gently across Rose’s forehead, a faint shimmer outlining the jagged scar. A soft hum filled the air, the spell reacting to the ancient magic still lingering in the mark. Violet’s grip on her wand tightened as she pushed the second layer into place, the golden lines forming runic symbols that pulsed softly against Rose’s skin.

Rose shivered slightly at the sensation but didn’t flinch away. She trusted Violet.

As the third layer settled in, Violet narrowed her eyes, watching for any reaction—anything that would confirm their worst fears or, hopefully, prove them wrong.

Andromeda’s fingers hovered near the vial, her expression unreadable as she watched the layers of magic interact with Rose’s scar. "Steady now," she murmured, as if to both Violet and Rose.

Violet barely heard her. She was focused entirely on the spell, waiting for the results to reveal themselves.
The room seemed to hold its breath as Violet’s spell reached its final layer, the golden runes shimmering as they reacted to the magic embedded deep within Rose’s scar. For a brief moment, nothing happened—then the air shifted, a sharp pulse emanating from the scar, causing the runes to flicker and twist unnaturally. A low, almost imperceptible whisper rippled through the space, curling around them like a phantom’s breath.

Violet’s heart sank. Her worst fears had been confirmed.

Andromeda inhaled sharply. "There’s something there," she murmured, her trained healer’s eyes locked onto the glow pulsing faintly against Rose’s forehead.

"Not something," Violet said grimly, her grip on her wand tightening. "A fragment of a soul. His soul."

Nymphadora cursed under her breath, her fingers twitching toward her wand as if ready to fight something tangible, but she held back. Rose, still sitting perfectly still, looked between them with wide, uncertain eyes.

"Violet?" Rose’s voice was small, confused, the creeping sense of unease settling into her features. She didn’t understand fully yet, but she could feel something was wrong.

Violet took a steadying breath and placed a reassuring hand on Rose’s shoulder. "It’s alright, love. I promise. We knew there might be something left behind, and now that we’ve found it, I can take care of it."

Andromeda reached for the vial of stabilizing potion, ready to administer it if Rose’s magic reacted negatively to the next step. "Are you sure about this, Violet? This kind of magic—"

"I’m sure," Violet interrupted, her expression unwavering. "I bought something for this, just in case. A vessel. I won’t risk hurting Rose by destroying it inside of her."

From the folds of her cloak, Violet pulled out a small silver locket, its surface smooth except for the faintly etched protection runes she had carved into it days before. It was simple, unassuming, but strong—built to contain the unthinkable.

Rose swallowed, instinctively pressing closer to Violet, though she still held still as the golden light around her scar pulsed. "What do I need to do?"

Violet smiled softly, brushing a hand through Rose’s hair before steadying her wand once more. "Just stay still, sweetheart. This will be over soon. I’m going to move the fragment somewhere safe, and once it’s out, you’ll never have to carry it again."

Rose nodded hesitantly, her small hands gripping the fabric of Violet’s sleeve as Violet began the next incantation. The golden glow around her scar began to shift, curling and stretching toward the silver locket as Violet guided it carefully, ensuring not a trace of the dark presence remained inside the child.

The air grew heavier as the process began, the magic resisting—but Violet would not be denied. This thing, this piece of him, would no longer burden Rose. It would be contained, locked away, and when the time was right, destroyed.

As Violet pulled at the soul fragment with her magic, the resistance grew violent. The golden runes wavered, twisting in agitation as an inky, liquid-like darkness began seeping from Rose’s scar, dripping down her forehead. The moment it touched her skin, Rose let out a sharp, pained gasp, her small body trembling as she clutched at Violet’s sleeve.

"It hurts—" Rose whimpered, her voice tight with distress.

Violet’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t hesitate. "I know, love. Hold on just a little longer." Her grip on the wand tightened as she increased the pressure, forcing the soul shard to withdraw. The darkness oozed and writhed, as if sentient, clawing at Rose’s magic and trying to anchor itself deeper. The whispering in the room grew louder, fractured voices echoing in the shadows, venomous and desperate.

Andromeda was already readying the potion, a steady hand reaching out to Rose. "She needs this the moment it’s out."

With one final push of magic, Violet wrenched the soul shard free. Rose gasped, arching slightly as the last tendril of darkness was torn from her scar and drawn into the silver locket. The moment it was sealed inside, Violet slammed the clasp shut, binding it with a heavy ward.

Rose sagged against Violet, exhausted, her forehead slick with sweat. Andromeda pressed the vial to Rose’s lips, coaxing her to drink, while Nymphadora released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Violet ran a gentle hand through Rose’s damp hair, holding her close as she whispered, "It’s over. It’s gone. You’re free."

The moment the locket snapped shut and the last tendrils of dark magic were sealed away, the oppressive weight in the air dissipated. The whispers faded into nothing, leaving only the soft crackling of the fireplace and the heavy breathing of those in the room. The stillness that followed was almost deafening, the kind of silence that felt like a wound finally beginning to heal.

Violet barely registered the relief washing over Andromeda and Nymphadora. Her entire focus was on Rose, who lay slumped against her, small and exhausted, her body trembling in the aftershocks of what had just been ripped from her. The little girl’s breath came in short, uneven gasps, and Violet could feel the rapid beat of her heart against her own chest.

Without hesitation, Violet wrapped her arms around Rose, pulling her close against her chest, enveloping her in warmth and security. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading gently through her hair, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles over her back. "It’s over, love," Violet whispered into Rose’s hair. "It’s gone. You’re free."

Rose let out a shuddering breath, pressing her face into Violet’s shoulder. For the first time in her life, she felt light. The ever-present, suffocating pressure in the back of her mind—the weight she had never known wasn’t supposed to be there—was gone. There was only silence, peaceful and warm, where before there had always been something cold, something lurking just out of reach. 

She wasn’t used to this sensation, to the absence of something that had always been there, whispering and pressing down on her without her ever truly understanding it. Now that it was gone, she almost didn’t know how to exist without it. She clutched onto Violet’s robes, fingers trembling, her breath still uneven as she tried to process this strange new lightness.

"I feel… different," Rose murmured, her voice muffled against Violet’s robes. "Lighter. Like something was pressing down on me, and now it’s not there anymore."

Violet tightened her embrace, pressing a kiss to the top of Rose’s head. "That’s because it’s truly gone," she reassured her. "You don’t have to carry that weight anymore. You never should have had to carry it in the first place."

Andromeda knelt beside the couch, pressing the back of her hand against Rose’s forehead, checking for any residual magical instability. She murmured a soft spell, watching the results unfold before nodding in satisfaction. "Her magic feels steadier," she confirmed. "No sign of lingering corruption. Just exhaustion."

Rose exhaled softly, nuzzling further into Violet’s arms, her small hands clinging to the fabric of her cloak as if afraid to let go. Even though the weight was gone, the fear of losing this warmth, this safety, remained. "Stay?" she whispered, barely audible, her voice fragile in a way that made Violet’s chest ache.

Violet kissed her hair again, holding her just a little tighter. "Always, sweetheart. I’ll always be here."

Nymphadora, who had been quiet throughout the exchange, finally let out a breath and flopped onto the armrest of the couch, shaking her head with a small, relieved smile tugging at her lips. "Well, I’d say that was a success, even if it was terrifying."

Andromeda gave her daughter a look before standing. "Let’s give them some time. Rose needs rest, and Violet… well, she won’t be moving anytime soon."

With a nod, Nymphadora followed her mother, casting one last glance at Violet and Rose before stepping out of the room. She hesitated for a moment in the doorway, watching how tightly Rose clung to Violet, the way Violet’s arms curled around her protectively. There was something unspoken in her expression, something almost wistful, before she finally slipped away.

Violet remained on the couch, gently rocking Rose in her arms, listening as her breathing evened out, her small body going limp with much-needed sleep. Even in sleep, Rose’s tiny fingers remained curled around Violet’s cloak, unwilling to let go.

Violet let out a slow breath, pressing her cheek against Rose’s hair. For the first time since she had arrived in this world, something inside her felt right. Rose was safe. Free. And she would make sure that no one—no one—would ever take that from her again.

The room was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire and the gentle breathing of the two figures curled together on the couch. The warmth of the flames cast a golden glow across the room, flickering shadows dancing along the walls. Violet held Rose close, her arms wrapped securely around the small girl nestled against her chest, feeling every slow, steady breath she took. The weight of the past few days hung in the air, heavy but no longer suffocating, as if the darkness that had once clung to Rose had finally loosened its grip.

Their familiars had gathered around them, drawn to the quiet comfort of their bond—Anand lay curled at their feet, her presence steady and unwavering. Eira, the tiny snowy owl chick, nestled securely against Hedwig’s warm feathers, the elder owl watching over her with a quiet wisdom only she possessed. Badb rested on the back of the couch, her sleek black form blending into the shadows, ever watchful, while Macha had draped herself across the armrest, her long tail flicking idly as she dozed, a soft purring hum vibrating in the air.

Rose let out a slow, steady breath, her small hands still gripping Violet’s cloak as though afraid she might vanish. The exhaustion from the ritual, the pain of having something unnatural torn from her, still lingered in her small body, but there was something else now—relief. It was as if a weight she had never even realized was there had finally been lifted. For the first time, she felt at peace.

Violet gently ran her fingers through Rose’s tangled hair, smoothing it down with soft, reassuring motions, her other hand resting against the girl’s back, feeling the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing. "I know how it feels," she murmured, her voice low and soothing. "To carry something you never should have had to. To live with a mark that meant more than it ever should have. My scar… it was like yours."

Rose tilted her head slightly, looking up at Violet with tired, curious eyes, the emerald green that mirrored her own searching for understanding. "Really?"

Violet nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Really. It might not have been exactly the same, but I carried something I never asked for, something that made me feel like I was different, like I wasn’t my own person. For so long, I felt like it controlled me, that I had no say in it. But now you don’t have to feel that way anymore. You’re free."

Rose’s fingers brushed over her forehead where the scar still remained, though now just a mark—no longer a tether to something dark and unnatural. "It’s still there," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Violet took Rose’s small hand in her own, guiding it to press lightly against the scar that traced across her own face, the jagged line a permanent reminder of her own battles. "Scars don’t make us weak, love. They remind us of what we’ve survived. They tell a story, one that says you fought and lived. What matters is that you’re free now. You get to decide who you are, not the mark on your skin."

Rose’s lips trembled slightly, her small fingers tracing the line of Violet’s scar with hesitant reverence. She seemed to think for a moment, then lowered her hand, pressing her forehead against Violet’s shoulder instead. "I’m glad you found me."

Violet’s breath caught for just a second before she tightened her arms around her, cradling her closer. "Me too, sweetheart," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "Me too."

Rose sighed softly, finally allowing herself to relax fully into Violet’s embrace. Her small hands, which had clung so tightly to Violet’s cloak, loosened slightly, but she didn’t let go completely. She didn’t need to—Violet wasn’t going anywhere. She would hold onto Rose for as long as she needed, for as long as it took for her to believe, truly believe, that she was safe now.

Hedwig ruffled her feathers slightly, shifting on her perch, and Eira chirped softly, still nestled against her warmth. Anand let out a quiet huff, as if to say all was well, and even Badb, usually stoic, let out a pleased croak. The room was filled with unspoken promises, woven together in the gentle crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of breathing.

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting soft golden hues across the living room. The warmth of the day created an almost dreamlike atmosphere, the golden rays dancing along the walls, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. Rose sat curled up on the couch beside Violet, a book open in her lap, though her attention kept drifting away from the words on the page. Instead, she found herself stealing glances at Violet, at the way the older woman’s expression seemed thoughtful, as if something weighed on her mind. 

Eira, still a tiny ball of feathers, perched protectively on Rose’s shoulder, occasionally fluffing herself and nuzzling into Rose’s neck. Hedwig observed them both from the back of the couch, her sharp amber eyes filled with wisdom and patience. Anand lay sprawled on the rug at their feet, her breathing slow and even, an ever-present guardian. Badb sat perched above them, utterly still, while Macha had stretched across the armrest, her long tail flicking idly, her bright eyes half-lidded as she dozed.

Violet exhaled softly, shifting so she could properly face Rose, her heart clenching at how much the child had already come to trust her. Rose no longer flinched away from touch, no longer hesitated to lean into Violet’s warmth. Each passing day, that bond grew stronger, and with it came an obligation—the responsibility to be honest. She couldn’t keep her truth from Rose any longer. She deserved to know. 

"Rose," Violet began, her voice steady but gentle, "there’s something I need to tell you. Something important."

Rose blinked up at her, closing the book without hesitation and turning to give Violet her full attention. "What is it?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. There was curiosity in her gaze, but also a flicker of concern, as though she could sense that whatever was coming would change everything.

Violet hesitated for only a moment before reaching out, gently taking Rose’s small hands in her own. "I’m not just any witch who happened to find you. I… I come from a different time. A different future."

Rose’s brow furrowed, her fingers twitching slightly in Violet’s grasp. "A different future?" she repeated slowly. "What do you mean?"

Violet took a steadying breath, squeezing Rose’s hands reassuringly. "In the future I come from, you grew up much the way I did. Alone. Unwanted by the people who were supposed to care for you. But I fought a war, Rose. A war against the same man who took your parents from you. And in my time… I was you."

The room seemed to still around them, the warmth of the sun suddenly feeling heavier. Rose’s eyes widened, her grip tightening instinctively. "You were… me?"

Violet nodded, her expression soft but resolute. "Yes. In my time, I was the child left behind at the Dursleys, just like you. I went to Hogwarts, I fought battles, I lost people I loved. But something went wrong. The war didn’t just end with victory—it ended with the world falling apart. Magic itself began to fade. The world became a wasteland. And when I stepped through the Veil of Death, I found myself here. With you."

Rose’s breath hitched slightly, her emerald eyes—so much like Violet’s own—searching for any trace of deception. But there was none. Just raw honesty and a quiet kind of grief. "You mean… you came back to change things? To make sure I didn’t end up like you?"

Violet gave a small, sad smile, her thumb brushing over the back of Rose’s hand. "Yes. I couldn’t let you suffer the way I did. I couldn’t let you carry everything alone. So I found you. And I will protect you. No matter what."

Rose swallowed thickly, her lower lip trembling as her grip on Violet’s hands tightened. "But… if you were me… that means you never had someone to do this for you."

Violet’s breath hitched at the quiet heartbreak in Rose’s words. She had expected confusion, maybe even skepticism, but this—this soft realization, this understanding—was something she hadn’t prepared for. 

"No," Violet admitted after a long pause, voice quieter now. "I never did."

Tears welled in Rose’s eyes, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she leaned forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Violet, holding onto her as if afraid she might slip away. The realization that someone had come back—for her—settled deep in her chest, filling a void she hadn't known existed. "You already have," she whispered, her voice shaky but full of quiet conviction.

Violet let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, wrapping her arms securely around Rose in return. She pressed a lingering kiss to the top of the girl's head, her own emotions threatening to spill over. "And I always will," she murmured, voice thick with unspoken promises. "Always."

Rose curled further into her embrace, burying her face in the fabric of Violet’s cloak, taking comfort in the steady rise and fall of her breathing. She clung to the warmth, to the feeling of being held, of mattering in a way she never had before. The weight in her chest lightened, a sensation she had never known—safety, security, love.

The room remained hushed, their familiars sensing the moment and settling in closer. Anand stretched out on the rug beside them, her tail gently flicking, while Eira nestled further against Hedwig, chirping softly in contentment. Macha curled around Violet’s legs, providing a silent reassurance, while Badb remained still, her watchful gaze unwavering.

Violet gently rubbed soothing circles on Rose’s back, holding her as long as she needed. "You don’t have to carry this alone anymore," she whispered, her words meant for both of them. "You have me. And I will do everything in my power to make sure you have the life you deserve."

Rose sniffled but nodded against Violet’s shoulder. "I don’t want you to leave."

Violet tightened her embrace. "I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not now, not ever."

For a long while, they stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the weight of Violet’s confession settling between them. But it was not a burden—it was a vow, a declaration of something stronger than fate itself. Violet had come back to change things, to be what she had never had. And now, in the quiet glow of the afternoon, she knew with absolute certainty that she had already begun to succeed.

~~~~

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, fingers steepled, his gaze drifting over the softly glowing instruments that lined the shelves. For years, these delicate mechanisms had pulsed with steady reassurance, a silent confirmation that the protections around Privet Drive remained intact, that Rose Potter was where she was meant to be.

He had stopped actively monitoring them long ago. There had never been a need. The wards had held for close to a decade, unbroken, unchallenged.

Tonight, however, something was wrong.

A faint chime rang through the quiet room, startling Dumbledore from his musings. His sharp blue eyes snapped toward the source. One of the silver devices—a small, intricate mechanism shaped like a delicate, spinning sphere—was slowing, its glow dimming as its rotation stuttered. He frowned. That particular instrument monitored the primary wards at Number Four, Privet Drive.

A second chime followed. Then a third.

The protective enchantments, the ones he had so painstakingly crafted, were gone.

Dumbledore’s frown deepened. He strode forward, lifting the instrument in his long fingers, tapping it with his wand. The response was sluggish, the magic unresponsive. A heavy silence filled the room as realization set in.

These wards hadn’t just weakened. They had collapsed entirely.

His breath stilled as his gaze moved toward another instrument—the one bound to Rose herself. It let out a sputtering whirr before ceasing all movement entirely. The soft golden light at its core flickered twice before vanishing.

Dumbledore shot to his feet, his heart pounding in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

How long had it been like this?

His fingers tightened around his wand as his mind raced. Had the wards failed due to an external force? Had the Dursleys done something drastic? Had someone taken her? The protections he had placed should have prevented such a thing. And yet… he had received no warning.

His hand moved swiftly, summoning another instrument from the shelf—a delicate, rune-inscribed orb tied directly to Rose’s bloodline. If she was in mortal peril, it would glow red. If she had been removed from Privet Drive forcefully, it would pulse wildly.

It did nothing.

No glow, no pulse—just silence.

A cold dread settled in his chest. This wasn’t recent. If the instruments had failed, it hadn’t happened just tonight. It had been weeks. Weeks since they had stopped responding. Weeks since Rose had vanished—and he hadn’t noticed.

Fawkes let out a low trill from his perch, tilting his head, his golden eyes filled with silent judgment.

Dumbledore inhaled sharply, his usually calm demeanor slipping into something far more troubled. "This… should not be possible," he murmured, but the evidence was clear. The wards had failed, and Rose had not been at Privet Drive for some time. He had been so confident in his protections that he had never even checked.

His wand moved swiftly as he turned to the fireplace, summoning a small pinch of Floo powder. He tossed it into the flames, which roared to life in a swirl of emerald green.

"Arabella Figg!" he called, his voice firm despite the tension twisting in his chest.

Moments later, the flames flickered before revealing the squib’s modest living room. Mrs. Figg bustled into view, her ever-present tabby cat trailing at her heels. Her face twisted into a frown the moment she saw Dumbledore’s expression.

"Professor Dumbledore? This is unexpected," she said, adjusting her thick cardigan. "What’s happened?"

Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened. "Arabella, I need you to tell me—when was the last time you saw Rose Potter at Privet Drive?"

Mrs. Figg blinked, looking startled by the question. "Oh… well, let me think. I usually see her when the Dursleys leave her outside while they go out, but… it’s been a while now, hasn’t it? Weeks, actually. I thought maybe they had started keeping her inside more." Her frown deepened. "You’re telling me she’s not there?"

Dumbledore’s grip on his wand tightened. "No, Arabella. She is not."

The color drained from her face. "Oh dear. Oh dear…"

Dumbledore drew back, his mind already moving a mile a minute. He needed more answers, and he needed them now. With a flick of his wand, he severed the Floo connection, his face grim.

Rose Potter had vanished weeks ago.

And for the first time in a long while, Albus Dumbledore had no idea where she was.

~~~~

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the television, the flickering light casting warm shadows over the cozy gathering. Laughter and cheerful music filled the air as the movie played, a gentle, heartwarming tale of a young child who, after hardship, found love and family in a new parent. It was a fitting choice for the evening, chosen with Rose in mind, though perhaps it resonated even more with Violet than she had anticipated.

Violet sat comfortably on the couch, a thick, warm blanket draped over both her and Rose. The little girl was curled up tightly against her side, her small frame pressing into Violet’s as if she were afraid to let go. Her tiny fingers gripped the fabric of Violet’s sleeve as she watched the screen with wide-eyed wonder, her focus flitting between the movie and the woman holding her. Every so often, she would glance up, her green eyes reflecting the light of the screen, seeking reassurance that Violet was still there, still real. Each time, Violet would meet her gaze and offer her a small, comforting smile, a silent promise that she was safe.

Andromeda and Ted sat nearby, relaxed in their own seats, the warmth of the family gathering settling around them like a physical presence. Ted had an arm draped over Andromeda’s shoulders, both of them smiling fondly at the scene before them, occasionally murmuring to one another as they watched. Nymphadora had taken her usual spot on the floor, lying on her stomach with a bowl of popcorn in front of her, occasionally throwing a piece into the air in an attempt to catch it with her mouth. She made exaggerated gasps and reactions at the film, causing Rose to giggle quietly, a sound that made Violet’s heart ache in the best possible way.

For Rose, this was an entirely new experience—one she never dared to dream of before. A family night. No cold, empty spaces. No loneliness creeping into the corners of her mind. Just warmth, safety, and the comforting presence of people who genuinely cared about her. No harsh words, no punishments for simply existing—just kindness, just love. She sighed softly, pressing closer into Violet’s side, the fear of being too much, of being in the way, slowly fading under the steady warmth of her guardian’s embrace.

Violet noticed the way Rose relaxed, the tension that had been wound so tightly into her small frame gradually unraveling. She adjusted the blanket slightly, tucking it around Rose a little more snugly before wrapping an arm around her. "You enjoying the movie?" she asked, her voice low and soothing, so as not to startle the girl.

Rose gave a tiny nod, her gaze never leaving the screen. "Yeah… I like it a lot."

Violet smiled, brushing a gentle hand over Rose’s hair, fingers carding through the soft strands with easy affection. "Good. We can watch more like this whenever you want."

Rose hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around Violet’s sleeve before she whispered, almost too softly to hear, "Promise?"

Violet felt her chest tighten, an ache she wasn’t sure she’d ever be rid of forming deep inside. She knew that kind of uncertainty, the fear that something good would be taken away before she could fully grasp it, before she could allow herself to believe in it. She had lived it. And she would not let Rose go through that alone.

She leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Rose’s head. "I promise."

That was all it took. Rose let out a slow, contented sigh and nestled deeper into Violet’s side, her trust unspoken but felt in every tiny movement. She believed her. Maybe not completely—not yet—but enough that she was willing to hope. And that was more than Violet could have ever asked for.

The movie continued, its bright colors illuminating the room in a soft glow, the story weaving a tale of found family, of acceptance, of love that had nothing to do with blood but everything to do with choice. Violet couldn’t help but think how fitting it was, how much it mirrored what she was trying to build for Rose. The warmth of the room, the presence of the Tonks family, and the quiet, steady rhythm of Rose’s breathing against her side lulled them both into a sense of peace neither had truly known before.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

V

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

The scream shattered the stillness of the night, piercing through the quiet house like a blade. In an instant, Violet was moving. Years of war had honed her reflexes to perfection, and sleep never dulled them. One moment, she had been resting, the next she was on her feet, wand in hand, instincts screaming danger.

She nearly tore the door off its hinges as she entered Rose’s room, her body already between the child and any potential threat before her brain had caught up with reality. But there was no enemy, no attacker lurking in the shadows—only Rose, small and trembling in her bed, her chest rising and falling in panicked gasps as she sobbed, caught in the grip of a nightmare.

The tension in Violet’s body remained coiled tight, but she forced herself to lower her wand, to breathe. She had faced monsters, dark lords, and battlefields soaked in blood, but none of it compared to the gut-wrenching sight of this—Rose, so young, so small, so afraid.

Without hesitation, Violet crossed the room and gathered Rose into her arms, pulling the shaking girl against her chest. "It’s okay, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice gentle despite the rapid thrum of adrenaline still coursing through her. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Rose clung to her desperately, her tiny fingers digging into the fabric of Violet’s nightshirt as she sobbed. "I—I thought—I was back there," she choked out between gasps. "They locked me in—the cupboard—I couldn’t—couldn’t get out—"

Violet squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing down the surge of fury that threatened to rise. That those people had done this to her—had left this mark on her—

She exhaled slowly, burying her anger for later. Right now, Rose needed comfort, not wrath. "You’re not there anymore, love. You’re here, with me, with family. No one will ever lock you away again."

Rose’s sobs softened into hiccups, though her grip on Violet remained just as fierce. "You came so fast," she murmured, her voice raw but filled with something almost like awe.

Violet pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Of course, I did. Nothing will ever hurt you while I’m here."

For a while, they simply sat there, Violet rocking Rose gently, running her fingers through her tangled hair, grounding them both in the quiet of the night. Slowly, Rose’s breathing evened out, but she didn’t drift back to sleep. Her fingers still clung to Violet’s nightshirt, her eyes wide even as exhaustion weighed down her small frame.

Recognizing that Rose needed more than just reassurances, Violet exhaled softly and rested her chin atop the girl’s head. "You know… I still get nightmares too."

Rose shifted slightly, tilting her head to look up at her. "You do?"

Violet nodded, keeping her voice quiet and even. "I do. Some nights, I dream of the cupboard I grew up in. Of the way it smelled, how the walls felt too close, how I was afraid I’d never get out. Even now, after all these years, sometimes I wake up expecting to find myself back there." She ran a gentle hand down Rose’s back. "It doesn’t make you weak to be scared. It just means you survived something you never should have had to endure."

Rose hesitated before pressing her face against Violet’s chest, absorbing her words. "It feels real," she whispered. "Like I’m really there again."

"I know," Violet said, her voice carrying the weight of understanding. "But you’re not there anymore, and neither am I. And whenever the nightmares come, I promise you I’ll be here to remind you of that."

Rose sniffled but nodded, burrowing further into Violet’s warmth. "Stay?"

Violet didn’t hesitate. "Always."

She adjusted them both, lying back against the pillows, keeping Rose tucked close to her chest. Hedwig and Eira settled on the headboard, watchful and protective, while Anand curled up at the foot of the bed. The room was still again, but the silence now felt warmer, safer.

After a few moments of silence, Rose spoke again, her voice quiet but searching. "Did your nightmares ever go away?"

Violet sighed softly, tightening her hold just a fraction. "Not completely," she admitted. "But they got easier to deal with. The more I surrounded myself with people who cared for me, the more I realized that the nightmares couldn’t hurt me anymore. They’re just echoes of things that already happened."

Rose mulled over that answer, her small hands resting against Violet’s chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart. "What do you do when you have them?"

Violet smiled faintly. "Sometimes, I get up and make tea. Other times, I remind myself of everything that’s different now, of everything I’ve built. And on nights like this?" She kissed the top of Rose’s head. "I hold onto the people who matter."

Rose let out a small hum, clearly thinking over Violet’s words. She curled up even closer, pulling the blanket tighter around them both. "Then… I guess I’ll hold onto you."

Violet’s throat tightened, but she simply nodded. "That sounds like a perfect plan."

She remained awake, her fingers idly tracing patterns against Rose’s back. The war had taught her many things, had taken even more. But this—this—was something worth fighting for.
Once Rose had fully drifted into sleep, her small form curled against the warmth of the blankets, Violet carefully extricated herself from the bed. She tucked the blanket snugly around Rose, brushing a few stray strands of hair from the girl’s forehead before stepping back. Even in sleep, Rose’s grip on the fabric of the blanket remained tight, as if she still feared she might wake up somewhere else, somewhere cold and unwelcoming.

Hedwig and Eira remained perched on the headboard, their keen eyes watchful, while Anand curled up at Rose’s feet, her tail twitching as she subtly adjusted her position to keep the child comfortable. Macha purred softly from her place near the pillows, adding another layer of warmth and security. Knowing that Rose was surrounded by protection, Violet allowed herself to slip quietly out of the room, closing the door behind her with a careful hand, lingering just long enough to ensure that the soft rise and fall of Rose’s breathing remained steady.

Despite the stillness of the house, Violet felt restless, her mind unable to shake the unease left behind by her own memories. The nightmare she had spoken of wasn’t just something she told Rose to make her feel better—it was real, still lurking in the corners of her mind, waiting for moments like these to creep back in. Nights like this, when the past felt closer than the present, she knew better than to try and force herself to sleep. Instead, she let habit guide her steps, heading down the staircase toward the dimly lit kitchen.

She moved through the motions with practiced ease—retrieving a mug, filling the kettle, setting it to boil. The flickering glow of the lantern she had lit cast elongated shadows across the walls, the stillness of the house pressing in around her. The quiet should have been comforting, but instead, it left too much room for thoughts she’d rather not entertain—ghosts of moments she had long since buried yet could never escape entirely.

As she reached for the tea tin, the sound of light footsteps behind her made her pause.

"Couldn’t sleep?" came a familiar voice, light with amusement but laced with something gentler underneath.

Violet turned to see Nymphadora standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, her vibrant hair tousled from sleep. She was dressed in sleep shorts and a loose camisole, the casual comfort of it making her seem softer than the sharp-witted Auror-in-training Violet had gotten used to. There was something about her presence that made the kitchen feel less hollow, less like a space occupied by ghosts.

Nymphadora stepped further into the kitchen, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor. "You’re good with her, you know," she said, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. "With Rose. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her trust someone so fast before."

Violet huffed a quiet laugh, turning back to her task as she poured the steaming water into her mug. "I just… I know what it’s like," she admitted. "She deserves better."

Nymphadora tilted her head, watching her carefully. "Yeah," she murmured. "And you’re giving her that."

There was a pause, a quiet moment where the only sound was the distant ticking of the clock. Nymphadora hesitated before pushing herself off the counter and stepping closer. "Mind if I join you?"

Violet glanced up, and for the first time that night, the tension in her shoulders eased just a little. "Go ahead."

With a grin, Nymphadora grabbed a second mug, and as the tea steeped between them, the kitchen became something else—not just a space of sleepless thoughts and memories, but a quiet sanctuary, shared between two people who understood more than they let on. 

Violet watched as Nymphadora settled into the chair across from her, the soft glow of the lantern catching the shifting colors in her hair, making the deep auburn strands glint against the dim light. "You get a lot of nights like this?" Nymphadora asked after a few moments of silence, her voice softer now, more thoughtful.

Violet exhaled slowly, wrapping her hands around the warmth of her mug. "More than I’d like to admit. Sometimes it’s the nightmares, sometimes it’s just… old habits."

Nymphadora hummed in understanding, taking a slow sip of her tea. "Yeah, I get that."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, the warmth of the tea spreading through Violet’s chest, soothing the parts of her that still felt too raw, too exposed. There was something about sharing the quiet with Nymphadora that didn’t feel invasive or expectant. It just was.

After a few moments, Nymphadora tilted her head slightly, watching her with an unreadable expression. "You know… for someone who’s been through hell, you’re pretty damn good at making other people feel safe."

Violet blinked at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. She wasn’t sure how to respond, so she settled for the truth. "I think it’s because I know what it’s like not to feel safe."

Nymphadora nodded slowly, as if she understood something deeper than Violet had even intended. "Well, whatever the reason… it suits you."

The words lingered between them, warm like the tea in their hands, and for the first time in a long while, Violet felt something ease inside her.

The warmth of the tea lingered between them, a small comfort in the quiet of the kitchen. The weight of unspoken thoughts still hung in the air, but Nymphadora, ever perceptive despite her usual chaotic energy, seemed to recognize Violet’s need for distraction. She shifted slightly in her chair, watching Violet with a thoughtful expression before breaking the silence.

"So… what was I like? In your world?" she asked, a touch of curiosity in her voice, though there was something more beneath it, an almost hesitant longing to understand the version of herself that Violet had known.

Violet glanced at her, surprised by the question. She set her mug down, fingers curling around the ceramic as she considered her words. "You were…" she started, then exhaled, shaking her head. "You were incredible. Brave, strong, and so kind. One of the best people I knew."

Nymphadora’s lips twitched into a small smile, but she didn’t interrupt, waiting for Violet to continue.

"You always made time for people," Violet went on, her voice quieter now, lost in memory. "Especially the younger ones. You had this way of making them laugh even when everything felt hopeless. Your abilities helped with that—you’d shift your features, pull ridiculous faces, make them forget, even if just for a moment, that we were in the middle of a war. You gave them something to hold onto." She looked down into her tea, her thumb brushing against the rim of the mug. "You gave me something to hold onto."

Nymphadora swallowed, shifting in her chair. "Sounds like I was a real pain in the arse too," she teased lightly, but there was warmth in her voice, like the idea of her counterpart being someone so loved filled her with something she wasn’t sure how to name.

Violet let out a small laugh, but it was tinged with something heavier. "Oh, absolutely. You never shut up, always found some way to be in trouble. But you had this... unwavering loyalty. No matter what, you stood by my side. Always. Even when things got bad. Even when it would’ve been smarter to run."

Nymphadora tilted her head. "And?" she prompted, sensing there was more.

Violet sighed, rubbing a hand over her face before meeting Nymphadora’s gaze. "And you were ruthless in a fight. People underestimated you because of the jokes, because of the way you laughed and tripped over your own feet sometimes. But on the battlefield? You were a force of nature. Quick, smart, and absolutely deadly when it mattered. I could always count on you to watch my back, to step into the fire if I needed you to. You never hesitated. Not once."

She hesitated before adding, "You saved my life more times than I can count. And I— I wasn’t able to save yours."

The words hung between them, heavier than anything else Violet had said so far. Nymphadora studied her for a long moment, then reached out, her fingers brushing against Violet’s forearm—a fleeting touch, grounding and warm. "That wasn’t your fault," she said softly. "Even if it feels like it was."

Violet’s breath hitched slightly, but she nodded, looking away as if the words were too much to meet head-on. "Maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that I lost you. That world lost you. And that… that never stopped hurting."

Nymphadora squeezed her arm gently before pulling back, offering her a lopsided grin. "Well, I suppose that just means I’ll have to be even better in this world, yeah? Can’t have my alternate self showing me up."

Violet let out a genuine chuckle this time, a soft, fleeting sound. "No, I suppose you can’t."

A comfortable silence settled between them, and for a long while, they simply sipped their tea, letting the warmth settle the heaviness between them. It was a rare thing for Violet to speak so openly about her past, but Nymphadora had a way of drawing her out without making her feel exposed, a skill that few possessed.

Nymphadora drummed her fingers on the table, watching Violet with quiet curiosity before leaning forward slightly. "Did we ever… I mean, did we ever get close? In that world?"

Violet hesitated, her fingers tightening around her mug. "We did. You were like an older sister to me. Always there, always looking out for me, even when I didn’t realize I needed it. You were one of the few people I trusted without question. You never let the war take away your kindness, and you never let me go through anything alone. You would sit with me after nightmares, make me laugh when I wanted to break, and remind me that I wasn’t just a weapon or a soldier—I was a person. And I… I think I took that for granted."

Nymphadora nodded slowly, digesting that. "Sounds like I had good taste in people."

Violet let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, you did."

Another silence settled between them, but this one was softer, more reflective. The weight of loss still lingered, but in its place was something else—something unspoken but present, something neither of them was ready to name just yet.

Nymphadora exhaled, shifting slightly in her seat. "It’s strange to hear that I was older in your world. That I was someone you looked up to like a sister." She drummed her fingers against her mug, thoughtful. "But here, we're the same age, maybe I’m even a little younger. I wonder if that changes things?"

Violet considered that for a moment before shaking her head. "It does, but not in a bad way. The way I saw her—how much she meant to me—it wasn’t just because of her age. It was because of who she was. And you… you’re not her, but that doesn’t mean you can’t mean something just as important in a different way."

Nymphadora smirked slightly, though her expression softened as she met Violet’s gaze. "So what you’re saying is, you still need someone to watch your back?"

Violet huffed, rolling her eyes but smiling nonetheless. "Something like that."

"Good," Nymphadora said, nudging her mug toward Violet’s in an impromptu toast. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

Violet looked at her then, really looked at her. And for the first time since she had arrived in this world, she allowed herself to hope.

~

The next morning, the warm aroma of freshly brewed tea, crispy bacon, and toasted bread filled the kitchen as the household gathered around the breakfast table. The soft clinking of plates, the occasional scrape of a butter knife against toast, and the quiet bubbling of the kettle were the only sounds for a moment, mingling with the low murmur of conversation. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow over the table, making the morning feel almost peaceful in its simplicity.

Rose sat comfortably between Violet and Nymphadora, her small frame still waking up but clearly enjoying the sense of warmth and belonging. She reached absentmindedly for a piece of toast while Eira, nestled on the table beside her, preened her soft white feathers before puffing up, her sleepy eyes blinking as if annoyed at the morning light. The tiny owl let out a small chirp when Rose scratched lightly under her chin, making Violet smile as she took a sip of her tea.

The sight of Rose, relaxed and content, made something settle in Violet’s chest. It had been a long time since she had seen a child simply allowed to be a child. No worries about war, no constant fear in the background—just warmth, food, and laughter. She reached out and lightly ruffled Rose’s hair, earning a small, drowsy grin from the girl, who nibbled on her toast with the careful precision of someone who hadn’t been given an abundance of food in the past and still wasn’t quite used to it.

Violet and Nymphadora, seated close together, had settled into an easy rhythm. Their bond, still fresh yet growing stronger by the day, was evident in the way they interacted. Nymphadora nudged Violet’s arm lightly as she reached for the jam, giving her a teasing smirk.

"You looked like you were gonna snatch that right out of my hands, Vi. Patience."

Violet rolled her eyes but smirked nonetheless. "Wouldn’t have to if you didn’t hoard it every morning."

"That’s because I have taste," Nymphadora shot back playfully, spreading a generous amount onto her toast before sliding the jar toward Violet. "See? Sharing."

Rose giggled, watching the exchange, her gaze flicking between them with curiosity and something deeper—an emotion that, while not yet fully understood, settled warmly in her chest. She wasn’t used to this kind of casual teasing, this easy affection between people who cared for each other. But she liked it. It felt safe.

Across the table, Andromeda observed them with quiet amusement, her sharp eyes catching the way Violet and Nymphadora naturally leaned toward each other, the way their movements mirrored unconsciously. Ted, flipping through the paper, let out a hum before glancing over his cup. "It’s good to see some proper banter at the table again," he remarked, a knowing look sent toward his daughter. "Been a while."

Nymphadora waved him off. "Oh, hush. I can be proper when I need to be."

Ted snorted into his tea. "Sure, and I can grow a full head of hair again."

Rose giggled again, the sound bright and unburdened, making Violet’s heart squeeze in a way she hadn’t expected. She glanced down at Rose, brushing a stray curl behind the girl’s ear before giving her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "Eat up, love."

Rose nodded quickly, taking a big bite of her toast as if preparing for something important. Eira ruffled her feathers, clearly unimpressed by the lack of food offered to her, and Hedwig, perched near the window, let out an approving hoot as if encouraging the meal to continue uninterrupted.

Macha, curled up on Anand’s back beneath the table, let out a slow purr, the gentle vibration adding to the sense of comfort in the room. Anand, ever watchful, lifted her head slightly to glance at Rose, her tail thumping once against the wooden floor before settling again.

Violet caught Nymphadora’s eye across the table, and in that brief moment of shared amusement and understanding, she felt something settle inside her—something solid, something real. It wasn’t just about protecting Rose. It was about giving her something Violet herself had longed for as a child—a family that cared, people she could trust, a place where she belonged.

Maybe, just maybe, she was finally building one of her own.

After breakfast, Andromeda gently steered Rose toward the sitting room, setting out books for her to read and helping her work through exercises to keep her education steady while she continued to heal. Rose, eager to please, settled in quickly, her small fingers tracing the words as she read aloud, her voice still carrying the hesitant undertones of someone unused to praise for learning. Andromeda sat beside her, gently guiding her pronunciation when needed, offering encouragement that made Rose’s eyes shine with something close to pride.

Meanwhile, Violet prepared to head out, shrugging on her worn leather jacket before fastening the straps on her boots. The jacket was practical, sturdy, and familiar—a relic of the life she had led before. It molded to her like a second skin, efficient and protective. She adjusted the collar absently as Andromeda fixed her with a knowing look.

"And before you even try to argue," Andromeda said, arms crossed, "you need more clothes, Violet. Clothes that aren’t just practical or suited for war. You’re not on the run anymore."

Violet hesitated, her first instinct to protest, but a glance at Nymphadora—who was already smirking in anticipation—made her sigh. "Fine. But let’s make this quick."

"Oh, no, we’re making a proper day of this," Nymphadora quipped, linking her arm with Violet’s before she could escape. "Trust me, Vi, you’re going to thank me when you’re not wearing the same three outfits in rotation. And while that leather jacket looks damn good on you, maybe—just maybe—you should own at least one thing that doesn’t look like it’s seen ten years of battle."

As they left the house, Violet adjusted the jacket again, feeling oddly self-conscious under Nymphadora’s scrutiny. She had never paid much attention to what she wore beyond function, but the way Nymphadora eyed her, with an approving glint, made her skin heat just a little. Not that she’d ever admit it.

They made their way through town, blending seamlessly into the non-magical crowds. Nymphadora led the way with practiced ease, dragging Violet into a bustling clothing store filled with racks of casual wear that didn’t scream "ready for battle."

"Right, first things first," Nymphadora declared, already scanning through the options. "Something comfortable but not just ‘survivalist gear.’ And if you so much as pick up something purely because it’s ‘efficient,’ I will hex your hands to only grab colours."

Violet rolled her eyes but didn’t fight back as much as she might have weeks ago. There was something oddly nice about being dragged along for something so mundane, something so... normal. She watched as Nymphadora flipped through racks of clothing, occasionally pulling something out and holding it up against Violet with a thoughtful hum.

"What about this? Deep green suits you. Or do you want to lean into the whole broody aesthetic and stick to black?"

Violet snorted. "Black is practical."

"Black is boring," Nymphadora shot back, playfully tossing a dark blue sweater her way. "Try something different. You never know, you might actually like looking nice. And maybe consider something other than combat boots for once."

Violet gave her an unimpressed look but took the sweater anyway, glancing over it with mild consideration. It wasn’t like she had ever really cared about fashion before. Clothes had always been a necessity—something to cover her, to keep her warm, to not restrict movement in a fight. Now, though, there was no looming battle to prepare for. No nights spent in ruins, waiting for the next move. Just... life.

Nymphadora, not content with just sweaters, continued pulling more options—soft cotton tops, comfortable jeans, even a pair of trainers. "Come on, Vi, humor me. You don’t have to dress like you’re about to fight for your life at every moment."

Violet sighed but relented, taking the additional items with her to the fitting rooms. She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection as she tried on the first set of clothes. The sweater was softer than she expected, and the jeans fit snugly without feeling restrictive. It was different. Comfortable. And somehow, unsettling.

She stepped out of the fitting room, and Nymphadora grinned. "Look at you! Almost like a functioning member of society."

Violet huffed, but there was no real bite to it. "Alright, alright. I’ll admit they’re not terrible."

Nymphadora smirked triumphantly. "I knew I’d win you over."

Violet conceded, tucking the sweater over her arm. "Fine. But if I hate it, you’re paying for my next set of practical clothes."

Nymphadora grinned. "Deal. But I guarantee you’ll find at least one thing today that you don’t hate."

And as they continued through the store, Violet found herself thinking that maybe—just maybe—Nymphadora was right.

After they finished their shopping, Violet and Nymphadora walked side by side through the bustling streets, their hands free after having shrunk their purchases into their pockets. The air was crisp but pleasant, a rare moment of peace after a morning filled with playful bickering over Violet’s wardrobe choices.

Nymphadora was still grinning, stealing glances at Violet, who now carried a nearly brand-new wardrobe—including several new leather jackets in various cuts and styles. Violet had resisted, of course, but Nymphadora had insisted, and in the end, practicality won out when Violet realized that having more than one functional jacket wasn’t actually a crime. Still, she hadn’t expected shopping to be so… easy with Nymphadora, her energy infectious, making even something as simple as picking out clothes feel less like a chore and more like an outing between friends.

As they walked, a shop display caught Violet’s eye, and without hesitation, she beelined toward it, slipping into the small store without a word. Nymphadora blinked in surprise before following, stepping into a warmly lit shop filled with shelves stacked high with cuddly toys of every shape and size. The scent of lavender and soft fabric filled the air.

Violet moved with purpose, her gaze scanning over the shelves, fingers brushing against the plush fur of various stuffed animals. She carefully picked a few, turning them over in her hands before nodding in satisfaction and tucking them under her arm. It didn’t take long for Nymphadora to realize what she was doing—these weren’t for her, they were for Rose.

Leaning against a shelf, Nymphadora watched with fond amusement as Violet examined each option with silent deliberation. Every now and then, she would pause on a particular one, her fingers lingering over the fabric as if testing its softness before shaking her head slightly and putting it back. The hesitation, the small twitch of her lips as she debated with herself—it was obvious.

Violet wasn’t just looking for Rose. She was tempted herself.

Nymphadora’s smirk softened as she crossed her arms, making a note of the ones Violet lingered on the longest. The ones she picked up and then put back with a quiet shake of her head, like she was convincing herself she didn’t need them. She watched the way Violet’s fingers twitched as she placed a particularly soft plush wolf back on the shelf, her expression carefully blank but her body language betraying her thoughts.

Of course, that wasn’t going to do.

While Violet moved to the counter to pay for Rose’s selections, Nymphadora slipped through the aisles with a practiced ease, gathering the ones Violet had hesitated over. She made her way to a second register near the back, keeping her movements subtle as she handed over the plush animals for purchase. The cashier wrapped them quickly, tucking them into a bag that Nymphadora shrunk and slipped into her coat pocket before returning to Violet’s side.

By the time Violet turned to her, arms full of carefully selected plush animals for Rose, Nymphadora was standing there innocently, hands in her pockets, whistling under her breath.

"You done spoiling your kid already?" Nymphadora teased as they stepped out of the shop.

Violet rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it, adjusting the small shopping bag in her grasp. A small smile tugged at her lips at the way Nymphadora had phrased it—her kid. Neither of them had said it out loud yet, but hearing it so casually spoken sent warmth through her chest. She only hoped Rose knew, truly knew, how she felt. She had never gotten the chance to hear words like that, to know what it felt like to belong to someone who truly wanted her. She hoped Rose felt it, in every hug, in every gentle touch, in every night she sat by her bed and hummed lullabies until she fell asleep.

Nymphadora hummed in agreement, glancing down at the hidden purchase in her pocket and deciding to save it for later. Violet deserved nice things too, whether she thought she did or not. And if she wasn’t going to buy something soft for herself, then Nymphadora would just have to make sure she had it anyway.

As they continued walking, Nymphadora nudged Violet playfully. "Y’know, for someone who acts all tough, you’ve got a real soft spot."

Violet huffed, but there was no real irritation in it. "Don’t go spreading that around. I have a reputation."

Nymphadora grinned. "Oh, don’t worry, Vi. Your secret’s safe with me."

After shopping and a quick stop back at the house, Violet changed into some of the new clothes she had bought—a pair of well-fitted jeans, a nice top, and one of the new leather jackets that hugged her frame comfortably. She had to admit, Nymphadora had good taste, though she would never give her the satisfaction of outright saying it. The fabric was soft, not stiff like her old jacket, and she appreciated the way it allowed her to move without restriction. For the first time in years, she looked like someone simply living her life, not a soldier preparing for the next fight.

Feeling more put together than she had in a long time, Violet and Nymphadora set off toward their next destination—the nearby primary school. The quiet walk between them felt natural, comfortable in a way that surprised Violet. Nymphadora had a way of easing tension without even trying, and though Violet still carried an undercurrent of nerves, she found herself grounding in the present moment, focused on the task at hand.

Violet had been researching the local primary schools for the past week, determined to find a good one for Rose. The idea of Rose attending a school—being able to learn without fear, to experience a childhood free of neglect—was something Violet wanted to get right. She had narrowed down the options, and this particular school had been open to the idea of a trial period for Rose, something Violet had insisted on to ensure her comfort and well-being. But even though the arrangements had been made, Violet wasn’t about to place Rose anywhere without inspecting it in person and meeting some of the staff herself. Rose’s safety and happiness were too important to leave to chance.

As they arrived at the school gates, Violet took a slow breath, steadying herself. Schools had never been places of comfort for her, and walking into one now—especially for something as important as Rose’s future—made her shoulders tense involuntarily. The scent of chalk and freshly cut grass hit her as they stepped onto the grounds, the distant sound of children playing making something in her chest tighten. But this wasn’t about her. This was for Rose.

She led the way into the school’s reception area, the scent of paper, polished floors, and faint traces of paint filling the air. A receptionist looked up from her desk with a polite smile as Violet approached, her expression warm and professional.

“Good morning, how can I help you?”

“Good morning,” Violet replied, her tone even and confident despite the subtle tension in her shoulders. “I’m Violet Potter. We’ve been in communication regarding my daughter, Rose Potter, about her trial placement. I wanted to come by to see the school firsthand and meet some of the staff.” She gestured to Nymphadora beside her. “This is my friend, Nymphadora Tonks—she’s been helping me with Rose and is here to assist today.”

The receptionist nodded and flipped through some paperwork before offering another polite smile. “Yes, of course. The headteacher has been expecting you. Please, have a seat, and I’ll let them know you’ve arrived.”

Violet gave a small nod before stepping back, her sharp eyes flicking around the space, already assessing. The school had a welcoming atmosphere—brightly decorated walls lined with student artwork, a small bookshelf stacked with children’s books in the waiting area, and a bulletin board filled with announcements and achievements. It felt… warm, something she had never experienced in her own school days.

Nymphadora leaned in slightly, her voice low and teasing. "You alright? You’re wound up like you’re about to face a duel."

Violet exhaled, rolling her shoulders slightly. "Just making sure it’s the right place. Rose deserves the best."

Nymphadora hummed in understanding, but there was something knowing in her gaze. "She’s got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?"

Violet huffed. "I’m just making sure she’s safe."

Before Nymphadora could respond, a door down the hall opened, and a well-dressed woman with kind eyes stepped out, smiling as she approached.

"Ms. Potter? I’m Headteacher Williams. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

Violet extended her hand, shaking the woman’s firmly. "Likewise. Thank you for making the time to meet me."

The headteacher gestured toward the hallway. "Of course. Why don’t we take a walk? I’d love to show you around and answer any questions you have."

With a glance at Nymphadora, who gave her an encouraging nod, Violet followed the headteacher further into the school. As they walked, she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t expected—not just determination, but hope. This wasn’t just about ensuring Rose had a place to learn. This was about giving her the future she deserved.

Violet and Nymphadora followed Headteacher Williams down the main hallway of the school, the sound of distant chatter and the occasional burst of laughter from students filtering through the open classroom doors. The school had a welcoming energy to it—not too big, not too small—just the right size to ensure a sense of community without feeling overwhelming. The walls were decorated with student artwork, motivational posters, and displays of class projects, each one showcasing the vibrancy and creativity fostered in this space. 

As they walked, Headteacher Williams pointed out different areas, explaining their purposes. "This is the library," she said, gesturing to a bright, inviting room lined with shelves overflowing with books. A few students sat at small tables, reading quietly or working through assignments. Some were flipping through picture books, while others were jotting notes into their exercise books. "We encourage independent reading, and the students have access to a variety of materials to help foster their curiosity. Many of our teachers also integrate reading time into their lessons, ensuring that students develop strong literacy skills."

Violet glanced inside, noting the cozy reading corners with beanbags and small chairs designed for comfort, the way the books were arranged to be easily accessible for children of different ages. Rose had never had a real chance to explore books the way she should have—reading had been an escape, something to do quietly so as not to draw attention to herself. Here, though, it looked like reading was encouraged, celebrated even. She made a mental note to ask Rose what kinds of books she might want to borrow once she started.

They moved on, past classrooms where students were engaged in different activities—some practicing handwriting, others engaged in a maths lesson using colorful number blocks. The atmosphere was one of engagement rather than strict discipline, something that eased a tension in Violet's chest that she hadn’t even realized was there. The teachers moved through the classrooms with patience and warmth, helping students work through their tasks with encouragement rather than reprimands. This school felt safe. 

"And this," Headteacher Williams said as they stopped outside a cheerful-looking classroom decorated with colourful posters and student work, "would be Rose's classroom. Her teacher, Miss Harper, should be inside."

With a quick knock, the headteacher pushed the door open. Inside, a young woman with warm brown eyes and a kind expression turned from where she had been adjusting something on the board. She smiled as she caught sight of them, brushing chalk dust from her hands before stepping forward. "Ah, you must be Rose's family."

Violet stepped forward, offering a handshake. "Violet Potter. And this is my friend, Nymphadora Tonks."

Miss Harper shook both their hands warmly. "It’s wonderful to meet you. I've heard a little about Rose, and I want you to know that we'll do everything we can to help her settle in comfortably. Starting a new school can be a big adjustment, but we’ll take it at her pace."

Violet studied the woman closely, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all she saw was genuine kindness. She felt something ease inside her. "That’s all I can ask for," she said. "Rose is bright, but she hasn’t had the best experience with school before. I want this to be a fresh start for her."

Miss Harper nodded in understanding. "Then we’ll make sure it is. Would you like to see where she’ll be sitting?"

Violet exchanged a glance with Nymphadora, who gave her a small, encouraging nod. "Yes, I’d like that."

Miss Harper led them toward a small desk near the middle of the classroom, not too far from the teacher’s desk but also not isolated. "I like to seat new students where they can feel included but not overwhelmed. Here, she'll be able to interact with her classmates naturally without feeling like she’s being put on the spot. And of course, if she prefers a different spot, we can make adjustments."

Violet ran her fingers lightly along the edge of the desk, imagining Rose sitting here, learning, making friends, experiencing school the way a child should. The idea filled her with an odd sense of hope and longing. She wanted this to work, wanted Rose to be happy here.

"That sounds perfect," Violet murmured before looking back at Miss Harper. "She’s had… a difficult start. She may be a bit wary at first, but she’s clever and eager to learn. She just needs to feel safe."

Miss Harper's expression softened. "I understand completely. We’ll make sure she knows that she belongs here."

The words struck something deep within Violet, making her throat tighten slightly. Belonging—something Rose had never truly felt before. She cleared her throat and gave Miss Harper a nod. "Thank you. That means a lot."

Nymphadora, sensing the shift in Violet’s emotions, placed a light hand on her shoulder, grounding her. "Rose is going to be fine here, Vi. You’ve made sure of it."

Together, they stepped further into the classroom, taking in the environment that would soon become part of Rose’s everyday life. And for the first time, Violet allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—this was going to work.

~~

Later that afternoon, when they arrived back home, Rose was curled up in the living room, watching the TV with wide-eyed fascination. The low hum of the program played in the background, flickering images casting a warm glow across the room, but she barely acknowledged their return, absorbed in the moving pictures on the screen. The way her small fingers clutched the edge of the blanket draped over her lap made Violet pause for a moment, a familiar pang of recognition settling in her chest. She knew that feeling—the comfort of something familiar, something constant, even if it was just the glow of a television screen.

Violet and Nymphadora exchanged a glance before Violet quietly stepped further into the room, a small bag in hand, the weight of her earlier purchase now feeling even more significant. It wasn’t just about giving Rose something nice—it was about giving her something that was hers, something safe, something to hold onto in a way Violet had never had as a child.

Clearing her throat gently to get Rose’s attention, Violet smiled as the young girl turned toward her, blinking curiously. "I, uh… I got something for you," Violet said, her voice softer than usual, tinged with a slight hesitancy. She pulled out the plush toys she had picked out earlier and set them gently on the couch beside Rose, watching closely for her reaction.

Rose’s eyes widened, her gaze darting from the toys to Violet and back again, hesitation flickering across her face as if trying to decide if she had heard correctly. "For me?" she asked, her voice small, uncertain, as though the concept was entirely foreign to her.

Violet nodded, keeping her tone casual, not wanting to overwhelm her. "Yeah. I thought you might like them."

For a long moment, Rose simply stared at them, her small hands hovering over the soft plush fur before she finally picked one up—a small, stuffed wolf with soft grey fur and bright blue embroidered eyes. She turned it over carefully in her hands, running her fingers along its texture, her grip tightening as though she feared it would vanish if she let go. Slowly, hesitantly, she hugged it to her chest, squeezing it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

A shaky breath escaped her, and she buried her face into the plush, her body relaxing in a way Violet hadn’t seen before. The tension that always seemed to linger in her shoulders eased, and for the first time that day, she looked… content. It was clear in that moment that she had never had anything like this before—something just for her, something soft, safe, and comforting. Violet swallowed hard, forcing back the lump rising in her throat.

Eira, perched nearby, ruffled her feathers and let out a soft, approving hoot before hopping closer to inspect the new additions. She nudged one of the smaller plush animals with her beak before settling next to Rose, apparently finding the whole situation acceptable. Rose giggled softly, reaching out with her free hand to gently stroke Eira’s feathers, the smallest of smiles tugging at her lips.

Nymphadora, leaning against the doorframe, watched the scene unfold with a fond expression. "Looks like you made a good choice, Vi," she murmured, her usual playful tone softened with something warmer, more genuine.

Violet only nodded, her gaze fixed on Rose, watching as she curled further into the couch, her grip on the stuffed wolf never loosening. A deep sense of warmth settled in Violet’s chest, an almost overwhelming wave of emotion she wasn’t entirely sure how to process. Rose wasn’t just holding the plush toys—she was holding onto the love that came with them, the silent reassurance that she was safe now, that she was wanted. And Violet, watching her, only hoped that she knew it too.

As the minutes passed, Rose gradually leaned into Violet’s side, the exhaustion of the day catching up with her. She yawned, rubbing at her eyes, before looking up at Violet. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with so much sincerity that it made Violet’s throat tighten.

Violet swallowed down the lump in her throat, wrapping an arm around Rose’s small frame and pulling her close. "You’re welcome," she said softly, pressing a light kiss to the top of Rose’s head. "You deserve nice things."

Rose snuggled further into her, holding the stuffed wolf even tighter as her breathing evened out, the day’s excitement giving way to sleep. Eira shifted beside her, keeping watch, while Nymphadora smiled to herself before quietly slipping away, giving them a moment of peace.

Violet let her chin rest lightly atop Rose’s head, her fingers absently running through her hair. She knew there would be many more hurdles to come, more nights of nightmares, more days of reassuring Rose that she was safe. But for now, in this quiet moment, Violet allowed herself to believe that they were making progress. That this, here and now, was the start of something better.

Still holding Rose close, Violet gently stroked her hair, letting the warmth of their shared moment settle between them. The rhythmic rise and fall of Rose’s breathing slowed as she relaxed in Violet’s arms, her tiny fingers still clutching the plush wolf as though it was an anchor. Violet knew this was the right time, the safest moment to bring up what they had discussed before.

“Rose,” she murmured, her voice soft yet steady, “I took a look at the school we talked about.”

Rose’s body stiffened slightly at the words, and she turned her face toward Violet’s chest, as if bracing herself. “Oh,” came the small reply, barely above a whisper.

Violet tightened her hold just a little, her hand smoothing comforting circles against Rose’s back. “I think it will be good,” she continued. “It’s not too big or too small. The teachers seem kind, and they really want to help you feel welcome. I met the one who would be your teacher—Miss Harper—and she seemed lovely.”

Rose shifted slightly, her grip on the plush wolf tightening. “She won’t be like my old teachers, will she?” There was hesitation in her voice, a quiet fear buried beneath her hope. “She won’t call me a freak?”

Violet’s heart clenched at those words, at the reminder of what Rose had endured before. She tipped Rose’s chin up gently so their eyes could meet, her own emerald gaze filled with certainty. “No, Rose. No one there will treat you like that. You’re not a freak. You’re a brilliant, kind, and clever little girl, and they will see that. And if they don’t? If anyone ever makes you feel like that again, you tell me, and I’ll make sure it never happens again.” Her voice was calm but firm, laced with the quiet promise of unwavering protection.

Rose searched Violet’s expression as if trying to find cracks in her words, but all she found was the solid truth. Slowly, she nodded, her small hands unclenching just a little. “You really think it will be okay?”

Violet smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from Rose’s face. “I do. And we’re going to take it slow, just like we talked about. You’ll only go a few days a week at first. And I’ll be there to take you and pick you up. You won’t be alone in this.”

Rose let out a small breath, something between relief and cautious optimism. “Okay,” she murmured. “I’ll try.”

Violet pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “That’s all I ask.”

Rose tucked herself back against Violet’s side, still holding onto her plush wolf, but this time, her grip was a little looser, her body a little lighter.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

VI

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

A few days later, the morning of Rose’s first day at school arrived, bringing with it a quiet nervous energy that settled over the house. Violet had woken early, ensuring that everything was perfectly set for the day ahead. She packed Rose’s lunch with care, slipping in a few of her favorite snacks alongside a note folded neatly inside, one that simply read: "You’re going to do amazing today. I love you. -V." She made sure every little detail was attended to—her uniform neatly arranged, her shoes polished, her bag packed with new school supplies, each item chosen with thoughtfulness. 

Nymphadora had been up as well, hovering around them with an air of ease, cracking lighthearted jokes to keep the atmosphere from feeling too tense. She exaggerated her own past school mishaps, making Rose giggle softly at the idea of tripping over her own feet and spilling ink all over an essay. It helped, if only a little.

As they stepped outside, Violet kept a reassuring presence by Rose’s side, holding her hand as they apparated a short distance away from the school. They appeared just outside a quiet residential street, not wanting to draw unwanted attention. Rose clutched onto both Violet and Nymphadora’s hands, her grip firm and hesitant. Her small fingers curled tightly around Violet’s as if seeking an anchor, her wide green eyes darting nervously around at the sight of so many children rushing towards the gates.

The morning air was crisp, filled with the sounds of chatter, laughter, and hurried goodbyes. Parents gathered around, chatting idly as they watched their children run into the schoolyard, some offering last-minute reminders or giving hugs. Teachers stood at the entrance, greeting students warmly, guiding them towards their classes with practiced ease.

Violet felt the shift in Rose the moment they stopped in front of the school gates. Her body tensed, her feet refusing to move any further as she gripped Violet’s hand tighter. Her breath hitched slightly, her small chest rising and falling a little too quickly.

Violet knelt beside her immediately, her voice low and soothing. “Hey, we’re right here. You’re going to be okay, little one.”

Rose’s fingers curled into the fabric of her jumper, her expression flickering with uncertainty. “What if they don’t like me?” she whispered, barely audible over the noise around them.

Nymphadora crouched down beside them, ruffling Rose’s hair lightly. “Then they’re missing out, because you’re amazing,” she said with a grin. “But you might be surprised. Some of these kids might just turn out to be pretty great, too.”

Rose chewed on her lip, her eyes darting toward the school entrance, then back to Violet. Her free hand clenched at the hem of her sweater, her small frame trembling slightly with nervous energy. 

Violet reached up, cupping her cheek gently, her thumb stroking over Rose’s soft skin. “Remember what we talked about? One step at a time. You’re not alone, Rose. You’re just starting something new, and I’ll be right here when the day’s done, waiting to hear all about it.”

Rose took a shaky breath, nodding slowly, though her grip on Violet remained strong. The trust was there, even if fear still held a grip on her tiny frame.

Just then, Miss Harper, her new teacher, stepped forward, her warm smile radiating kindness. “Good morning, Rose! We’re so happy to have you today. Are you ready?”

Rose’s fingers flexed against Violet’s, her heart pounding. She hesitated for a moment before she finally nodded, her voice small but determined. “I… I think so.”

Violet gave her hand one last reassuring squeeze. “That’s my brave girl.”

Miss Harper extended her hand towards Rose, offering her the choice to take it, not forcing it. After a long pause, Rose reached out hesitantly, letting go of Violet’s hand just long enough to grasp Miss Harper’s. She cast one last glance over her shoulder at Violet and Nymphadora, her expression torn between fear and hope. 

“Have a great first day,” Violet encouraged, her voice filled with warmth. “We’ll be right here when you get out.”

With a deep breath, Rose took her first step toward the school entrance, her tiny figure disappearing through the doorway with Miss Harper by her side. She still looked nervous, but she was moving forward. And that, to Violet, meant everything.

Violet and Nymphadora stood just outside the school gates, their eyes fixed on the small figure of Rose as she hesitantly followed Miss Harper into the building. Even as she disappeared from view, Violet remained rooted in place, her fingers curled into the fabric of her jacket as if gripping onto the moment, unwilling to let it slip away too soon.

“She’s going to be okay, Vi,” Nymphadora murmured beside her, her voice quiet but certain. “She just needs time to adjust.”

Violet nodded slowly, though the tightness in her chest didn’t lessen. “I know,” she replied, her voice softer than usual. “It’s just… the house is going to feel empty without her.”

Nymphadora gave her a knowing look but didn’t push. Instead, she looped her arm through Violet’s and tugged her gently in the direction of the nearest apparition point. “Come on, let’s head back. If we stand here any longer, we’ll start looking suspicious.”

Violet huffed a small laugh but allowed herself to be led away, though she cast one last glance at the school before turning on the spot, the two of them vanishing with a soft crack.

When they arrived back at the house, the silence was immediate, almost deafening in contrast to the lively atmosphere of the schoolyard. The usual soft hum of Rose’s presence—the occasional sound of her moving around, her quiet humming, or even the tiny giggles she let out when she was playing with Eira—was noticeably absent. The house felt too still, too large, without her in it. 

Violet exhaled and ran a hand through her hair, shrugging off her jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. Anand padded into the room, tilting her head as she watched Violet, sensing the shift in energy. She walked up and pressed her head against Violet’s side, offering quiet reassurance. The warmth of the familiar’s presence helped, but it didn’t erase the hollow feeling Violet had expected but still wasn’t quite ready for.

“I know,” Violet murmured, resting a hand on Anand’s soft fur. “She’ll be back before I know it.”

Nymphadora flopped onto the couch, stretching her legs out as she observed Violet with an amused expression. “You know, you’re acting like she’s gone off to war or something. It’s just school.”

Violet rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she moved to the kitchen, putting on the kettle more for the routine of it than any real need for tea. “I know it’s just school,” she admitted after a pause, leaning against the counter as she watched the water begin to heat. “But she’s never had this before. A normal day. A real chance at something good.”

Nymphadora softened, her teasing fading into something gentler. She pushed herself up from the couch and leaned against the kitchen counter next to Violet. “And she will. You gave her that.”

Violet gave a small nod, though her expression remained distant. She glanced toward the living room where Rose had spent so much of the past few weeks curled up with her books, watching television, or chatting excitedly about things she had never been able to experience before. The thought of her being out there, surrounded by other kids, was both heartening and terrifying. 

Nymphadora nudged her lightly. “You’re a good mum, Vi.”

Violet blinked, her fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. “I… I’m trying,” she said softly. “I just want her to be happy.”

Nymphadora smiled, bumping her shoulder against Violet’s. “She already is. She’s just figuring out what that means.”

Violet let out a breath, the tension in her chest easing slightly. She turned back to the kettle, pouring the hot water into two mugs before handing one to Nymphadora. The two of them stood there for a moment in silence, sipping their tea, the weight of the morning settling in. 

Violet knew the hours ahead would feel long, the house too quiet without Rose’s presence. But she also knew that, when the school day ended, she would be right there waiting for her—hoping, more than anything, that Rose would come back home with a smile.

As Violet stood in the kitchen, sipping her tea, the quiet of the house settling around her like an unfamiliar weight, Nymphadora leaned casually against the counter, studying her with a thoughtful expression. The silence, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of Anand shifting in the other room, was beginning to feel suffocating.

“You’re restless,” Nymphadora observed, breaking the quiet. “You don’t sit still well, do you?”

Violet glanced at her, raising a brow. “That obvious?”

Nymphadora smirked. “Painfully. And honestly, I could use the exercise.” She pushed off the counter, her arms crossing loosely as she met Violet’s gaze. “How about a duel?”

Violet tilted her head, intrigued but cautious. “You want to spar?”

“Partially,” Nymphadora admitted, stretching her arms as if preparing for a warm-up. “I want to see how you fight—really fight, not just your typical Auror drills. I’ve seen how you move, Vi. It’s… different. Efficient. You’re always calculating, always three steps ahead. I want to understand that.”

Violet set her mug down, interest flickering in her gaze. “Curious, are we?”

“Curious, sure,” Nymphadora said with a grin, but then her expression turned more serious, more determined. “But more than that, I want to be able to stand beside you—not behind you. I don’t want to be someone you feel like you have to protect. I want to be strong enough to have your back, to fight with you, not as an afterthought.”

Something in Violet’s chest tightened at those words. The war had taught her to keep people at a distance, to shoulder burdens alone. She had lost too many people who had tried to stand at her side, lost too many who weren’t strong enough to survive the battles she had endured. She had seen the other Nymphadora fight at her side, had watched her fall, had felt the agony of losing someone who had refused to stand anywhere but beside her in battle. And now, here was this version of her, standing in front of Violet with that same determination in her eyes, unknowingly echoing the promise her counterpart had once made. But Nymphadora’s words carried a certainty, a challenge—not for competition’s sake, but for camaraderie.

A slow smile tugged at Violet’s lips, though it was tinged with something deeper—something almost bittersweet, laced with memories that never truly faded. She had heard those words before, had seen the same fire in a different pair of eyes, had fought alongside a Nymphadora who had never hesitated to throw herself into the fray, who had laughed in the face of danger and stood unwaveringly at her side through every battle. That Nymphadora had been more than just a comrade—she had been family. A sister in arms, a beacon of light in the darkness, someone who had refused to let Violet bear the weight of the war alone. And yet, despite her strength, despite her unwavering resolve, she had still fallen.

Violet had seen it happen. Had felt the devastation rip through her like a blade, knowing that no matter how fiercely they had fought, some fates were inescapable. The grief had been unbearable, and even now, standing here with this Nymphadora—one who carried that same fierce spirit, that same stubborn will—Violet felt the echoes of that loss pressing against her ribs, tightening in her chest.

But this world was different. This Nymphadora was different. And yet, here she was, unknowingly echoing a promise made once before, vowing to stand at Violet’s side, to fight with her rather than be left behind. It was a weight Violet wasn’t sure she could bear, the thought of watching her fall again too painful to fully entertain. And yet, she couldn’t deny the warmth that flickered through her at the thought of not having to fight alone.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, pushing it all down, letting herself focus on the here and now instead of ghosts of the past. She wasn’t alone anymore, and she wasn’t going to make the same mistake of keeping everyone at arm’s length.

“Alright,” she finally said, her voice quieter, but no less certain. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

Nymphadora grinned, already turning toward the backyard. “Let’s go then. And don’t go easy on me, Vi.”

Violet exhaled, allowing herself a small chuckle as she followed after her. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Violet and Nymphadora made their way down the narrow stairs to the duelling room hidden beneath the Tonks home. The space was well-maintained, reinforced by years of protective magic. The walls were lined with intricate runes, glowing faintly as they approached. It was clear that this place had seen its fair share of training sessions, though tonight, it would be something different—something more than just a spar between Aurors-in-training or casual practice.

The moment they stepped onto the duelling platform, Violet flicked her wand towards the walls, activating the protective runes that would absorb any stray spells. The air thrummed with magic as the room adjusted, the faint shimmer of warding magic settling over the stone floor.

Nymphadora rolled her shoulders, stretching her arms as she let out a slow breath. "Alright, let’s start off simple. Warm-up first, yeah?"

Violet nodded, twirling her wand once between her fingers before settling into a ready stance. "Sounds fair enough."

Without hesitation, Nymphadora sent the first spell, a quick Disarming Charm meant to test Violet’s reflexes. With the ease of someone who had spent far too long in battle, Violet sidestepped smoothly, flicking her wand to counter with a gentle Stinging Hex. Nymphadora blocked it effortlessly, the energy dispersing into harmless sparks between them.

They continued this way for a few minutes, trading spells in a controlled exchange. It was a measured dance, a rhythm they both settled into without words, each movement fluid and precise.

Then, almost as if sensing the shift, Violet’s next spell came faster—sharper. Nymphadora barely had time to deflect it before she retaliated with a combination of her own, her wand moving in quick succession, chaining spells together to force Violet onto the defensive.

A slow smirk tugged at Violet’s lips as she countered effortlessly. "Better," she murmured, before twisting on her heel and firing a series of spells that forced Nymphadora to dodge rather than block.

The duel escalated. What had started as a warm-up transformed into something more instinctual, more natural. Spells wove together, counter-charms flickered into existence mid-air, and the room crackled with energy. Nymphadora was good—quick on her feet, clever in her spell choices—but Violet was a battlefield duelist, trained in the unforgiving crucible of war. She anticipated movements before they happened, reading shifts in stance, the tightening of a shoulder, the smallest flicker of intent behind a spell.

Even so, Nymphadora wasn’t one to go down easily. Her adaptability, her ability to change her form in the middle of movement, gave her an edge that forced Violet to stay on her toes. The duel stretched on, each of them pushing the other, testing limits neither had acknowledged before.

And for the first time in a long while, Violet felt something beyond just the act of survival. She felt the challenge, the thrill—not just of combat, but of having someone to stand beside her, someone who could keep up.

Then it happened.

One of Violet’s spells moved faster than intended, clipping Nymphadora’s shoulder. A sharp gasp of pain escaped her lips, followed by the sight of red blooming against her sleeve. The sound, the sight—it slammed into Violet like a curse rebounding straight into her chest. The colour of the spell, the way Nymphadora staggered slightly before regaining her footing—it was wrong. It was too familiar.

Suddenly, she wasn’t in the Tonks’ duelling room anymore. She was back in the ruins of Hogwarts, surrounded by smoke and death, the screams of the dying ringing in her ears. The battlefield was thick with the scent of blood and burning stone, and in her arms, another Nymphadora—her Nymphadora—was gasping for breath, eyes wide with shock and pain. Blood soaked her Auror robes, seeping through Violet’s fingers as she tried, desperately, to hold her together, to keep her from slipping away.

"Stay with me, Dora," she had pleaded, her voice raw and desperate. But there had been no answer. Just a slow, shuddering breath before the light in those familiar eyes had dimmed forever.

Violet’s chest constricted, her grip tightening on her wand, but she wasn’t breathing. Couldn’t breathe. Her lungs seized, her throat closing as though an invisible force had wrapped around it. The walls of the duelling room blurred, replaced by phantom memories. Her ears rang with the echoes of distant screams, the scent of blood thick in the air. Her hands trembled violently, her vision tunneling until the only thing she could see was the deep crimson staining Nymphadora’s sleeve, too close to the memory of the Nymphadora she had lost.

Her legs buckled beneath her before she even realized she had fallen. Her wand slipped from her grip, clattering against the floor. The pressure in her chest was unbearable, her heart pounding erratically, her breaths coming too fast, too shallow—if she was breathing at all. The walls seemed to close in, the weight of the past pressing down on her, suffocating her beneath its relentless grip. She could feel the stone of Hogwarts beneath her hands, slick with blood, her fingers grasping at robes, at a body that had already gone cold. “No, no, no—"

"Violet!"

A different voice. Present. Here. A firm hand on her shoulder, warm and grounding. "Vi, I need you to breathe," Nymphadora’s voice came again, steady but filled with quiet urgency. Violet barely registered it, her entire body locked in the grip of the past, trapped between then and now. "Breathe with me, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four."

The words felt distant, muffled, but then Nymphadora’s hand slid down to take Violet’s own, squeezing it gently. "Five things you can see, Vi. Look at me—find five things."

Violet’s breath hitched, her wide, unseeing eyes flickering across the room as she fought to ground herself. Nymphadora’s face, worried but determined. The glowing runes on the wall. The training dummies in the corner. The wand on the floor. The faint shimmer of warding magic still lingering in the air.

"Good," Nymphadora murmured. "Four things you can touch."

Violet’s fingers curled slightly against the cool floor, her other hand tightening around Nymphadora’s grip. "The floor… your hand… my robes… my wand," she forced out, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Three things you can hear."

Violet swallowed hard. "Your voice… the hum of the runes… my own heartbeat."

"Two things you can smell."

She took a shaky breath. "Magic… and the dust in the air."

"One thing you can taste."

Violet closed her eyes for a moment before murmuring, "Copper."

She let out a slow, shuddering breath, the world gradually settling back into place. The battlefield faded, the present anchoring her once more. Her chest still ached, her limbs felt heavy, but the crushing panic that had gripped her was loosening its hold. Nymphadora stayed close, still holding her hand, her presence unwavering.

"There you go," she murmured softly. "You’re back."

Violet nodded weakly, her grip still clinging onto Nymphadora’s like a lifeline. She didn’t trust her voice just yet. Nymphadora slowly wraps her arms around Violet, giving her plenty of time to pull away or ask her not to just yet. But Violet doesn’t pull away—she presses closer instead, her breath still uneven, her hands gripping Nymphadora’s robes like a lifeline. The warmth of Nymphadora’s body, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the scent of something soft and familiar—it all grounds her, pulling her back from the edges of the abyss she had nearly fallen into. She buries her face into Nymphadora’s neck, her fingers trembling slightly against the fabric of her robes, as if afraid that if she let go, she’d be swallowed back into the darkness.

Nymphadora says nothing, just holds her, one hand rubbing slow, steady circles over Violet’s back, anchoring her with quiet reassurance. The silence stretches between them, but it’s not heavy—it’s safe. It’s something Violet didn’t know she needed, but now that she’s here, leaning into Nymphadora’s touch, she can’t bring herself to move away just yet.

After a moment, Violet exhales shakily, her grip loosening just a fraction, though she remains pressed against her. "I hate this," she whispers, voice raw and vulnerable. "I hate that it still happens. That I can’t stop it."

Nymphadora’s hold tightens just slightly, as if she could shield Violet from her own mind. "It’s not something you can just turn off," she murmurs. "You went through hell, Vi. It’s going to take time. And until then… I’ve got you."

Violet squeezes her eyes shut, a fresh wave of emotion welling in her chest, but this time, it’s not panic. It’s something softer. Something she hasn’t let herself feel in a long, long time.

She doesn’t say thank you, but she doesn’t need to. Nymphadora understands.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The steady rhythm of Nymphadora’s breathing became Violet’s anchor, something solid in the haze of lingering fear and memories that still clung to her mind like a storm refusing to pass. Slowly, she let out a long breath and shifted, though she didn’t step away completely. The warmth of Nymphadora’s presence was grounding, and she wasn’t quite ready to lose that yet.

Finally, Violet straightened, rising to her feet, though she still leaned against Nymphadora, drawing strength from the quiet support she offered. Nymphadora didn’t move away, didn’t push or rush her. She just stayed there, letting Violet take her time, offering silent reassurance that she wasn’t alone.

“Think that’s enough dueling for today,” Nymphadora said after a beat, her tone light but still tinged with concern. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I suggested this.”

Violet huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over her face. “Yeah, no kidding.” She took another steadying breath before shaking her head. “But I still need to do something. Sitting around isn’t going to help.”

Nymphadora considered her for a moment before nodding. “Alright. What do you have in mind?”

Violet glanced at her, then at their surroundings, her fingers flexing as she thought. The duel had started as an outlet, a way to work off the restlessness that always lurked beneath her skin, but after what just happened, she knew she needed something more structured—something to focus on without the risk of sending herself spiraling again. Then, an idea clicked into place.

“How about I run you through some spell chains?” Violet suggested. “Ones I like to use, strategies that work in real fights. And maybe a few spells you haven’t seen before.”

Nymphadora’s lips quirked into a grin. “So, I still get to learn from the infamous Violet Potter?”

Violet rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the smirk that ghosted across her lips. “Something like that.”

She took a step back, giving herself and Nymphadora more space, and with a flick of her wand, she conjured a simple target dummy, its surface shimmering with minor defensive wards. She turned back to Nymphadora, her posture shifting—not into a duelist’s stance, but something more open, more natural. The remnants of the panic attack still lingered at the edges of her awareness, but teaching? Explaining things one-on-one? That was comfortable. That was something she could control.

“Alright,” Violet began, twirling her wand between her fingers before setting into a ready grip. “Let’s start with a basic offensive chain—disrupt, disarm, and disable. It’s not just about hitting your opponent; it’s about forcing them into a position where they can’t counter effectively.”

Nymphadora nodded, her expression focused, eager. “I’m listening.”

Violet launched into the lesson, demonstrating the sequence with slow, deliberate movements before casting at full speed. She spoke clearly, her explanations detailed yet concise, and when Nymphadora tried the sequences herself, Violet corrected her form with patience. They fell into an easy rhythm—teacher and student, but also something more.

As the session continued, Violet found herself slipping into a role she hadn’t embraced in a long time. She wasn’t just showing Nymphadora spells; she was teaching her how to think, how to adapt. With each adjustment of stance or correction in movement, Violet felt something settle inside her. The weight of memory still lingered, but here, in this moment, she wasn’t lost in the past.

“Try this,” Violet instructed, stepping behind Nymphadora to guide her hands through a particularly intricate wand movement. The moment their fingers brushed, Nymphadora let out a breath of amusement.

“You always this hands-on when you teach?” she teased, though her voice was softer than usual, the humor laced with something warmer.

Violet hesitated for just a second before smirking. “Only when my student is hopeless,” she quipped back, earning a laugh from Nymphadora.

They continued for a while longer, Nymphadora proving to be a quick learner, adjusting to the tactics with ease. The energy in the room changed—not just as two people training together, but as something more natural, something easier. There was no expectation, no weight of the past pressing down on Violet’s shoulders. Just the quiet presence of someone willing to stand beside her, willing to learn, to understand.

Eventually, after another particularly well-executed sequence, Violet called a halt. “That’s enough for today,” she said, wiping a hand over her brow. “You’re getting it.”

Nymphadora beamed, stretching her arms above her head. “You’re not a bad teacher, Vi.”

Violet rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the warmth that bloomed in her chest at the words. She turned toward the exit, motioning for Nymphadora to follow. “Come on, let’s get something to eat. I think we earned it.”

As they made their way upstairs, Nymphadora walked beside her, close enough that their arms nearly brushed. And for the first time in a long time, Violet let herself enjoy the moment, feeling something new and unfamiliar take root alongside the grief she carried.

She was here. Moving forward.

As they settled onto the couch, the warmth of a well-earned meal filling the space between them, Violet let herself lean slightly into Nymphadora’s side. It was subtle, the kind of quiet closeness she hadn’t let herself indulge in for a long time, but after everything today—after the panic attack, the memories that had threatened to drag her under—she found herself unwilling to pull away.

Nymphadora didn’t comment on it, didn’t tease or make a big deal out of the fact that Violet was seeking comfort. She simply allowed it, her presence steady and solid. It was the kind of quiet understanding that Violet hadn’t realized she needed, but she did, more than she wanted to admit.

They ate in companionable silence, save for the occasional hum of approval from Nymphadora whenever she took a particularly good bite. The weight in Violet’s chest had lessened, though she still felt the echoes of earlier, lingering like an ache just beneath her ribs. But here, now, sitting beside someone who made her feel safe in a way she barely recognized, things felt a little less heavy.

Once they finished, Nymphadora stretched, rolling her shoulders before flicking her wand toward the other side of the room. A small, brightly colored gift bag zipped through the air, landing neatly in her waiting hands. She turned toward Violet, offering it to her with a lopsided smile—something warm, something unspoken resting in her gaze.

“Here,” she said, nudging it toward Violet. “I was going to wait for a better time to give this to you, but honestly? I think you could use something nice right now.”

Violet blinked in surprise, hesitating for a moment before carefully accepting the bag. It was light in her hands, the crinkle of tissue paper soft as she reached inside. The second her fingers brushed against something plush, something soft, she stilled. Slowly, she pulled out the first item—a stuffed husky, its fur a near-perfect mimic of Anand’s, down to the deep blue of its embroidered eyes. Then an arctic fox, small and elegant, and finally, a red panda, its tiny paws and round face filled with careful detail, crafted to look as lifelike as something so small and fluffy could.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

These weren’t just random gifts. These were the very same plushies she had lingered on in the shop. The ones she had wanted but forced herself to put back, convincing herself she didn’t need them. That she couldn’t afford to want something just for the sake of wanting it. That she wasn’t someone who got to have silly things like soft toys.

And yet, here they were, in her lap.

Violet swallowed, fingers curling around the husky, pressing into its fur as though reassuring herself that it was real. “You—” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head as something thick lodged itself in her throat. “You noticed.”

“Of course, I noticed.” Nymphadora’s voice was softer now, the teasing absent. “You looked at them like you wanted them but kept talking yourself out of it. So, I figured… why not make sure you have them anyway?”

Violet didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to put into words the tangled mess of emotions swelling in her chest. She hadn’t expected anyone to notice something like that. She hadn’t expected anyone to think she deserved it.

She stared down at the plushies, her grip tightening slightly as she held them close. There was something deeply unfamiliar about this kind of care, something she didn’t know how to process. She had spent so long denying herself things like this—small comforts, little joys—because it felt like indulgence, like weakness. Like a distraction she couldn’t afford. And yet, here was Nymphadora, effortlessly pushing past those defenses, handing her something she hadn’t even let herself admit she wanted.

A gift. Just because.

“Thank you,” Violet murmured, voice barely above a whisper. It felt too small, too simple to encompass everything she felt in that moment. But she didn’t trust herself to say more without her voice breaking. She pressed her fingers into the husky’s fur again, grounding herself in the softness, in the quiet weight of the moment.

Nymphadora nudged her shoulder gently, a playful glint returning to her eyes even as the warmth remained. “Anytime, Vi.”

And for the first time in longer than she could remember, Violet let herself lean fully into someone else. Not because she was weak, not because she had broken—but because, for once, she didn’t have to be strong alone.

As they sat together on the couch, the warmth of the room and the quiet hum of companionship wrapping around them like a cocoon, Violet held the three plush toys close to her chest. The husky, the arctic fox, and the red panda nestled securely in her lap, their soft presence oddly reassuring. She pressed her fingers into the fur of the husky, her grip gentle but firm, as though grounding herself in the moment, letting it settle into the spaces that still ached inside her. Each little creature represented something—comfort, security, the quiet, unspoken promise that she could have things just for herself.

She leaned into Nymphadora’s side, her head resting lightly against her shoulder. It wasn’t something she would have done normally, but right now, she didn’t think about it. She didn’t overanalyze or try to convince herself she shouldn’t. She just let herself exist in the moment, letting her weight rest against someone who had proven—again and again—that she wasn’t going anywhere. It felt natural, safe in a way she had forgotten existed. A part of her worried that if she acknowledged it too much, it would vanish like a dream upon waking.

The exhaustion was creeping in, slow but insistent. It had been an emotional day, more draining than any battle she had fought in recent memory. There was no adrenaline to keep her upright, no immediate crisis demanding her focus—just the quiet, the warmth, the stillness. And in that stillness, her body made its demands known. Her breaths evened out, her muscles slowly unwinding from the tension they constantly carried. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy, resisting her efforts to keep them open.

Nymphadora must have noticed, because she let out a small chuckle, the sound vibrating against Violet’s temple. "You can sleep, Vi. It’s alright."

Violet hummed, a soft, tired noise, but didn’t answer. She could feel her grip loosening around the plushies, her arms relaxing despite herself. The warmth of Nymphadora’s presence, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the soft, absentminded way her fingers traced along Violet’s shoulder—it all blurred together, melting away the sharp edges of awareness. It was a feeling she had lost somewhere along the way—a kind of ease, of knowing that, just for a little while, she didn’t have to be the one holding everything together.

She barely noticed when Nymphadora shifted slightly, hooking an arm around Violet’s shoulders, securing her in place, as though silently telling her that it was safe to let go. It was a quiet reassurance, one that didn’t need words. The embrace wasn’t confining—it was grounding, warm, something that anchored her instead of making her feel trapped. Violet melted into it, exhaling softly as the last of her resistance slipped away, letting the steady presence beside her lull her into sleep.

Nymphadora smiled softly, adjusting her position slightly so that Violet was more comfortable against her. She let her arm stay draped over Violet’s shoulders, her fingers drawing slow, soothing patterns against the fabric of her shirt. The silence of the room felt peaceful, the weight of the day finally easing away.

For a long time, she simply stayed like that, listening to the even rhythm of Violet’s breathing, feeling the way she had settled into her. It wasn’t often that Violet allowed herself to rely on anyone, to let down the ever-present walls she carried. Nymphadora knew better than to take it for granted. She simply held her, making sure she stayed warm, making sure she didn’t wake alone.

Eventually, her own exhaustion caught up with her. Her breathing slowed, her own body relaxing, and soon enough, she too drifted off, holding Violet close as they both slipped into the quiet, restful embrace of sleep, neither in a rush to let go.

~~

Violet stirred awake first, blinking slowly in the fading afternoon light that crept in through the living room windows. Her arms were still loosely curled around the plushies in her lap, and Nymphadora was slouched gently against her side, her head tucked close, one hand resting on Violet's forearm. For a long moment, Violet remained still, not wanting to disturb the peace of the moment. She let her eyes drift over the room—the soft lighting, the slow rhythm of their breathing, the faint sound of birdsong outside. A kind of serenity hung over the space, rare and fragile, and Violet wanted to hold onto it for just a little longer.

But eventually, the warmth of tea and the soft pull of routine coaxed her up. Carefully easing herself off the couch, she draped a blanket over Nymphadora and tucked one of the plushies back into her arms—the arctic fox, Violet noticed with a small smile. The sight of Dora sleeping—hair tousled, cheeks faintly flushed, breath steady and even—made Violet’s chest ache in a way she didn’t quite have words for. Not painful, exactly. Just full.

She padded barefoot into the kitchen, tying her hair up as she went, fingers working automatically. The quiet of the house felt oddly sacred, as if the walls themselves understood the need for stillness. She moved through the familiar motions: setting the kettle to boil, pulling down their preferred mugs—one a deep violet colour with silver constellations etched into the ceramic, the other bright blue with a worn, cartoonish hippogriff that had faded from many washes but was clearly well-loved.

She was just reaching for the tea tins when she heard the soft shuffle of feet behind her.

"You're sneaky when you want to be," Nymphadora murmured, her voice husky with sleep, still heavy from the nap. She rubbed at one eye and leaned against the doorway, clad in sleep-wrinkled clothes, her hair curling in loose waves of dark purple and black, still shifting slightly with her emotions.

Violet smiled softly. "Didn’t want to wake you. You looked comfortable. Peaceful."

"I was," Dora replied, stepping into the kitchen and reaching around Violet for a spoon. Their fingers brushed, lingering a beat too long before Violet pulled her hand back to the kettle, pretending to focus on the rising steam. But she’d felt it—that slight spark, the warmth of connection.

They worked in tandem, wordless but in sync. Violet passed Nymphadora the tea tin she liked before filling both mugs, pouring with a practiced grace born of repetition and a desire to make things feel normal. Dora added sugar to hers, standing so close their arms bumped once, then again. Violet didn’t move away.

"Thanks," Dora said as she took her mug. She bumped her shoulder lightly into Violet’s. "You always make it just right."

"Years of surviving on camp brews and battlefield rations," Violet said dryly, her lips twitching into a small smile. "I take my tea seriously now."

They both chuckled, the sound soft and low, like something private. Then their laughter faded, and they just stood there—mugs in hand, steam curling between them. Violet met Nymphadora’s gaze, and for a heartbeat too long, neither of them looked away.

It wasn’t tension, not quite. It was awareness. Familiarity. A closeness that had grown slowly and quietly between them, like roots weaving together beneath the surface. It wasn’t something either of them had planned, but it had become something solid nonetheless.

Nymphadora tilted her head slightly, her voice quiet and thoughtful. "We’ve gotten good at this, haven’t we?"

"Good at what?"

"This," she said, waving vaguely between them with the hand not holding her mug. "Us."

Violet’s smile was small but real, a spark of something vulnerable beneath it. "Yeah," she murmured. "We have."

The moment might’ve lingered longer, deepened into something heavier, but the distant chime of the clock in the hallway broke the spell.

Violet glanced over, then back at Dora. "Time to collect Rose," she said, but her voice was softer now. Warmer. As if saying the name grounded her.

Nymphadora nodded, sipping her tea. "Let’s go get our girl."

They finished their drinks in companionable silence, the last warmth of the afternoon sun casting golden light across the kitchen. And just like that, the quiet intimacy of the moment transformed into something deeper—a shared certainty, quiet and strong—as they moved toward the door together, side by side, hearts already turning toward the girl they both loved.

~~

Violet and Nymphadora arrived at the school just a few minutes before the final bell rang, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows across the courtyard. The school grounds were alive with the buzz of end-of-day excitement, the distant hum of chatter and laughter filtering out from open windows and playing fields. Children’s drawings fluttered in the classroom windows, and the air carried the scent of cut grass and late-summer blooms. Violet’s sharp eyes scanned the perimeter on instinct, not for threats—though the reflex was hard to shake—but out of a growing sense of protectiveness that had grown stronger with each day Rose had been in her life.

Anand sat obediently at their feet, tail curled neatly around her paws, her amber eyes fixed on the school’s main entrance with quiet, watchful patience. Violet and Nymphadora stood close together without conscious thought, the space between them narrowing until their arms gently brushed. Neither pulled away. There was a quiet comfort in their proximity, a familiar rhythm in the way they leaned toward one another, unconsciously attuned, like orbiting stars pulled into one another’s gravity.

Violet had dressed down a bit today, wearing one of her new casual outfits—fitted dark jeans, a soft grey jumper, and her favourite new leather jacket that hugged her body with structured ease. She’d even traded her boots for trainers, the soles barely scuffing the pavement as she shifted from foot to foot. The breeze tugged playfully at the strands of her dark hair where they escaped her braid, and she tucked them back absently behind one ear. Beside her, Nymphadora had gone with a similarly relaxed look: worn-in jeans with a cuffed hem, a loose tee with a faded band logo, all layered under a denim jacket. Her hair, lazily curled into dusky rose waves, bounced lightly as she shifted her stance. Together, they looked like any young couple waiting to pick up their child after school.

"Think she had a good day?" Dora asked, her voice soft, warm with hope and lingering traces of sleep from their earlier nap.

Violet glanced sideways at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I hope so. I know she was anxious this morning... but I think she’s stronger than she realises. Resilient. Braver than she knows."

"She reminds me of someone I know," Dora said with a faint smile, her tone teasing but affectionate.

Violet huffed a quiet breath of amusement, her eyes softening. "Don’t know who you could possibly mean."

Before either of them could speak again, the school bell rang—sharp, clear, and full of promise—and the front doors swung open to release a flurry of children into the waiting arms of their families. They poured out in pairs and clusters, some sprinting to parents with shrieks of laughter, others dragging their feet while engrossed in conversations about imaginary games and lunchroom trades.

Violet’s eyes scanned the crowd quickly, her heart thudding gently in her chest. And then she saw her.

Rose emerged from the front doors, her little backpack bouncing against her shoulders. Her pigtails had come slightly undone over the course of the day, and her shoes were scuffed at the toes, but her face glowed with a blend of happiness and cautious pride. She looked around the courtyard, scanning faces—until she saw them.

Her entire face lit up.

She ran.

Feet pounding over the pavement, dodging children and weaving between parents, Rose bolted straight for them, her expression radiant. When she reached them, she launched herself into a hug without hesitation, wrapping her arms tightly around both Violet and Nymphadora, one arm around each of their waists, her cheek pressed against Violet’s side.

Violet immediately wrapped her arm protectively around Rose’s shoulders, drawing her in close, her other hand instinctively resting atop Rose’s head. Nymphadora let out a gentle laugh, draping her arm around Rose’s back and giving a warm squeeze.

"Hey, little star," Dora murmured. "You made it. How was it?"

Rose beamed up at them, cheeks flushed and green eyes bright. "It was good! I was nervous at first, but the teacher is really nice, and I sat next to someone who let me borrow their crayons. We’re going to play tag tomorrow, and she showed me how to draw a unicorn!"

Violet crouched a little to be level with her, her gaze full of pride. "That sounds like a really wonderful day. I’m proud of you for being brave. I know going to a new school wasn’t easy."

Rose shrugged, her voice quieter now. "I was scared... but I kept thinking about you, and it made it easier. I knew you'd come get me."

The simple truth of her words hit Violet hard, and she pressed a gentle kiss to Rose’s head, brushing back a stray strand of hair.

Nearby, a few parents paused to glance over at the scene. One even smiled knowingly, nudging their partner and whispering something under their breath. To all appearances, Violet and Nymphadora looked like two mums picking up their daughter after her first day at school—young, loving, protective. No one questioned it. No one gave them a second look of concern. It was a picture that simply made sense.

And neither Violet nor Nymphadora corrected it. Not even with a glance.

"Let’s go home, yeah?" Dora said, brushing her hand along Rose’s back. "I bet Eira’s been waiting by the window for you."

Rose nodded eagerly. "I missed her too! And Anand!"

Together, they turned and began the walk back home. Rose nestled between them, holding tightly to Violet’s hand with one of her own and slipping the other naturally into Nymphadora’s without a second thought. Their strides adjusted to her pace, and with Anand padding protectively at their side, they walked in harmony.

Just above them, a rustle of feathers drew their attention. Badb, Violet’s sleek black raven familiar, launched herself from a tree branch where she had been watching silently. She took to the sky with a low caw, circling once before soaring in the direction of home. Her wings caught the golden light as she cut a graceful arc across the sky.

Nymphadora tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, watching the raven’s retreating form. "That one of yours too?"

Violet smiled slightly, the curve of her lips quiet but full of meaning. "Of course. She likes to keep an eye on things."

To anyone who saw them from a distance, they looked like a small family walking home—steady, strong, and whole. And as Violet looked down at Rose and then over at Nymphadora, something warm and steady settled in her chest.

Yes. This was right.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

VII

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

It had been a few weeks since Rose had started school, and though each morning still brought a small, jittery knot of nervousness that curled low in her belly, it no longer bloomed into full-blown fear. The school building no longer loomed over her like something foreign and unwelcoming—it was just a place now. A place with books and laughter and voices that didn't shout at her for being strange or too quiet or too clever. The sharp clang of the bell no longer made her flinch quite so hard. She had even started raising her hand in class, her voice still small and trembling, but growing steadier with each passing day. Every new day brought her something different: a word she didn’t know before, a story she hadn’t heard, or a moment that settled warm and quiet in her chest, like the gentlest kind of magic.

Most of all, there was Leila and Maisie.

They were never far from her during breaks or lunch. Rose had learned, slowly, tentatively, what it meant to share things—not just objects like snacks or pencils, though those were passed around with easy smiles—but small, important things. Moments. Secrets. Glances. The look Maisie gave her when she was about to do something loud and ridiculous. The peaceful quiet Leila brought with her when she sat beside Rose under the big oak tree, sketching something strange and beautiful. Maisie was all bright sparks and untamed energy, ready to fight anyone who dared to be cruel. Leila was gentle, grounding, her eyes seeing things most people missed. And somehow, they both made space for Rose without needing anything back.

But Rose still hadn’t called them friends.

The word felt too big, too heavy, as if it belonged to someone else’s story. Rose didn’t really know what a friend was , not deep down. She’d watched kids be friends before, but from behind the safety of distance—always on the outside, always the other. She didn’t know what being a friend felt like, not truly. The fear that she would say the word out loud and be wrong held her tongue in place. That if she claimed it, they might laugh or pull away. Or worse, that it would vanish altogether, like a dream you wake from too suddenly.

Still, she sat with them every day. She listened to Leila’s soft voice painting vivid stories from her dreams, half-wrapped in mystery. She giggled at Maisie’s antics—how her expressions exaggerated with every joke, how she always had a new story about something wild she’d done. And there was something else too, something Rose wasn’t quite sure she was imagining: Maisie’s hair sometimes looked a little different, like the shade shifted ever so slightly when she was particularly excited or annoyed. But Rose, so used to seeing Nymphadora’s hair change colour in a way that couldn’t be explained, quickly convinced herself it was just the light playing tricks on her. After all, this was a non-magical school. That kind of thing wasn’t possible. Right?

Rose found herself laughing more easily, speaking more freely. She caught herself smiling when she didn’t mean to. And sometimes—just sometimes—she forgot the cold of the cupboard, or the echo of cruel voices, or the aching loneliness she had known for so long.

She hadn’t said the word, but Violet noticed.

Violet saw the way Rose talked about the drawings Leila made, the way she kept a copy of one hidden in her school bag like a treasure. She saw the fondness that lit up her face when she repeated something ridiculous Maisie had said. She saw how Rose’s voice carried something new now—something lighter. And it brought a kind of ache to Violet’s heart that was both joy and grief, because she remembered what it was like to want that word so badly you didn’t dare touch it.

That morning, as they walked toward the school gates, Rose’s small hand wrapped tight in Violet’s, her steps were light. Not completely free of hesitation, but steadier than before. There was a quiet hopefulness in her movements, a glimmer of something almost brave in her eyes.

She still didn’t say the word.

But it shimmered between her smiles, in the way her fingers didn’t tremble when she waved goodbye. It echoed in the soft pride that rose in Violet’s chest as she watched her go. And even if Rose hadn’t spoken it yet, the truth of it clung to her like morning light—delicate and real.

She didn’t say the word.

But she was starting to believe in it.

It was a crisp, clear Tuesday morning, and the trio—Rose, Leila, and Maisie—were already settled into their classroom by the time the bell rang. The teacher, a kind-faced woman named Miss Harper, greeted them with her usual bright energy and a cheerful, "Good morning, class!" Her bright scarf fluttered slightly as she moved about the room, straightening a crooked poster and offering kind nods to students still finding their seats. The classroom was a warm and welcoming space, decorated with colourful posters of the alphabet and inspirational quotes in playful fonts, vibrant art projects pinned with pride, and a timeline of the school year showing upcoming activities and holidays. The scent of fresh paper, graphite, and something sweet from the nearby bakery always found a way to sneak in through the open windows during the first lesson.

Rose sat between Leila and Maisie, her pencil case neatly organised in front of her—each coloured pencil sharpened and arranged by hue. This part of the day had become one of her quiet favourites. The soft hum of conversation and rustling papers soothed her, the steady rhythm of lessons offering a gentle kind of safety she’d never known in school before. Miss Harper’s smile was never forced, and she never looked at Rose with impatience or condescension. Today’s lessons began with reading comprehension, and Miss Harper passed around sheets printed with a short story about a fox and a hedgehog who had to learn to work together to solve a puzzle in the forest.

Rose read silently, her lips moving just a little as she followed the lines. Every so often, she glanced at Leila’s page to make sure she hadn’t lost her place. Leila’s brow was slightly furrowed, her hand already sketching a small version of the fox in the margins of her paper. Miss Harper walked the aisles between desks, offering gentle guidance and praising the students’ focus. When she asked questions, Maisie shot her hand into the air with such force it almost knocked her pencil flying. "Oooh! I know! I know!" she said, nearly bouncing out of her chair. Leila gave a soft answer next, her voice calm and thoughtful. And Rose, heart fluttering, raised her hand too. Her voice wavered a bit, but she answered clearly, and the smile Miss Harper gave her felt like sunshine. Maisie reached under the desk to give her a quick, proud squeeze of her hand.

After reading came maths, and Rose hunched over her worksheet, brow furrowed in concentration. The numbers swam a little when she stared too hard, but she took her time. Maisie was less thrilled, muttering under her breath about how numbers should only be used for fun things like measuring how far she could launch a ball across the playground. Rose giggled despite herself, and Leila gave Maisie a gently exasperated look as she worked through each problem with her usual steady precision.

When the bell rang for break, they rushed outside to their favourite spot beneath the big oak tree in the corner of the playground. The branches cast dappled shadows over the grass, and a breeze tugged at their hair and clothes. Leila immediately pulled out her sketchbook and started drawing—this time, a picture of a bird with wings made of stars and constellations. Maisie ran laps around the tree and then flopped beside them, dramatically declaring, "I might actually melt from boredom without something exciting to happen."

Rose unwrapped the snack Violet had packed for her—apple slices and a small piece of banana bread—and ate slowly, eyes drifting between Leila’s intricate sketches and Maisie’s wild stories about nearly being late to school because a squirrel had stolen her toast. The three of them existed in a comfortable rhythm: quiet, chaotic, steady. It was the kind of balance Rose hadn’t known could exist between people.

Later, they returned to the classroom for more lessons. Science brought a hands-on experiment with water and floating objects, and Rose found herself laughing as Maisie tried to float a pencil sharpener just to see if she could. History was a quiet reading of old stories, and Rose listened with wide eyes as Miss Harper spoke of ancient myths and real-world explorers. Notes were passed in secret, drawings added in the margins of their books, and sometimes Rose forgot to be afraid at all.

By the time the last bell rang, the golden light of afternoon had spilled across the school grounds. The trio walked slowly to the gates, lingering over unfinished jokes and last-minute questions about tomorrow’s spelling test. The breeze was warm, birds chirped nearby, and everything felt strangely right.

It had been a normal day. Just a regular school day with books, laughter, sunlight, and small kindnesses.

And for Rose, that still felt like the most magical thing of all.

The school day ended with the usual flurry of activity—children spilling from the doors, voices bright and energetic as they reunited with waiting parents or dashed to the playground. Rose, Leila, and Maisie lingered by the gate, the trio reluctant to part ways just yet, despite the chill in the air.

Maisie bounced on the balls of her feet, her backpack swinging wildly behind her, cheeks pink with leftover excitement from the day. "Hey! My mums are picking me up today, come meet them!" she said suddenly, grabbing both Rose and Leila by the hands without waiting for a reply.

Rose blinked in surprise, eyes wide as she was tugged along the pavement. Her steps stumbled at first, but she quickly followed, breath catching in her chest. No one had ever pulled her along like this before, bubbling with pride and joy to introduce her to someone. No one had ever claimed her as their friend so eagerly, so openly, with the word friend practically beaming from every part of Maisie’s face. Her chest tightened with something warm and unfamiliar, something that ached and comforted at the same time.

Maisie's parents stood just up the street—a tall woman with thick dark curls and a commanding presence, and a shorter blonde woman wearing a brightly coloured cardigan and holding a take-away coffee cup. Both lit up at the sight of their daughter and her companions, smiles warm and welcoming.

"These are my friends!" Maisie announced proudly, arms flung wide like she was presenting royalty. "This is Rose and Leila! They're amazing!"

"We've heard so much about you two," the curly-haired woman said with a grin, kneeling slightly to Rose's level. "Maisie says you draw amazing pictures and keep her from climbing things she shouldn’t."

"Mostly," the other woman added with a playful smile, sharing a look with her partner.

Leila gave a soft, pleased nod, her smile gentle and content. Rose felt her heart thrum in her chest, a strange but beautiful ache forming. Maisie had called her a friend. Said it out loud. To people who clearly adored her, who looked at her like she was their whole world. And it wasn't just said in passing—it was shouted with pride.

She wanted to hold onto the feeling forever, memorise every sound, every breath of it.

After a few more moments of chatting and promises that they could play again soon, Rose suddenly turned, tugging Leila and Maisie in the opposite direction with surprising strength for her small frame.

"Come on!" she said, the rare urgency in her voice making them blink in surprise. "I want you to meet my mum."

Her steps quickened as she spotted Violet and Nymphadora standing near the school gate, chatting quietly with Anand sitting at their feet like a silent guardian. Both women straightened as they saw the three girls approach, smiles blooming across their faces like sunrise.

Rose ran the last few steps and launched herself at Violet, arms flung around her waist. Violet instinctively caught her, a surprised laugh escaping her lips before she crouched slightly to hold Rose close.

"Mum, these are my friends," Rose said, her voice slightly breathless but filled with a radiant pride and certainty that nearly broke Violet’s heart.

She froze for a moment, stunned. It was the first time Rose had said it like that.

Mum.

It echoed in Violet's heart like a spell, like a promise. Like something she hadn’t dared to wish for but had hoped with all her being might come true. Her throat tightened, emotions rushing up like a tide.

Nymphadora shot her a glance, eyes glimmering, and Violet blinked quickly, fighting back tears. She ran a hand through Rose's hair, brushing the strands back gently, her voice thick but warm. "It’s lovely to meet you both. Rose has told us a bit about you already."

Leila offered a shy wave, her cheeks faintly pink. Maisie grinned boldly, always the brave one.

"She said you’re scary but cool," Maisie said cheerfully. "In a good way. Like, you could throw a fireball if you wanted to."

Nymphadora snorted. "Sounds about right."

"She could probably juggle them too," Rose added under her breath, making Leila giggle.

The group stood there for several more minutes, the two circles of connection—family and friends—overlapping, intertwining into something stronger. Anand sat calmly nearby, and a breeze carried the scent of late autumn leaves and fading blossoms through the air. Badb, watching from a nearby tree, took flight and disappeared into the fading light, unnoticed by the others except Nymphadora, who raised an eyebrow at Violet in silent curiosity. Violet only smiled slightly, a secret resting behind her eyes.

And for the first time in a very long time, Rose felt like she belonged—not just in one place, but in many.

In a school. With friends.

In a family. In arms that held her tight, in voices that spoke to her softly, in laughter shared and names said with love.

Wrapped in warmth, magic, and something she now dared to call her own: home.

~

The stars shimmered faintly overhead, casting soft silver light across the quiet back garden. A gentle breeze rustled through the tall grass and the trees, brushing against the wooden porch where Violet and Nymphadora sat side by side, mugs of steaming tea cradled in their hands. The warmth of the mugs seeped into their fingers, grounding them after a long, emotional day that had been filled with subtle milestones and quiet victories.

Rose had been tucked into bed hours ago, curled up with her cuddly toys—both old and new—and Eira nestled beneath Hedwig's wing on her perch, all watched over by the ever-loyal Anand. The soft rise and fall of her breathing, the way her hand curled around the paw of her stuffed husky, had brought a lump to Violet’s throat when she stood quietly in the doorway. She had lingered far longer than necessary, memorizing the peaceful curve of Rose’s smile, the warmth of her blanket, the glow of safety that now surrounded her.

Now, with the house hushed and calm, the porch lights dimmed to a soft glow, Violet sat back in her chair with a small, almost dreamy smile on her lips. Her fingers curled loosely around her mug as she exhaled slowly, trying to let herself feel the calm rather than brace for the next storm.

Nymphadora leaned slightly toward her, nudging her shoulder playfully. "So," she said, voice lilting with warmth and amusement, "I think someone got a little misty-eyed earlier."

Violet turned to give her a dry look, but there was no real heat behind it. "Did not," she muttered, though the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

"Did too," Dora teased gently, her grin spreading like soft sunrise light. "It was adorable. I nearly cried too, you know. First time calling you 'mum' like that."

Violet looked down into her tea for a moment, the steam brushing against her face like a phantom touch. Her smile faded into something softer, more vulnerable. "I wasn’t expecting it. I didn’t want to expect it. I didn’t want to push her. But hearing it..." Her voice trailed off, caught between awe and disbelief.

Nymphadora reached over, setting her hand gently over Violet's. Her fingers were warm, sure. "You didn’t push her. She chose it. That’s what makes it mean something."

Violet let out a breath that hitched slightly, her thumb tracing the rim of her mug. "I never really imagined... not for me. Not after everything. I—she doesn’t have to call me anything, but Rose... she’s already more than enough. But it meant something. Gods, it meant everything."

Dora gave her fingers a small squeeze, grounding her again. "I know. And she meant it too, you could see it in her eyes. That kind of trust? That’s real. That’s not something a kid just says unless they feel it in their bones."

They sat in silence for a few moments, the kind of quiet that didn’t need to be filled, listening to the chirping of insects and the soft rustling of the trees. In the distance, an owl hooted. The gentle clink of their tea mugs as they lifted and set them down again became a quiet rhythm, a heartbeat shared between them. Violet leaned back, her shoulders relaxing as she turned her gaze skyward.

"Every step we take," she said softly, "every time she smiles, or laughs, or reaches out... it feels like I’m rewriting something. Giving her a life neither of us ever got to have. Like I’m patching a hole I never thought would close."

"You are," Dora said, her voice low but steady, full of fierce certainty. "And she’s not the only one who gets to heal from that. You are too. You deserve to."

Violet looked at her, really looked, and the faintest smile curved her lips. Her eyes shimmered slightly in the starlight. She shifted slightly, her knee brushing Dora's as she leaned in just enough for their shoulders to touch.

"Thanks for being here," she murmured, voice thick with unspoken gratitude.

Dora’s grin turned lopsided, a bit bashful but sincere. "Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else."

Their tea cooled slowly between them as the stars wheeled overhead in their quiet dance, and for the first time in a very long time, the night felt gentle and kind, wrapping around them not as a weight but as a promise.

The night deepened around them, the stars stretching endlessly above, painting the sky in soft indigos and silvers. The air was cool and gentle, brushing against their skin and stirring strands of hair with every passing breeze. Crickets chirped rhythmically in the grass, and from the trees beyond the fence came the soft hoot of an owl. A calm stillness blanketed the back garden, broken only by the occasional creak of the porch beneath them and the faint clink of ceramic as they sipped from their tea mugs.

Violet and Nymphadora sat close together, their shoulders brushing now and then in a quiet, unspoken familiarity that had become second nature. What had once been deliberate—steps toward trust, toward comfort—had slipped into something effortless. The kind of closeness born of shared moments, of care given and received in silence as much as in words.

Violet let out a slow breath, her gaze distant, eyes fixed somewhere between the horizon and the stars. Her tea sat cooling in her hands, her fingers wrapped around the mug more out of habit than intent. Her voice, when it came, was soft and unguarded, as though the stars above might carry it away before it could weigh her down.

"You know," she murmured, tone hoarse from emotion rather than weariness, "I don’t know if I could’ve done any of this without you. Not just today—though Merlin knows today had its moments—but everything. Since I got here. You make it... you make it feel like there’s actually a future again. Like I'm not just surviving by instinct."

Nymphadora turned her head slightly, her expression softening. Her hair, still faintly tousled from their earlier nap, fell over one shoulder in gentle curls. She said nothing, just watched Violet quietly, her eyes reflecting a kind of warmth that lingered even in silence.

Violet went on, unaware of how deeply her words were beginning to settle. "You help me breathe. When things start spiraling and the past gets too loud—I look at you, and I remember that I’m here. That I’m not back there. You ground me. I think sometimes I keep moving because I’m terrified that if I stop, I’ll fall apart. But when I’m with you... I stop, and it’s okay."

The words hung between them, heavier than they’d sounded in Violet’s mind. She hadn’t meant to say all of it—not like that—but it had come out with the kind of honesty that lived too close to the bone.

Nymphadora’s lips parted as if to speak, but instead she reached out gently, her fingers brushing over Violet’s hand resting on her knee. The contact was feather-light, yet filled with intention, grounding them both. "Violet..."

Violet blinked and turned to look at her, a flicker of surprise crossing her face as realization hit. The things she’d said—how they sounded, what they meant. Her cheeks flushed, her fingers tightening slightly around the mug.

"Oh. That... that sounded like—I didn’t mean to say it like that."

Dora didn’t pull away. Her smile curved softly at the corners, her thumb brushing the back of Violet’s hand. "You don’t have to take it back. I liked hearing it."

Violet swallowed, her throat tight, and turned her gaze back out to the trees. "I meant it. I did. I just... didn’t realize how much until I heard it out loud."

"I know," Dora said, her voice low but steady, filled with a quiet understanding. She didn’t move her hand for a moment longer, her touch a silent reassurance before slowly pulling back—enough to give Violet space, but not so much that it felt like distance.

They sat like that for a while, the air between them thick with something unspoken, humming with possibility. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt more like something that might break into something else, something deeper, if either of them dared.

Violet found herself glancing sideways at Dora now and then, watching the way the moonlight traced her features, how her expression remained open and kind. She felt a tangle of emotions stirring in her chest: affection, longing, fear. But most of all, gratitude. For this moment. For her.

And through it all, Nymphadora kept smiling.

The night wrapped around them like a blanket, the stars wheeling silently above as something tender, something new, settled between them. Not a promise—not yet—but the quiet, blossoming truth of something just beginning to take root.

~~

The rain came suddenly that evening, thick and fast, drumming against the windows of the Tonks house with a steady rhythm like a heartbeat from the storm outside. The clouds had gathered quickly, heavy and low, casting a dim shadow across the late afternoon sky. The air smelled of earth and rain, the scent sharp and clean, as the world outside blurred into a tapestry of grey and silver.

Violet had just been slipping on her boots, wand tucked securely into her coat pocket, when the first drops began to fall. She glanced out the window with a furrowed brow, sighing softly. "Damn. Of course it has to start now," she muttered, reaching for Rose’s favourite scarf and tucking it under her arm.

"Wait for me," Nymphadora called from down the hallway, her voice light despite the weather. She was tugging on her own coat, hair already damp from the front door draft, and snatching an umbrella from the stand in one smooth motion. She gave Violet a quick grin, eyes crinkling with amusement. "You didn’t think I’d let you go out into that alone, did you?"

Violet gave her a wry look but couldn’t stop the warmth rising in her chest. "No, I suppose I didn’t," she admitted, stepping aside to let Dora fall into step beside her.

Together, they stepped out into the rain, the umbrella only doing so much to shield them from the downpour. It was one of those heavy, soaking rains that clung to clothes and skin, but the two of them didn’t seem to mind. Puddles splashed beneath their boots as they moved quickly down the street, Violet clutching the scarf like a lifeline, and Nymphadora holding the umbrella between them. The two walked close, their shoulders occasionally brushing—proximity brought by necessity, but not unwelcome.

When they reached the school, they spotted the cluster of children gathered beneath the wide front awning, all giggling and chattering, their voices bright against the sound of the rain. There she was—Rose, her hair damp and frizzy from the humidity, cheeks flushed with laughter, huddled between Leila and Maisie like they'd always belonged together.

The moment she spotted Violet and Nymphadora, her entire face lit up with joy. She waved enthusiastically, then darted from the awning with a squeal, her friends calling goodbye behind her. She launched herself into Violet’s waiting arms, hugging her tightly with the force only a child can muster.

"You’re soaked!" Violet laughed, wrapping the scarf around Rose’s shoulders and holding her close for a moment before pressing a kiss to her temple.

"So are you," Rose replied, giggling through her shivers.

Nymphadora leaned in, tucking the umbrella tighter over them. "Let’s get all of us home and dry before we catch colds."

Back at the house, the three of them burst inside in a flurry of laughter, wet coats and boots scattered near the entrance. Water pooled on the floor until Violet waved her wand, vanishing the puddles with a flick. The warm scent of the house welcomed them—damp wool, hearth smoke, and soon the rich aroma of hot cocoa as Nymphadora set to work in the kitchen.

They settled in the living room, where a small fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Rose snuggled up on the couch with a thick blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon, holding her mug of cocoa with both hands. Steam curled around her face as she took careful sips. Violet and Nymphadora joined her, one on either side beneath the same large blanket, the three of them nestled together in shared warmth.

The rain continued to fall steadily outside, a rhythmic lullaby against the windows. Within their little nest of warmth, the world felt far away. Rose eventually leaned against Violet, her head resting against her side, her mug nearly empty. Her breathing slowed, deepened, and the mug slipped from her hands onto her lap.

Violet gently caught it and set it aside, her movements careful not to disturb Rose. She pulled the blanket higher around the sleeping girl’s shoulders and brushed her fingers softly through her damp hair. She glanced over at Nymphadora, who met her gaze with a quiet smile that said more than words.

Without a word, Dora reached out and brushed a damp strand of Violet’s hair away from her cheek, tucking it gently behind her ear. Her touch lingered just a heartbeat longer than necessary, but it didn’t feel awkward—it felt grounding, real, and full of something soft and growing.

The firelight painted their faces in shades of gold and amber, shadows dancing across their expressions. The warmth of the room—the blanket, the cocoa, the fire, the closeness—it all wrapped around them like an unspoken promise.

Violet leaned slightly into Dora’s touch, her hand never leaving Rose’s back. It had been so long since she’d felt stillness like this.

Dora didn’t speak, didn’t look away, just stayed with her, sharing the quiet like it was something sacred.

In that moment, with the storm outside, the sleeping child between them, and the firelight flickering around their shared silence, something shifted.

And neither of them moved to change it.

The house was quiet save for the rhythmic patter of rain outside and the soft crackle of the fireplace. Rose remained curled up on the couch, fast asleep beneath the heavy blanket, her small body barely shifting as she dreamed. Eira was nestled against her side, tucked protectively beneath one arm, her soft feathers rising and falling with each breath, while Badb perched nearby like a vigilant guardian, unmoving but watchful. Anand lay curled on the rug before the hearth, ears occasionally twitching at the soft sounds of the storm beyond, her presence steady and warm.

Nymphadora stretched languidly on the couch, the warm comfort of their shared nap still lingering in her limbs. But the smell of impending dinner—or rather, the lack thereof—pulled her from her seat. With a dramatic sigh, she pushed herself up and padded barefoot toward the kitchen, her steps light against the wooden floor. Her hair had settled into a tousled mess of soft pink curls, a remnant of her relaxed mood.

Once in the kitchen, she rolled up her sleeves with theatrical flair, planting her hands on her hips as she surveyed the ingredients she’d haphazardly assembled with a determined expression that would have made a seasoned chef pause. "Alright," she declared, striking a confident pose as though beginning an epic tale, "I’m cooking tonight. You," she added, pointing at Violet who had just entered the room, still toweling off her hair and clearly amused, "are banned from lifting a finger."

Violet raised a skeptical eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. "Are you sure? Because last time, the soup turned blue and started bubbling like a potion."

"That was artistic expression," Dora shot back with a smug grin. "This time, I’m in full control. Besides, you've had a long day. Let me do something for you."

Despite her protests, Violet leaned against the counter, amused and clearly intrigued. Dora began her culinary quest with gusto, chopping vegetables and humming a slightly off-key tune. As her mood brightened, her metamorph abilities reflected it—her hair shifting from a stormy grey to bright rose gold, her eyes sparkling with vibrant color. Unfortunately, her enthusiasm occasionally caused unintentional mishaps: an onion that flew across the counter when her hands briefly elongated, a saucepan that teetered dangerously close to the edge, and a particularly excited stir that launched a wooden spoon across the room.

"Everything’s under control!" Dora insisted, even as she fumbled to retrieve a carrot slice from the floor, her cheeks streaked with flour.

Violet finally burst into laughter, the sound rich and full. "You look like a walking baking accident."

"I am a beautiful disaster," Dora replied, tossing a pinch of salt into a pot with dramatic flair—only to immediately cough as it puffed back into her face. "Okay, maybe I could use a bit of assistance."

Violet stepped forward, tying an apron around herself with a smirk. "Let’s see if we can salvage this culinary masterpiece before it turns into a crime scene."

They worked together, the kitchen a flurry of movement, heat, and laughter. Their arms brushed as they passed ingredients, spells gently cast to correct minor catastrophes, and jokes exchanged with every small success. Dora’s attempts to flip something in the pan resulted in a small flame that Violet quickly extinguished with a casual flick of her wand.

"We’re not telling Rose about that one," Dora whispered conspiratorially.

"She’s going to smell it the second she walks in," Violet replied, snorting.

Right on cue, a sleepy voice echoed from the living room. "What’s burning?"

Rose appeared in the doorway, her hair tousled from sleep, one hand rubbing her eyes. She clutched a notebook to her chest and padded into the kitchen, curling up at the table like a sleepy kitten. Eira fluttered down to the back of her chair while Anand followed, settling near her feet.

"Just your mum and Dora playing mad scientist with dinner," Violet said, brushing flour off her cheek and offering a sheepish grin.

Rose giggled softly, her voice still raspy with sleep. "It smells weird but kind of nice."

Dora raised a wooden spoon in triumph. "It will taste weird but also kind of nice. It’s a house specialty."

Rose opened her notebook and began doodling as she watched them, her sketching soft and rhythmic. The sight of her so content, safe and warm in their chaotic kitchen, filled Violet’s heart with an ache that was almost joy.

Despite the smoke, the overcooked edges, and the mildly alarming color of the sauce, dinner turned out edible. They sat together around the kitchen table, the meal surprisingly filling. The flickering fire in the next room cast a soft glow through the doorway, and the rain continued its soothing chorus outside.

Violet leaned back in her chair, looking between Rose’s contented face, Dora’s teasing smirk, and the familiars all curled nearby. Her heart felt impossibly full.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed like that.

And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she was just surviving.

She felt like she was living.

And she didn’t want that feeling to ever end.

The dining table was warm with laughter and quiet chatter, a low golden light hanging above casting a soft glow on the mismatched plates and slightly singed dinner. Violet, Nymphadora, and Rose sat closely, elbows brushing occasionally, a soft undercurrent of intimacy flowing between them that was as nourishing as the food.

Rose, now in her pyjamas with Eira perched gently on the back of her chair, was nestled snugly between the two women, her small shoulders relaxed, eyes drowsy with comfort. Her plate was mostly clean, save for a few stubborn vegetables she’d nudged into a far corner. Occasionally, she snuck another bite to Eira, who accepted each offering with delicate nibbles and a soft, pleased chirrup.

Violet’s gaze flicked to Rose now and then, her expression unfailingly tender, as though still unable to fully believe this moment was real. That she had a child to care for. That this soft, safe peace could belong to her. Every time Rose leaned against her side or giggled at Dora’s antics, something inside her unfurled a little more.

“So,” Dora said, swirling the last of her drink in her glass with a flourish. "Verdict on dinner? I need my ego inflated, kid."

Rose grinned and kicked her legs under the table. "Better than school lunch. And the sauce wasn’t that weird."

"You hear that, Violet? High praise. Next time I’ll flambé the carrots again," Dora teased, nudging Violet with her elbow and earning a small smirk.

"Only if you want to see the wallpaper catch fire," Violet murmured, eyes glinting with mirth.

They shared a laugh—gentle, spontaneous, familiar. Rose giggled between them, leaning her head against Violet’s arm, drawing them both closer. Nymphadora’s hand brushed Violet’s as they reached for the same napkin, and neither moved away. The touch lingered, the warmth passed like a quiet promise.

It was into this serene domestic scene that Andromeda stepped, quietly opening the front door after her late shift and slipping inside. Her healer’s bag was slung over one shoulder, her shoes damp with the lingering drizzle outside. She paused in the doorway to the kitchen, hand resting lightly on the frame, and simply watched.

Rose, her face lit with joy even in sleepiness, snuggled safely between Violet and Dora.

Violet, her walls softening, her edges less sharp, her posture open and relaxed, laughing as though she remembered how again.

And Dora—her daughter—sitting so close, so attuned, her gaze always a second longer on Violet than necessary, her expression speaking volumes of affection and care.

Andromeda didn’t interrupt. She let herself witness it fully. The easy closeness, the soft gravity of a bond blooming before her eyes. She saw how Violet’s pain had been answered not by demand, but by patience. She saw how Dora waited—not tentatively, but respectfully—for Violet’s heart to catch up to the safety that had finally found her.

She smiled, bittersweet and fond.

“Smells like you didn’t burn down the kitchen,” she called at last, voice light and teasing.

Violet turned slightly, startled but quickly relaxing. She gestured to the remnants of their meal with mock pride. “Only slightly overcooked. Dora decided carrots needed to be flambéed.”

“It was an inspired experiment,” Dora replied with a grin, brushing flour off her sleeve like a badge of honour.

“An experiment that nearly set the drapes on fire,” Violet added dryly, earning a sheepish laugh from Dora and a sleepy chuckle from Rose.

Andromeda stepped in and shed her coat, her healer’s instincts quietly scanning the room—assessing energy, wellbeing, fatigue—but what she found most of all was warmth. Peace. Healing in progress.

They made room for her at the table with effortless inclusion. A fresh plate was filled, a mug of hot tea handed to her without her needing to ask. As the meal wound down, Rose began to draw slow, dreamy spirals on her napkin, clearly fading into sleep. Violet leaned down to brush her daughter’s curls off her forehead, her touch so gentle it made Andromeda’s chest ache.

And then, without thinking, Violet reached out and tucked a strand of Dora’s hair behind her ear. Soft. Familiar. Intimate.

Neither of them commented on it.

But Andromeda noticed the way Dora’s eyes fluttered for a breath longer, the way Violet’s hand hovered just a second more than needed.

She didn’t say a word. But she didn’t miss it.

Love had already made itself at home in their little house. It was curling like steam from their mugs, glowing like firelight through the windows, echoing in the quiet laughter shared between bites.

She wouldn’t rush them. Dora was patient. Violet was healing.

But Andromeda, watching the way they leaned toward each other like flowers growing toward the sun, had no doubt:

This was just the beginning.

~~

The house was quiet, early evening sunlight pouring in through the living room windows in soft golden beams when the front door flung open.

"Mum! Mum! Dora!" Rose's voice rang out, high and thrilled, her footsteps racing across the floor. Eira gave a startled flutter from her perch near the window, while Macha blinked awake from her nap curled on the rug. Anand, who had been lounging near the fireplace, lifted her head curiously.

Violet had picked Rose up from school just minutes before—Nymphadora had stayed behind at the house to catch up on paperwork and give Violet and Rose some time together. From the moment Rose had come running out of the school gates, she’d practically been vibrating with excitement, her hands clutched tightly around a folded card and her words tumbling over one another in a rush of joy. Violet had taken her hand, feeling the warmth of it, letting Rose chatter away while they walked the familiar path home. It was one of those rare, golden moments Violet treasured—quiet, unburdened happiness.

Now, back at the house, Rose’s excitement had reached its peak.

Violet crouched slightly to meet Rose’s eyes, her smile warm with curiosity and patience. "Alright, sweetheart, you’ve been absolutely bursting to tell us something ever since we left the school. What’s got you so excited?" Her tone was playful and encouraging, but behind it was a deep tenderness—Violet never took for granted that these moments, these childlike excitements, were new and precious for Rose.

Rose bounced on her toes, her whole body practically glowing with delight. Her eyes were wide and sparkling. "Maisie invited me to her birthday party! She gave me a card and everything and she said there’s going to be balloons and cake and games and—and she wants me to come!"

Violet blinked, her breath catching slightly in her throat. For a beat too long, she didn’t respond, her protective instincts flaring—immediately conjuring possibilities, risks, what-ifs. Her mind raced through security, safety, logistics, how long the party would be, who would be there, how much non-magical exposure Rose would have to endure, and if she'd feel safe. Rose had never been to a birthday party. Violet hadn’t been either, not as a child. And certainly not in a muggle setting, without magic to shield her if something went wrong.

Nymphadora saw the tension creeping into Violet’s shoulders from where she stood near the counter, having just entered the room with a fresh mug of tea. Quietly, she walked over and gently squeezed Violet’s hand. It was a subtle grounding touch, a wordless message of support: she was here, and Violet didn’t have to carry it all alone.

"That’s amazing, Rose," Dora said with a warm grin, her eyes lighting up. "Maisie must really like you."

Rose’s smile stretched wider, uncontainable, but Violet’s hesitation hadn’t gone unnoticed. The little girl looked between the two women, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt now, the card pressed tightly to her chest.

Violet exhaled slowly, forcing her shoulders to relax as she knelt again, trying to separate her own past from Rose’s present. This was good. This was growth. Rose deserved this. She deserved everything Violet had never been given—simple joys, parties, friends, laughter, cake.

"Do you want to go, Rose?" Violet asked gently.

Rose nodded quickly, then paused, anxiety flashing across her face. "But I’ve never been to one before... What if I don’t know what to do? What if I mess it up and Maisie doesn’t want to be friends anymore?"

Violet’s heart ached, her chest tightening. She reached forward and cupped Rose’s cheek, thumb brushing gently across her soft skin. "You won’t mess it up, sweetpea. You’re going to be wonderful. It’s okay to be nervous, but you’re not doing it alone. Dora and I will help you with everything."

"That’s right," Dora added, crouching beside them. "We’ll pick out the perfect gift, and help you pick what to wear, and talk through anything that’s got you nervous. And Maisie already likes you. You just have to be yourself."

Rose’s smile returned slowly, her eyes softening as some of the tension melted away. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around both Violet and Dora, pulling them into a tight hug.

Later that evening, the three of them sat around the kitchen table. The card from Maisie had been carefully unfolded and placed in the center. They’d read over it multiple times, Violet and Dora noting every little detail—time, location, theme. Maisie wanted an animal-themed party, which sent Rose into a quiet spiral of excited ideas.

Rose leaned over a notebook, doodling little animals as she discussed gift ideas. She gravitated toward the idea of a book about magical creatures, beautifully illustrated with pages that moved subtly when touched. Violet nodded along, already mentally crafting the right enchantments to make it safely readable by both magical and non-magical people.

Violet still struggled with her instincts. She wanted to follow Rose to the party, stay hidden nearby, just in case. But Dora’s hand remained in hers under the table—a steady, reassuring weight. It reminded her that Rose was healing. That she was growing. That she could trust in this.

Together, they planned. Together, they prepared.

And for the first time in her life, Rose wasn’t just going to a party—she was going as someone who belonged, someone with people behind her.

Someone who was loved.

~~

The sun had come out after a long morning of grey skies and drizzle, casting a warm glow over the row of terraced houses as Violet walked alongside Rose and Nymphadora, one on each side of the small girl. Rose carried a neatly wrapped present in her arms, her grip careful but firm, and her expression a mixture of giddy excitement and nervous energy. She kept glancing up at Violet, as if to make sure she was really still there, that this was really happening.

Violet had taken extra time helping Rose get ready that afternoon, brushing out her hair with gentle fingers and letting her choose from the newer clothes they had picked out together. Rose had settled on a soft sweater in deep navy blue with tiny silver stars embroidered near the shoulders, and a pair of well-fitted jeans that made her feel grown up. Violet had even tied a matching ribbon in her hair, one of those tiny details that still made Rose feel cherished in a way she hadn’t known before. Eira had wanted to follow, fluttering her wings restlessly, but was left at home with the other familiars after a quiet conversation between Rose and Violet about not overwhelming anyone just yet.

The walk to Maisie King’s house was filled with a mixture of anticipation and silence. Rose’s steps occasionally bounced, and she held tightly to both Violet’s and Dora’s hands as they neared the cheerful red-brick house. Rainbow chalk drawings still decorated the pavement, and paper streamers were visible in the windows.

As they reached the front step, Rose’s footsteps slowed noticeably, her fingers tightening on the present. Violet leaned down and gently nudged her forward, offering a soft smile that was full of encouragement.

The door opened before they could knock. "Rose!" Maisie shouted gleefully, already bouncing with energy. Her wild curls were tied in two lopsided pigtails, and her grin stretched from ear to ear. One of her mothers—tall, with kind eyes and short blonde hair—stepped into the doorway behind her, beaming.

"You must be Violet and Nymphadora," she said warmly, ushering them inside without hesitation. "I'm Moira, Maisie’s mum. Come in, come in. We're so glad Rose could make it."

"Thank you for having her," Violet replied, offering her hand. Moira shook it with a firm grip, her expression radiating easy warmth.

Rose stepped tentatively into the house, her shoes making soft sounds on the wooden floor. As soon as Maisie grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the living room where Leila was already sitting cross-legged on the carpet flipping through a picture book, Rose’s nerves began to melt away. She looked back over her shoulder one last time at Violet, who gave her a gentle nod of reassurance, and then she disappeared into the room with a quiet burst of giggles.

In the entryway, Leila’s parents were also just finishing their goodbyes. Her father, tall and lanky with glasses that kept sliding down his nose, gave a kind smile as he greeted Violet and Dora. Her mother, a graceful woman in a long green coat and deep brown skin, wore a richly patterned scarf and had an air of thoughtful calm about her.

"We’re Mira and Yusuf," she said. "Leila’s parents. She’s been so excited for today. Honestly, she hasn’t stopped talking about Rose and Maisie all week. It’s so lovely to see her making such close friends."

The adults soon gathered near the kitchen, each with cups of tea offered graciously by Moira. The kettle whistled cheerfully, and the kitchen smelled faintly of fresh-baked cookies and vanilla-scented candles. Their light conversation meandered comfortably from school schedules to hobbies, favorite books, and the children’s more amusing observations.

Violet stood slightly apart at first, arms crossed loosely and her posture relaxed but alert. Her protective instincts never fully turned off, but she made an effort to be present in the moment, to trust the safety of the space. It helped that Dora was right there beside her, moving with the ease of someone who belonged.

Nymphadora brushed her shoulder lightly as she moved to stand close, their arms brushing in the quietest gesture of solidarity.

"She’s alright," Dora murmured with a small, knowing smile, tilting her head toward the faint sound of children’s laughter floating from the living room. "They’re all alright."

Violet let out a long breath, the tension slowly ebbing from her spine. She nodded once and glanced toward the doorway with softened eyes.

For now, this was a safe moment. For now, Rose was laughing with girls who liked her. For now, there was joy in the ordinary, and Violet let herself hold onto that warmth a little longer.

She wasn’t just watching her daughter be happy—she was watching her heal.

And that, Violet thought, was more than enough to make this afternoon unforgettable.

The living room had been transformed into a cheerful wonderland of balloons, streamers, and a small table stacked with party favours and snacks. A banner with Maisie’s name painted in bright, uneven letters hung proudly across the wall, clearly handmade with love and childlike enthusiasm. Colourful paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting playful shadows as the afternoon sun filtered through the windows.

Rose, Maisie, and Leila had taken over the entire floor space. Colourful cushions and blankets had been strewn about, forming the walls of a makeshift fort that the girls declared their birthday castle. They crawled in and out through flaps of patterned sheets, giggling uncontrollably as they plotted imaginary quests, daring rescues, and knightly battles. One corner of the room had been marked off as their 'training ground' where they practiced dramatic falls and triumphant victory poses.

"You’re the owl knight!" Maisie declared, handing Rose a soft plush owl that had been sitting on the couch. "You have to deliver messages to all the other kingdoms!"

Rose clutched the owl like it was the most important treasure in the world, her eyes bright with excitement. "Okay, but only if Leila gets to be the dream witch. She sees the future and warns us about the dragons."

Leila beamed and solemnly nodded, sweeping a blanket over her shoulders like a cloak. "There are two dragons coming from the couch mountain," she intoned, pointing dramatically at a pile of cushions. "We must prepare the defences."

The three of them dissolved into laughter, scrambling for stuffed animals and foam swords from the toy box as they prepared for their noble defence. At one point, they insisted Moira tape a paper crown to the owl’s head so Rose could deliver messages from the royal bird.

Eventually, the imaginary danger subsided, and the girls shifted to a new game—musical statues. Moira started the music and the girls danced with abandon, their moves wild and full of joy. Leila spun in slow circles, her blanket-cape fluttering like wings, while Maisie executed dramatic leaps and Rose tried to imitate both of them at once, tripping into a fit of laughter.

Rose’s laughter rang out freely as she and Maisie twirled in a circle, bumping into Leila and falling into a pile on the floor, arms tangled and giggles bubbling.

"Statue!" Moira called, and the three girls immediately froze, limbs caught mid-fall, expressions locked in exaggerated drama. Even then, their eyes sparkled with happiness.

After the game, they returned to the living room to open presents. Maisie sat in the centre, practically glowing with delight as she tore through the wrapping paper. When she got to Rose’s gift—a Lego set she had been talking about for weeks—her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

"No way! This is the one with the magical treehouse!" Maisie cried out, hugging the box to her chest. "You remembered! This is perfect! Thank you, Rose!"

Rose’s cheeks flushed pink, but her smile never wavered. Her chest felt light, filled with something she hadn’t felt often before—belonging.

After a slice of birthday cake and juice boxes passed around like royal goblets, the girls returned to their blanket fort, now dimly lit with a few glow sticks Maisie had cracked and passed out like magical lanterns. Rose sat curled up between Leila and Maisie, trading whispered secrets and silly jokes.

In the background, the gentle hum of conversation continued among the adults in the kitchen. But in the world of the fort, there was only magic, warmth, and laughter—the sound of a little girl learning how to be happy.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long golden beams through the windows of Maisie’s house, the birthday party began to wind down. The once noisy room had quieted, laughter giving way to tired smiles and content sighs. Wrapping paper littered the corners, half-eaten slices of cake sat on colourful plates, and the soft murmur of parents gathering coats and saying polite goodbyes filled the space.

Rose stood near the doorway with Maisie and Leila, the three girls exchanging sleepy smiles as they hugged each other tightly. “Thanks for coming,” Maisie mumbled, still cradling the Lego set in one arm.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Rose whispered back, her voice soft but sincere. Her eyes drifted toward Leila, who offered her a shy smile and gave a tiny wave.

“See you at school,” Leila said, her voice quiet but full of promise.

As the other parents offered final farewells, Violet shook hands and exchanged a few kind words with Maisie’s and Leila’s parents, expressing her thanks with a grateful smile. Nymphadora lingered at her side, ever watchful, her eyes occasionally flicking toward Rose with quiet fondness.

As they stepped outside into the cooling evening air, the residual energy from the party seemed to drain from Rose all at once. She yawned widely, her shoulders sagging as she trudged next to Violet and Nymphadora. When her steps slowed and her eyes blinked heavily, she stumbled slightly into Nymphadora’s side.

Without a word, Nymphadora scooped her up with practiced ease, Rose automatically curling into her chest with a contented sigh. “Got you, little owl,” she murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair from Rose’s forehead. Violet stepped closer, her hand gently resting on Rose’s back for a moment before taking Nymphadora’s free hand as they reached a secluded spot. With a whisper of displaced air, the three vanished.

They reappeared just outside the Tonks home, the lights glowing warm in the windows. Violet held the door open as Nymphadora carried Rose inside, her head resting sleepily against Nymphadora’s shoulder.

Inside, the living room was peaceful. Andromeda and Ted sat on the couch with steaming mugs of tea, quiet music playing low in the background. Ted looked up from his book and smiled warmly.

“Looks like someone had a full day,” he said with a chuckle.

“The party was a hit,” Violet replied, her voice soft. “She played so hard she nearly fell asleep on the way out the door.”

“And got to give her friend the perfect gift,” Nymphadora added with a grin, shifting Rose slightly in her arms.

“Why don’t you bring her upstairs to rest?” Andromeda suggested gently.

Nymphadora nodded, already moving towards the stairs. Violet followed close behind, her eyes never leaving Rose’s sleeping form. The quiet joy of the day still lingered in the house, wrapping around them all like a warm blanket.

Violet stood silently in the doorway of Rose’s bedroom, arms folded loosely as she leaned against the frame. The soft light from the hall spilled into the room, casting a warm glow over the peaceful scene unfolding before her. There was something sacred in the moment, something that made her chest tighten and her heart ache in a way she could never quite put into words.

Nymphadora moved with quiet grace, pulling the blankets up around Rose with careful hands. The little girl was already halfway to sleep, her cheeks still faintly pink from all the laughter and running of the day. As Nymphadora tucked the edges of the blanket beneath Rose’s arms, Rose instinctively curled around the wolf plushie. Her fingers clutched the soft toy tightly, the presence of it clearly a comfort.

Eira, still small but no less regal than her future self, fluttered gently onto the wooden perch at the head of Rose’s bed. She ruffled her feathers once before settling in, amber eyes half-lidded in contentment. The elder Hedwig, silent and watchful, perched beside her, a quiet sentinel whose presence brought a sense of quiet continuity.

On the pillow just beside Rose’s head, Macha had already claimed her spot. The sleek black feline had curled into a tight circle, her tail wrapped around her body as her glowing eyes closed slowly. A low, rumbling purr echoed faintly in the silence, matching the gentle rhythm of Rose’s breath.

Violet watched it all, the tableau of trust and comfort, of found family and healing, and felt something in her soul settle. It was still so new—the ease of this life, the peace she was slowly learning to believe might be real. Her eyes met Nymphadora’s for a moment over Rose’s sleeping form, and something passed between them: a look of shared protectiveness, of quiet love.

Nymphadora smiled gently and straightened from her place beside the bed, brushing a final strand of hair from Rose’s forehead. She stepped back slowly, careful not to wake the sleeping child.

"She’s getting stronger every day," Nymphadora whispered as she reached the doorway.

Violet nodded, her voice just as soft. "Because she knows she’s safe."

They lingered a moment longer, both reluctant to leave, before finally turning away together, the door creaking shut behind them with quiet reverence.

Violet gently closed Rose's bedroom door behind them, the soft click echoing in the quiet hallway. For a long moment, neither she nor Nymphadora moved. The hush felt like something sacred, held still in the breath between heartbeats.

Then, slowly, Violet turned to face Nymphadora.

She reached out and took Nymphadora's hands, her fingers hesitant at first, but firm once they’d settled. Her thumb brushed over the edge of Nymphadora’s knuckles, grounding herself. Her eyes, so often hardened by years of pain and war, now held something else—vulnerability.

"Dora," she said softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "I need to say something, and I need to be honest."

Nymphadora’s brows lifted slightly in gentle surprise, but she nodded, her hands squeezing Violet’s ever so slightly.

"I care about you," Violet began, eyes lowering for a second as if the words themselves were delicate and hard to look at. "More than I expected to. You... you challenge me. Not in a bad way. You push me when I need it, you're not afraid to call me out when I’m hiding, and at the same time, you're there when I need support. Quietly. Steadily. Like a constant I didn’t know I needed."

A breath trembled from her lips. "But I’m still broken, Dora. Even before the war, before I was made into the weapon they needed me to be... I was already broken in ways I didn’t understand. And the war just made it worse. I don’t know how to be in something that isn’t survival. I don’t know if I could be a good partner to someone. I don’t want to weigh you down. I don’t want you to feel like you're always the one looking out for me."

The pain in her voice was quiet but raw. Her gaze lifted again to meet Dora’s, expecting to see pity or hesitation.

But all she saw was warmth.

Nymphadora stepped a little closer, her expression soft, her voice steady and low. "You are not broken beyond healing, Violet. You’re healing already. Every day, with Rose. With the way you smile when you see her smile. The way you teach her, and care for her, and show up for her in every possible way. That’s not the mark of someone broken beyond repair. That’s someone choosing to grow."

She raised one hand to brush Violet’s cheek, fingertips soft. "And I’m not here out of obligation. I’m here because I want to be. Because you’re worth being here for. You don’t have to be perfect, or healed, or whole. You just have to let yourself be seen."

Violet’s throat worked around a sudden lump of emotion, and her fingers tightened briefly around Dora’s hands.

"You’re doing more than you think," Nymphadora added with a smile. "Teaching Rose, teaching me... helping us all. And if you ever start to doubt that again, I’ll be here to remind you."

Violet let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She didn’t speak right away, but she leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against Dora’s, allowing herself to draw strength from the closeness.

They stood like that in the hallway for a long, quiet moment, hands entwined, hearts slowly settling into a rhythm that felt just a little steadier than before.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

VIII

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

The soft sound of their joined footsteps echoed faintly in the hallway as Violet and Nymphadora made their way downstairs, fingers still gently entwined. Violet's grip remained tentative, not from reluctance but from a vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show. The warmth of Nymphadora's hand grounded her, and she didn’t let go.

Nymphadora said nothing at first, not wanting to rush Violet, but every step was a quiet promise: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. She didn’t need to say it aloud. Her presence, solid and steady, filled in the words that Violet was still struggling to believe.

Violet's shoulders were tight, tension humming just beneath the surface. Her mind circled endlessly with familiar thoughts: She’ll change her mind. She’ll see how much damage is beneath the surface. How much I still can’t fix. But still, she held on. And that, in itself, was something.

They entered the living room together, the scent of mint tea and the low murmur of conversation greeting them. Andromeda and Ted looked up from the couch, both pausing as their eyes flicked to the way Violet and Dora’s hands were linked. Neither said a word, but the warmth in Andromeda's gaze spoke volumes.

Ted offered a small smile, setting down the newspaper folded in his lap. “There you two are. We were starting to wonder if you’d disappeared for the night.”

“We were just talking,” Nymphadora replied smoothly, her tone light but meaningful. She squeezed Violet’s hand once more before gently guiding her toward the couch.

Violet gave a small nod and followed, sinking into the cushions beside Nymphadora rather than her usual solitary seat. She hesitated for only a breath before curling her legs up beneath her and leaning subtly into Dora’s side, comforted by the warmth and silent support. Andromeda passed her a cup of tea, and Violet accepted it with quiet gratitude, the heat grounding her as it seeped into her fingers—but it was the closeness of Nymphadora that kept her anchored.

Nymphadora settled nearby, close enough to be a quiet presence, but giving Violet space to breathe.

And yet, Violet kept glancing her way.

There was something comforting in just knowing Dora was there. Something steady, alive, and unshakably present. And though doubt still gnawed at Violet, a tiny ember of hope had been sparked, fanned gently by Nymphadora’s unwavering care.

She wasn’t ready for more. Not yet. But maybe—just maybe—she was ready to believe that healing didn’t have to be solitary.

And Nymphadora would be there, every step of the way.

Ted cleared his throat gently, breaking the quiet that had settled in the room.

Ted, however, glanced at Violet, then at Dora, and nodded once before turning serious. "So," he began, voice low and thoughtful, "I wanted to share what I’ve managed to find so far regarding Sirius. I know you mentioned how in your world, Violet, he was innocent. Andromeda... she’s never believed he was guilty. Not truly. Not in her heart."

Violet immediately tensed, shoulders squaring as her eyes sharpened. She sat beside Dora on the couch, their hands now resting on the cushion between them. "What did you find?"

Ted gave a soft sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not much. Which is the problem. I started digging through public records, Ministry access points, anything I could get a thread on without raising too many alarms. There’s barely anything available. No full report, no case files. The only things I could find were the same recycled summaries you’d find in the papers: arrested for betrayal, murder of twelve Muggles and one wizard, and... a transfer slip to Azkaban."

Andromeda frowned, setting her teacup down a little too hard. "Still no trial record?"

Ted shook his head. "Nothing. Not a single line, not even a sealed transcript. It’s as if there was no trial at all."

Violet leaned forward slightly, her voice quiet but heavy with emotion. "Because there wasn’t. Not in my world either. He was sent straight to Azkaban without a trial. They needed someone to blame, and he was convenient."

Dora let out a breath, her other hand reaching for Violet’s, steady and reassuring. "So it’s the same here. He was never given a chance."

"It would explain the gaps in the record," Ted said, leaning back in his chair, his brow furrowed in frustration. "I’ve worked with the Ministry in enough legal cases to know that even sealed trials leave a paper trail. There’s nothing here. Just... silence."

Andromeda’s jaw tightened, her eyes glinting with cold fury. "He never would have betrayed James and Lily. Never. He might have been reckless, arrogant, even foolish, but he loved them."

Violet nodded slowly, a pit of cold anger settling in her gut. "He was their Secret Keeper, until he swapped with Peter at the last minute. That’s how Voldemort found them. Peter betrayed them... and Sirius went after him. Peter faked his death and framed Sirius."

Ted’s eyes widened a little at that, clearly absorbing every word. "Then Peter Pettigrew is alive in this world too."

"Most likely," Violet said. Her tone was grim. "And if he is... then Sirius is still locked away for a crime he didn’t commit."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the truth hanging in the air. Dora finally spoke, her voice soft but resolute. "We’ll find a way to prove it. To find him. You’re not alone in this, Violet."

Violet glanced between them, her heart swelling with a mixture of gratitude and pain. "Thank you," she murmured. "He deserves justice."

Andromeda gave a quiet nod. "And we’ll make sure he gets it."

The promise lingered like a quiet oath between them, sturdy and unshakable.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the quiet living room. Violet sat on the couch with Nymphadora beside her, their shoulders brushing gently as the familiar comfort of the Tonks home settled around them. Across from them, Andromeda sat with a small notebook open in her lap, while Ted leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.

"So," Ted began, glancing between the three witches, "we all agree that the lack of trial records is damning in itself. But that won’t be enough to clear Sirius’s name in the eyes of the law or the public. We need more than what’s missing—we need what’s been hidden."

Violet nodded, her expression grim. "I’ve thought about that. In my world, the proof came from Peter Pettigrew being alive. But here… I haven’t sensed him. That doesn’t mean he’s not around, just that he’s well-hidden. We need to find someone who knows what really happened that night."

"A witness?" Nymphadora asked. "That’s a long shot. It’s been years. And most who might’ve known something were either killed in the war or loyal to Voldemort."

"Unless," Andromeda said, voice calm and even, "we track down the Auror squad who brought Sirius in. Someone had to escort him to Azkaban. Someone wrote that transfer slip. If we can find them, maybe we’ll find the truth."

Ted nodded slowly. "I can start digging. Quietly. I know a few people in the Ministry who owe me favours. But it’ll take time."

Violet sipped her tea, her thoughts a storm behind her still expression. "We’ll do this carefully. We can’t alert the wrong people. If the Ministry did cover this up, they'll bury any trace if they sense we’re looking."

"I’ll reach out to a few of my old Hogwarts contacts," Nymphadora added. "See if any of them are in the DMLE  archives now. If we can cross-reference names with Ted’s list, maybe we’ll find a crack."

Andromeda nodded approvingly. "We’ll compile everything. Build a case piece by piece. It’ll be slow, but the truth has weight. We just have to uncover it."

Violet looked up at her found family, the firelight reflected in her tired green eyes. For a brief moment, the weight of war and time felt lighter. Not gone, but shared.

"Sirius deserves justice," she said softly. "And we’re going to give it to him."

The others nodded, resolute. The plan wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. And in their world, a start could mean everything.

~

That night, sleep comes for Violet in fits and starts, like waves breaking unevenly upon the shore. She drifts off slowly, curled under her quilt with Macha nestled against her side and Badb perched silently on the headboard. But as soon as her breathing evens out, the darkness creeps in.

The dream unfolds with painful clarity. She is seventeen again, far too young to be carrying the weight of an entire war on her shoulders, and yet, there she is—drenched in sweat and grime, wand clenched tight, the night sky above her alight with curses and flame. The battle rages in the narrow streets of a magical village, its homes now burning husks, the cries of the wounded echoing off shattered stone.

Sirius is beside her.

His hair is loose, his robes torn, but there’s that wild grin on his face—reckless and bold, the kind that once made Violet feel safe. They’re moving together, their spells weaving in and out of one another with the rhythm of those who have fought side by side for too long.

But it happens so fast.

Bellatrix.

She slips between the flames like a wraith, a mad glint in her eyes and her wand already raised. The curse flies—

"Avada Kedavra."

—but it’s not aimed at Sirius.

It’s aimed at her.

Violet’s eyes widen as she raises her wand to block, but Sirius sees it first. Without hesitation, without a second thought, he throws himself into the path of the curse.

The green light slams into his chest.

There is no time to scream, no time to reach. One moment he’s there—solid, laughing, alive. The next, he crumples like a marionette with its strings cut, falling to the cracked cobblestones.

Violet freezes.

The world stops. The sound vanishes, replaced by a deep, soul-crushing silence. Her legs give out and she drops to her knees beside him, her hand trembling as she reaches for his still-warm body. "Sirius," she breathes, voice cracking. "No, no, please—"

But his eyes are already vacant. That grin she loved is gone, replaced by stillness.

Tears blur her vision. Her breath catches in her throat, shallow and panicked, her hands stained with his blood as she clutches his robes. Her chest burns with grief, and for a long, shuddering second, she can’t move, can’t think, can’t breathe.

Bellatrix laughs.

And something inside Violet shatters.

Magic explodes from her in a tide of shadow and fury. Her wand is a blur, her voice raw with rage as she unleashes spell after spell, each one darker than the last. She doesn’t remember what she says, only the hatred roaring in her ears. The Death Eaters start to fall—bones snap, bodies are flung like ragdolls, blood steams on cold stone. The ones who remain turn to flee, but Bellatrix is already gone—slipped into the night with her cackle echoing in Violet's ears.

When she wakes, Violet is gasping. The air feels thin, her sheets tangled around her legs, damp with sweat. Her hand clutches at her wand beneath her pillow. For a moment, she isn’t sure if she’s still dreaming.

Then she feels Macha’s gentle weight, the dream fading back into memory.

But the ache lingers.

So does the silence left behind.

The dream is gone, but the ache remains.

Violet sits upright in bed, her breath shaky, her skin slick with sweat that chills her despite the warmth of the blankets. Her fingers are still wrapped tightly around her wand, white-knuckled, as though letting go would unravel her entirely. The room is dim, moonlight painting soft silver lines across the floor and walls. Badb perches silently on the window frame, her feathers ruffling with quiet discontent, while Macha gently noses at Violet’s arm, a low, soothing rumble vibrating from her chest.

The door creaks.

Violet's head snaps toward it, wand twitching with reflex until she sees the familiar silhouette. Nymphadora stands there barefoot, hair tousled from sleep, her eyes soft with concern. She must have been woken by Badb, Violet realizes, and the thought twists something tight and tender in her chest.

Without a word, Nymphadora steps forward, the faintest whisper of her movement audible as she crosses the room. She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t speak. She simply slides into bed behind Violet, arms wrapping gently around her middle, pulling her back into solid warmth. Violet stiffens for a moment, caught between instinct and the thundering beat of her heart. But then she exhales—a long, tremulous breath—and lets herself lean back into Nymphadora’s embrace.

“You're safe,” Nymphadora whispers, her breath warm against the curve of Violet's neck. Her arms tighten slightly, grounding. “I'm here.”

Violet doesn’t cry, not exactly, but something in her cracks open just a little more. The grief that clung to her from the dream doesn't disappear, but it shifts—softened by the presence behind her, by the hands that hold her like she isn’t something broken. Her walls, usually so carefully reinforced, tremble under the weight of that quiet kindness.

“He died saving me,” Violet says into the stillness. “And I couldn’t even stop her.”

Nymphadora presses a gentle kiss to Violet’s temple, her voice unwavering. “You were seventeen. You survived. And you’ve kept surviving. That isn’t failure, Violet.”

Violet closes her eyes, letting the words settle into the cracks she pretends aren’t there. She shifts slightly, turning enough that she can curl into Nymphadora’s chest, arms sliding around her waist. The closeness is a balm she hadn’t realized she was desperate for.

She feels Nymphadora’s fingers slowly stroking her back, rhythmic and soothing, while her other hand gently tangles in Violet’s damp hair, brushing it from her face. The touch isn’t just comfort—it’s connection. Silent understanding. For Violet, used to bearing her burdens alone, the gentle care threatens to undo her entirely.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” Nymphadora murmurs again, her voice even softer. “Not with me.”

Violet doesn’t answer right away, just lets out a shaky breath and presses her face to the hollow of Nymphadora’s throat. The scent of her—faintly floral, grounding—wraps around her like a lullaby. Her fingers tighten against Nymphadora’s back, clinging with silent desperation.

For a long moment, they lie together like that. Violet slowly lets the silence wash over her, lets the warmth of another person, of someone she trusts, soak into her skin and settle the roiling ache beneath it.

She doesn't know how to say thank you. Or how much it means. But as her breathing slows and her grip loosens just slightly, she hopes Nymphadora understands anyway.

They lie like that in silence, hearts beating in quiet sync, surrounded by familiars who keep their silent watch. In the aftermath of nightmares, in the hush of shared warmth, Violet lets herself feel held—not as a weapon or a warrior, but as a person.

And as sleep begins to pull at her again, she doesn’t fight it. Not this time.

~

The world is quiet in the early morning hush, all shadows softened by the pale grey light filtering in through the bedroom window. The storm of Violet's dreams has passed, but its remnants linger in the ache behind her eyes, in the dull weight pressing against her ribs. And yet, for the first time in a long time, she doesn't wake up alone.

Violet stirs slowly, breath catching as she registers the warmth pressed against her. Nymphadora’s arms are still around her, secure and steady. One of Violet’s own arms has wrapped itself around Nymphadora in return, fingers curled lightly into the back of her tank top, her thumb brushing against warm skin. Their legs are tangled beneath the blankets, and their foreheads nearly touch, the closeness of it all both grounding and dizzying.

The thin fabric of their sleepwear—Violet in one of her soft cotton sleep shirts and Nymphadora in sleep shorts and a tank—leaves little barrier between them. Where Violet’s thigh brushes Nymphadora’s bare skin, there is warmth, contact, comfort. Her head rests against Nymphadora’s shoulder, her cheek warmed by skin and the steady rise and fall of breath. The moment is intimate in its quiet simplicity. Not passion or urgency, but something deeper—trust, comfort, a fragile but powerful thread weaving between them.

Violet’s heart aches, but not in the way it used to. It’s a softer pain now, tinged with longing and something almost like hope. She shifts slightly, just enough to lift her gaze to Nymphadora’s sleeping face. Her eyes are still closed, lashes resting delicately against her cheeks. Her hair, which had shifted colors in sleep, now settles in warm tones—honey brown with soft, dusty-pink ends. A few strands have fallen across Violet’s face, and she gently brushes them away, her fingers trembling with tenderness.

She knows she should move. Let Nymphadora sleep in peace. Pull away before she sinks too deep into a warmth that might not be permanent. But she can’t bring herself to. Not when this—being held, being seen—feels so rare, so needed. Not when her chest doesn’t feel like it’s caving in under invisible weight. Not when the nightmares haven’t chased her into the light.

This isn’t just comfort—it’s shelter. From everything. From grief, from fear, from the sharp memories of war and loss that so often claw their way into her mind. Here, wrapped in another’s arms, there is space to breathe. To feel.

Nymphadora stirs a little, murmuring something incoherent, her arm tightening instinctively around Violet’s waist as if sensing her unease. Her hand slides just slightly along Violet’s spine, not even consciously. The brush of skin against skin in that half-sleep gesture nearly undoes her.

Violet leans in, pressing her forehead lightly to Nymphadora’s collarbone, breathing her in. Slowly, she lets the tension seep out of her muscles. Her eyes close again—not from exhaustion this time, but because she wants to hold onto this feeling for just a little longer. This sliver of peace in a life so often torn by chaos.

Maybe, just maybe, she’s allowed this. Maybe she deserves this. Not as a weapon, not as a survivor, but as a woman. As Violet.

A quiet whisper breaks through the stillness. Nymphadora, still half-asleep, says her name. "Violet," so softly it’s almost a sigh. Her voice is thick with grogginess and warmth. But even in that haze, there’s affection in it. Something gentle. Something real.

Violet lets herself smile. Small. Fragile. Real. Her thumb moves in soft circles where it rests on Nymphadora’s side, skin brushing skin with every motion. She presses a kiss—brief, feather-light—to the hollow of her throat, then burrows closer again, their bodies naturally drawn together, warmth exchanging in silent conversation. And in the hush of morning, wrapped in warmth, Violet allows herself one more moment.

Because maybe healing doesn’t always look like battles won or fears conquered. Maybe sometimes, it looks like being held until the ache quiets.

Maybe sometimes, it looks like this.

~

The smell of warm toast, brewed tea, and sizzling eggs greets them as they descend the stairs, the morning sun casting a soft golden hue through the windows of the Tonks household. Violet and Nymphadora walk side by side, bare feet making the quietest of sounds on the steps. They're still wrapped in the hazy quiet of sleep, their movements slow, almost synchronized in their lethargy.

Violet is dressed in her soft sleep shirt, the hem brushing just below her hips, while Nymphadora wears a fitted tank top and cotton sleep shorts. The morning chill clings to their skin, goosebumps faintly rising where their bare arms and legs are exposed. Neither seem to mind. Their arms brush every so often as they walk, the simple contact enough to offer comfort. Violet's eyes are still heavy, her hair tousled from sleep, but she doesn’t try to tame it. Nymphadora, for her part, stretches slightly and yawns, her fingers brushing through her colour-shifting hair now lazily set to soft lilac.

When they enter the kitchen, the room is already filled with the gentle sounds of domestic morning life. Andromeda is at the stove, humming under her breath as she tends to a pan of scrambled eggs. Ted sits at the kitchen table with the morning paper folded beside his plate, sipping coffee with a relaxed ease.

Rose is seated at the table, a bright grin on her face as she chats animatedly about something she'd read the night before. Her plate is nearly empty, and Eira is perched nearby on the back of a chair, preening her feathers in the sunlight. Rose pauses mid-sentence when she sees Violet and Nymphadora enter, her eyes lighting up.

"You finally woke up!" she exclaims with a giggle, scooting over slightly to make room for them.

Violet gives her a sleepy smile and leans down to press a kiss to the crown of her head before sinking into the chair beside her. Nymphadora slides into the seat directly next to Violet, her bare leg brushing against Violet's and staying there, the touch unspoken and warm. As they shift to settle in, their legs naturally tangle under the table, skin on skin creating a quiet sense of intimacy neither of them flinch from. Their thighs rest against one another, a gentle press that neither moves to end. Their arms bump lightly as Nymphadora leans closer, her thigh resting firmly against Violet’s, and this time Violet leans back just a little, allowing herself to melt into the warmth.

Nymphadora gives her a soft smile, her voice low and still thick with sleep. "You okay?"

Violet hums softly, grabbing a slice of toast from the middle of the table and taking a small bite, her shoulder resting against Nymphadora’s as if it belonged there. "Getting there," she murmurs in return.

Andromeda turns from the stove with a knowing smile, sliding two extra plates onto the table. "Good morning, sleepyheads. Tea's fresh. Eggs are almost done."

"Bless you, Mum," Nymphadora mumbles, rubbing one eye. Her other hand remains resting on Violet’s leg under the table, a light, grounding presence.

Violet leans into the touch, letting her eyes drift briefly shut again before forcing herself to focus. Her hand finds the mug Ted slides toward her, the warmth soothing against her palm, and she brings it up for a careful sip.

The table feels full. Alive. Comfortable. The smell of food, the soft clink of silverware, the occasional chatter from Rose fills the kitchen with a sense of belonging that Violet hasn’t felt in far too long.

They eat slowly, still waking, still wrapped in the quiet intimacy of morning. Andromeda watches them with a softness in her gaze, noticing how easily the two young women lean into each other, how Rose instinctively shifts to rest a hand against Violet's arm, never quite breaking contact. She catches Ted's eye over the rim of his coffee cup, and they share a silent smile.

Whatever this is between Violet and Dora, it's something real. Something growing. Something deeply needed.

And in that morning light, tangled legs under the table and soft touches above, it feels like the start of something quietly beautiful.

~~

The sun shone gently over the Tonks' back garden, the warm Saturday air filled with the scent of freshly bloomed flowers, buzzing bees, and a soft breeze rustling the trees overhead. The sky stretched cloudless and blue, promising a perfect day for something new. After breakfast and a shared quiet moment between them all, Violet set her mug down with a soft clink, her eyes drifting toward the open window where the morning light poured in.

She glanced at Rose, who was now curled up on the couch with Eira nestled comfortably on her lap, her small fingers idly stroking the owl chick's soft feathers.

"I was thinking," Violet began softly, drawing their attention, her voice filled with gentle intent. "Today might be the perfect day to teach you how to ride a bike. What do you say?"

Rose's head snapped up, her eyes wide and sparkling with excitement, as if Violet had just handed her the stars. "Really? Can I?" she asked, her voice high with wonder as she slowly sat up straighter, carefully lifting Eira and setting her beside her.

Violet smiled, warmth blooming in her chest at the pure joy radiating from Rose. "Of course. You’ve been talking about it for a while, haven’t you? With the weather like this... seems like the perfect time."

Nymphadora yawned theatrically, stretching her arms above her head before grinning. "Finally, an excuse to drag the ancient bikes out of storage. I think mine’s still in the shed somewhere, gathering dust and looking sad. Let’s see what we can salvage."

The three of them made their way to the small garden shed tucked beneath the flowering wisteria along the side of the house. Inside, under a dusty tarp, a few forgotten gardening tools, and a comically large plastic flamingo, they found a faded but sturdy-looking bike sized for a child. The paint was chipped in places, the tyres flat, and the seat slightly scuffed, but it had good bones.

"Well, hello there," Nymphadora said fondly, dragging the bike into the sun with a dramatic huff. "You’ve seen better days, but don’t worry. We’re going to give you a makeover."

Violet knelt beside the bike and summoned a small toolbox with a flick of her wand. "Let’s clean it up first," she said. She turned to Rose, who was already watching with wide eyes. "You’re going to help me. It’s not just about riding—it’s about knowing how it works. That way you’ll respect it, and it’ll be safer."

Rose nodded quickly, excitement written all over her face as she knelt beside Violet, practically bouncing with eagerness.

Nymphadora joined them on the other side, her sleeves rolled up and wand at the ready, beginning to mend the worn rubber and charm away the rust.

As Violet guided Rose’s small hands to help oil the chain and check the brakes, her own hands moved with an instinctive tenderness. Without realising it, she had slipped into the same rhythm Sirius once had with her, many years ago. She remembered one rare summer when he had pulled her aside, just the two of them in a quiet garage, and taught her every part of his motorbike. Violet had been around sixteen at the time—awkward, angry, and quietly desperate for connection—and Sirius had known exactly how to reach her. He’d spoken with that same calm, patient tone she found herself using now—never patronizing, always encouraging, giving her something to build and understand when everything else in her world had been chaos. That memory clung to her like the scent of oil and warm metal, vivid and comforting even through the ache it stirred in her chest.

The ache in Violet’s chest stirred again, bittersweet and raw. But Rose’s laughter, soft and delighted, grounded her in the moment.

"You’ve got a real knack for this," Violet murmured, brushing a smudge of grease from Rose’s cheek. Her fingers lingered just a second longer, and her smile softened. "It’s not just about going fast. It’s about understanding what you’re doing. Like knowing your magic."

"Like how brooms work?" Rose asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

Violet chuckled. "Exactly like that. Except this one keeps you on the ground—for now."

Nymphadora stood, brushing off her hands and surveying the now-clean, now-magically restored bike. "Looks like we’ve got ourselves a winner. I say it’s time for a test run."

"Me! I want to try!" Rose bounced on her heels, eyes shining.

Violet grabbed the helmet, adjusting it carefully on Rose’s head, her fingers gentle as she made sure it fit snugly. "Okay. Let’s take it slow, sweetheart. We’ll go together. I’ll hold the back and help you balance."

As Rose climbed onto the bike, wobbly and determined, Violet stayed close, one hand steady on the seat and the other guiding the handlebars. Nymphadora followed a few paces behind, cheering softly and making sure Rose had plenty of space. Each attempt brought giggles, a few near-falls, and one actual tumble that ended in laughter and a dramatic flop into the grass.

But Rose always got back up.

The garden echoed with warmth and laughter, and for Violet—watching Rose’s joy, Nymphadora’s grin, and the sun catching in the curls of Rose’s hair—it felt like a piece of the world that had once been broken was beginning to knit itself whole again. And in that quiet, sunlit corner of the world, surrounded by laughter and love, Violet began to believe it was possible to heal.

~~

The soft glow of jack-o'-lanterns flickered in the windows as twilight settled over the neighbourhood, casting a warm orange hue over the streets. Leaves danced along the pavement in little spirals, carried by the breeze, and the scent of pumpkin spice and crisp autumn air lingered around every corner. Halloween had arrived, and the world felt lighter for it.

Violet adjusted the wide-brimmed hat atop her head as she looked at herself in the hallway mirror. The leather jacket hugged her frame perfectly, paired with her dark jeans, black boots, and fingerless gloves. She looked every bit the part of a modern witch—familiar and strange all at once, but somehow more herself than she'd felt in a long time. Her costume was more than just a disguise; it was a small piece of healing wrapped in playfulness. Her eyes caught the reflection of Nymphadora behind her, grinning as she tugged on the straps of a crossbody bag filled with trick-or-treat essentials.

Nymphadora looked effortlessly cool in her werewolf hunter costume. The fitted dark leather vest over a long-sleeved grey shirt, enchanted silver accessories, and mock-scars charmed onto her skin gave her a dramatic flair. Her hair, a rich plum tonight, was tied back in a messy ponytail that somehow made her look even more striking. She radiated confidence and warmth, and when she stepped closer to adjust the brim of Violet’s hat, her fingers brushing lightly against Violet’s temple, Violet flushed faintly. The touch was so casual yet so intimate, and her breath caught slightly.

"Ready, spooky witch?" Dora teased with a soft nudge to her side, her voice low and affectionate.

Violet huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes but unable to hide her fond smile. "Only because it’s for Rose."

"Sure," Dora said lightly, her grin widening. "Just admit we look amazing together."

The front door creaked open, and Rose came bounding into the hall, beaming with excitement. Her little witch costume was everything she’d dreamed of—a dark velvet dress with silver stars, a cloak that shimmered faintly under the hallway light, and a pointed hat nearly as big as her head. Violet had added soft magical touches that made the stars twinkle gently, and the look of awe on Rose’s face made every second of crafting it worth it.

Rose came to a skidding halt in front of Violet and looked up, wide-eyed. "We match!"

Violet crouched down and adjusted the collar of Rose's cloak. "We do. A very powerful pair of witches."

Rose giggled, clearly delighted, before she turned to Nymphadora. "And you look cool! Like you hunt monsters."

"Only the bad ones," Dora winked. "Not little witches who sneak candy."

They met up just down the road, where Maisie—dressed in a full tiger onesie with orange face paint and a wide, mischievous grin—was bouncing in place with barely contained energy. Leila stood calmly beside her, radiant in a star fairy costume complete with a softly glowing wand and silvery skirt that sparkled in the fading light. The trio of girls were a delightful blend of chaos, grace, and joy.

Maisie let out a yell of joy and pointed dramatically at Rose. "You made it! Finally! We’re gonna get so much candy!"

Leila offered a serene smile and gave Rose a quiet hug. "Your cloak is beautiful. Like starlight."

Rose flushed with pride, ducking her head a little. "Thanks! You look like real magic."

The parents greeted each other, exchanging warm hellos and chatting amiably. Maisie's and Leila's parents took in Violet and Rose's matching costumes with delighted grins. One of Maisie’s mums leaned over and whispered to Violet with a teasing tone, "Mother-daughter theme? That’s absolutely adorable. You two are perfect."

Violet blinked and offered a smile, cheeks warm. She glanced at Rose, who had taken both Maisie’s and Leila’s hands in her own, bouncing excitedly.

"She picked it," Violet said softly. "But... I think it means more to me than she knows."

Nymphadora slid her hand into Violet’s, giving it a light squeeze. "She knows more than you think."

As the group of children took off, giggling and weaving from house to house, Violet and Nymphadora trailed just behind. They walked side by side, their hands brushing now and then, until they simply twined their fingers together. Watching Rose run ahead with her friends, her laughter free and light, felt like breathing clean air for the first time in years. And though the sharp edges of Violet's trauma still lingered, dulled only slightly by time and healing, tonight was a victory.

Because tonight, Violet Potter was standing in the golden glow of Halloween evening. Holding the hand of a woman who looked at her like she wasn't broken. Watching the child she had sworn to protect laugh with joy and call her "mum."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself believe that maybe—just maybe—she deserved this.

And maybe, just maybe, she could have more.

The street came alive with the laughter of children and the rustling of treat bags as the group made their way from house to house. Porch lights glowed warmly, many adorned with jack-o'-lanterns, flickering candles, cobwebs, and spooky decorations that danced with every gust of wind. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of woodsmoke, cinnamon, and fallen leaves, wrapping the neighbourhood in a warm festive feeling. Every few houses there was the telltale squeal of delight when a bowl of candy was revealed behind a creaking door or when a kind adult complimented a costume.

Rose walked between Maisie and Leila, her little hand clutching her wand-prop with a tight grip. Though her eyes sparkled with excitement, there were moments where she slowed or hesitated—sometimes before stepping up to a stranger's door, sometimes just from the sheer nervousness of doing something so new. She had never done this before. The cheerful chaos, the small crowds, the expectation of speaking up and holding out her bag—it was all unfamiliar. But she wasn’t alone.

Each time she faltered, Violet's soft voice was there behind her. "You’re doing great, sweetheart. I’m right here." Just those simple words seemed to give Rose the strength she needed. Her shoulders would straighten, and her feet would carry her forward once more. Violet’s costume shimmered subtly in the light, her modern witch look like something out of a storybook. Nymphadora remained close too, a quiet pillar of strength at Violet’s side, shooting occasional smiles toward Rose and giving her encouraging thumbs-up or a dramatic wink. Dressed as a stylish werewolf hunter, she somehow managed to make even holding a flashlight look heroic.

Maisie, ever the fierce protector, never seemed to notice Rose's hesitation as anything unusual. She simply took Rose's hand and tugged her along toward each decorated doorway, announcing dramatically, "We have to go to that one next! The spider webs are massive !" Her tiger onesie bounced with every energetic step. Leila, with her dreamlike calm, would smile gently and walk with them, often whispering soft encouragements only Rose could hear. Her glowing fairy wand added a magical touch, lighting the path ahead.

When an older child in a werewolf mask jumped out from behind a hedge with a roar, Rose startled badly. She stepped back with a frightened gasp, clutching her cloak tightly around her. But Maisie immediately stepped between them, her small body bristling like a tiger ready to defend, while Leila reached out to touch Rose’s shoulder gently.

Violet and Nymphadora were already there in seconds. Violet placed a grounding hand on Rose's back, her presence steady and warm.

"You’re alright. It was just a mask," she murmured, her voice soft and certain, the cadence of someone who had once been that frightened child and now knew how to be the steady shield.

The older child apologized quickly, face revealed and sheepish as he mumbled something about not meaning to scare anyone. Rose nodded, still wide-eyed, and Violet gently crouched to meet her eyes.

"It’s okay to be scared," she said. "But you were really brave, Rose. You stayed here. You didn’t run away."

Rose swallowed hard, then nodded. Slowly, she took Maisie and Leila’s hands again, and they all moved forward as a group, heading toward the next house.

From the back, Violet watched Rose’s small form in the glow of the porch lights, the way her cloak fluttered behind her, how she now leaned toward her friends instead of shrinking from the world. She felt Nymphadora's hand brush against hers, then settle into a comfortable, shared grip.

"She’s doing beautifully," Dora whispered, her tone full of quiet admiration.

Violet nodded, her voice thick with emotion. "She is." She glanced at the three girls up ahead, their laughter echoing like a melody of healing. "They all are."

And with every step Rose took down that street, every burst of laughter, every moment her small fingers clutched tightly to her friends' hands, it felt like one more piece of healing settling into place—not just for her, but for Violet too. A part of her that had long been dormant stirred again—hope, fragile but growing. And hand in hand with Dora, she began to believe a little more in the future they were building together.

The air had grown cooler as the sun dipped below the rooftops, the shadows stretching long across the pavement as the group of trick-or-treaters made their way down the street. The houses became increasingly elaborate with their decorations, some festive and friendly, others darker and more theatrical. As they approached a particularly spooky house at the corner—its porch draped in cobwebs and glowing with dim red lights, fake gravestones dotting the lawn and eerie music drifting from hidden speakers—Rose hesitated.

"Do we have to go to this one?" she asked softly, her voice trembling just enough for Violet to hear, her fingers tightening slightly around her candy bag. Her wand-prop felt suddenly too heavy in her hand.

Maisie, already halfway up the creaking steps, turned and grinned with fearless confidence. "Come on! It's just decorations! I bet they have the best sweets. Look at all the lights!"

But before anyone could knock, a hidden animatronic creature—a skeletal ghoul with glowing red eyes and snapping jaws—sprang forward from behind a curtain of fog, accompanied by a sudden screech and a blast of chilling air.

Rose screamed, stumbling backward into Leila, who caught her arm just in time. Leila's eyes widened as she instinctively pulled Rose close. Maisie whirled toward the noise, protective fury flickering across her face. She planted her feet and raised her arms as if to shield her friends.

Then it happened.

The porch lights above them flickered once, twice—and then exploded with a sharp crack, glass raining down in a burst of sparks. The ghoul froze mid-motion, its animatronic servos twitching uselessly before it collapsed with a metallic thunk. Smoke curled around its base. The street fell quiet in stunned silence, the children frozen and the nearby parents staring in disbelief.

Maisie slowly lowered her arms, still trembling. Her face was pale, but her eyes glinted with emotion she didn’t fully understand. Rose clung to Leila's sleeve, eyes wide, her chest heaving with shallow breaths.

Violet, already moving, reached the children in moments, her voice calm but urgent. "Let’s take a breather. Come on, this way." Her hand found Rose’s and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

She guided them down a small side street, quieter and tucked away from the main crowd. Nymphadora followed close behind, alert and composed, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows. The other parents trailed behind with a mix of concern and confusion. Rose clung tightly to Violet’s hand, her small fingers trembling against Violet’s calloused ones, her heart still racing.

They stopped beneath the soft glow of a streetlamp, its light casting a comforting circle around them. The quiet hum of the city felt distant, the moment wrapped in an almost magical stillness. Violet crouched down to look at the girls, her face soft despite the tension in her posture.

"Everyone alright?" she asked, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Rose’s ear.

Rose nodded with a sniffle, cheeks flushed and wide eyes still darting nervously. Maisie stood rigid, arms crossed over her chest, clearly shaken but trying to look braver than she felt. Leila didn’t speak, but her fingers remained tightly laced with Rose’s, grounding them both.

Maisie’s mother knelt beside her daughter, brushing a hand through her wild, tangled hair. "This isn’t the first time," she admitted, her voice quiet but steady as she looked up at Violet. "Lights breaking, sudden gusts of wind, things just… happening when Maisie gets upset. We always chalked it up to coincidence. But..."

Leila’s father, still holding his daughter’s backpack, added hesitantly, "Leila draws things before they happen. Like tonight. She showed us a sketch this morning of that creature jumping out from the porch with those exact red lights. We just assumed it was one of her imaginative stories."

Violet let out a slow breath, the weight of the moment pressing into her chest. Her voice was soft, soothing, but filled with certainty. "It’s not a coincidence. Your daughters are magical. Just like Rose."

The parents stared at her, visibly struggling to comprehend. "Magical? Like… magicians? Stage tricks?"

Nymphadora chuckled gently, stepping forward. "No, real magic. Witches. Wizards. There’s a whole magical world that exists alongside yours. Hidden, but very real. Your daughters are a part of it."

Maisie’s mum looked skeptical, narrowing her eyes slightly. Leila’s parents exchanged a glance, somewhere between disbelief and hesitant hope. Violet didn’t try to argue. Instead, she rose slowly to her feet and drew her wand in a smooth, practiced motion.

"Watch," she said simply.

She pointed toward a pile of scattered autumn leaves. With a soft, murmured word, the leaves lifted into the air, twirling and spiraling gently like a miniature cyclone before slowly drifting back down to the pavement in an elegant dance. Nymphadora followed her lead, plucking a candy wrapper from the ground and transfiguring it into a delicate paper bird that fluttered its wings and landed on Leila’s open palm.

A hush fell over the group. A quiet, amazed gasp broke it.

"So it’s real," Maisie’s mum whispered, her voice almost reverent.

"It is," Violet affirmed. She stepped closer, her gaze open and kind. "I know this is a lot to take in. And it may feel overwhelming. But you’re not alone in this. I can help you navigate it. We both can."

Relief washed over the parents like a sudden breeze, visible in the way their shoulders dropped, the worry easing from their eyes.

"Thank you," Leila’s father said, his voice filled with quiet gratitude. "We didn’t know what to do. We thought we were imagining things."

"You’re not," Violet said gently. Her gaze moved to the girls. Rose had edged closer to Maisie and Leila, the three of them holding hands now, no longer just from fear but from an emerging bond. "They have each other. That’s something special. And now you have us too."

The parents nodded slowly, the beginnings of understanding and trust dawning on their faces. In the flickering lamplight, Violet felt a spark of something tender and powerful begin to bloom—connection, shared truth, and the building blocks of something stronger than any one of them: community.

A quiet kind of magic more potent than any spell. Belonging.

The moment of tentative peace was shattered.

Violet stiffened as a cold prickle of magic brushed against the edges of her senses. Her spine straightened, her wand was in her hand in a blink, and she stepped in front of the girls with the fluid ease of someone trained to shield others first and ask questions later. The warmth of the streetlamp seemed to dim around them.

A shape emerged from the far end of the quiet side street.

Long, sweeping robes in jewel tones, a pointed hat tipped slightly askew, and a silvery beard that gleamed like starlight in the dim light. Half-moon spectacles glinted as he stepped into view, the unmistakable image of Albus Dumbledore.

Violet's blood went ice cold.

Dumbledore’s gaze scanned the children and then settled on Violet, confusion flickering briefly in his eyes.

"I don't believe we've met," he said calmly. "But I must ask you to stand aside. I have business with the child."

Violet didn’t move. "You're right, we haven’t met properly." Her wand didn’t waver as she stepped forward, voice steady and sharp. "You may call me Lady Peverell. I am under magical and ancestral right the protector of Rose Potter."

That made Dumbledore blink, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Peverell?" he echoed. "An old name. A powerful one."

Violet's lips curled into something caught between a grimace and a warning. "One that carries weight even now. I claim that name by blood and by legacy—and I will not allow you to harm or manipulate her."

Dumbledore raised his hands in a passive gesture, though the twinkle that once might have softened his expression was absent. "I come only to talk, Lady Peverell," he said, adapting quickly. "I've been trying to locate young Rose for some time. I trust you understand my concern."

"Funny. Concern isn’t what comes to mind when I think of the man who left her in that house," Violet said sharply.

His eyes flicked briefly to Rose, who clung tightly to Leila and Maisie.

"She was placed there for her protection," Dumbledore said evenly. "There are ancient magics at play, ones not easily undone."

"She's not going back there," Violet snapped. "Not now, not ever. She is safe. She is loved. She is healing. Something she never got with them."

Dumbledore’s mouth drew into a slight frown. "I must ask you to consider the greater good."

"Don't," Violet growled, the word sharp enough to silence the street around them. "Don’t you dare throw that phrase at me. I know what your 'greater good' costs. I've seen the bones it’s built on."

Dumbledore studied her, wariness rising. "You’re not from here," he said slowly, something like comprehension dawning.

"No," Violet said, not confirming, not denying. "But I know exactly what she needs, and it isn't you, your manipulations, or your precious plan."

His gaze moved past her toward Rose, whose small frame was visibly trembling. Maisie had an arm around her shoulders, and Leila’s eyes were wide but focused.

"She belongs with family," he said, though the argument sounded weaker now.

"She is with her family," Violet said fiercely, stepping forward until she was standing fully between him and the children. Her voice was low, but carried the weight of unbreakable truth. "And I am her family."

For a moment, the two locked eyes, ancient magic crackling faintly between them. The tension in the air was a storm waiting to break.

Then, with a sigh as heavy as a closing door, Dumbledore inclined his head. "Very well. But the world does not pause for sentiment, Lady Peverell. I hope you are ready for what may come."

"I always am," she replied. Her voice was calm, but every word carried an edge honed by grief and war.

And just before he could fully turn away, Violet’s voice cut through the air like a blade. "Oh, and Headmaster—I'll be coming to collect my family's wand from you soon. I trust it's still in your possession."

That stopped Dumbledore mid-step. He turned his head slightly, just enough for Violet to see a flicker of restrained surprise beneath the composed mask he wore like a second skin. "It is," he said slowly. "For now."

He gave a small nod, the lines of age seeming deeper than before, and without another word, turned and vanished into the shadows.

Only when the air lost its tension did Violet lower her wand.

Nymphadora stepped forward, touching her shoulder. "You okay?"

Violet glanced back at the girls, at Rose, who looked back at her with trust shining in her eyes despite the fear. Violet nodded slowly. "Yeah," she said. Her voice wavered, but there was strength in it. "I am now."

And as they gathered the children and quietly walked back toward the safety of home, Violet knew one thing for certain: whatever else came next, she would protect Rose with everything she had. No matter the cost.

The air felt heavier after Dumbledore vanished into the shadows, but it was also somehow lighter—as if a battle line had been drawn and, for once, Violet had claimed her ground before anyone else could force her to yield it.

As the group made their way back toward the Tonks household, Violet gently pulled Maisie and Leila’s parents aside for a quiet moment. She arranged for them to visit in the coming days, promising a proper explanation and a safe space where their daughters could see and understand the magic beginning to awaken within them. Both sets of parents agreed, still processing everything they'd seen, but relieved to have someone who could finally give them answers.

By the time Violet, Nymphadora, and Rose reached the familiar path to the Tonks home, Rose was slowing down. The post-sugar excitement and adrenaline from the evening’s events had faded into sleepiness. She clung to Violet’s hand, her eyes drooping, though a faint smile lingered on her lips.

“I’m glad I don’t have to lie to them anymore,” she murmured softly, half-lulled by the quiet night and the comforting press of Violet and Dora on either side.

“You never should have had to in the first place,” Violet said, brushing her hand through Rose’s hair gently as they stepped into the warm light of the house.

Andromeda and Ted were waiting in the living room, both rising at the sight of them.

“You three look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ted said with a wry smile, though concern shadowed his eyes.

“Not a ghost,” Violet murmured, glancing briefly at Andromeda. “We’ll talk tomorrow. For now, it’s been a long night.”

Andromeda nodded, her sharp gaze softening. “Alright. But you know where we are if you need anything.”

Soon enough, pajamas were pulled on, teeth brushed, and Rose nestled beneath her covers with all her cuddlies. Violet and Dora took their time settling her in, pulling the soft blanket up under her chin. Eira had already claimed her spot on the pillow beside Rose, her tiny form nestled near the child’s head. Hedwig perched near the footboard, wings ruffling as if standing guard. The wolf plushie was tucked into Rose’s arms, and Macha curled against her other side like a velvet shadow.

“Goodnight, my star,” Violet whispered, pressing a kiss to Rose’s brow.

“Night, sweetheart,” Dora added with a smile, brushing her fingers along Rose’s cheek.

As they stepped into the hallway, the bedroom dimming behind them, they started toward their rooms. But just before Dora could reach for the door to hers, Violet gently caught her hand.

The movement was soft but sure, and Dora turned, her eyes searching Violet’s.

“Stay with me tonight?” Violet asked, her voice hushed and unsure. “I… after tonight, and everything with Dumbledore... I’m not sure what my dreams will be like.”

There was a long beat of silence before Dora squeezed her hand, her thumb brushing against Violet’s knuckles in a slow, soothing motion.

“Of course,” she said quietly, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Always.”

Fingers still twined, they walked together down the hallway, the soft hush of the house wrapping around them like a blanket. The warmth of their joined hands felt like an anchor.

Inside Violet’s room, the light from the bedside lamp glowed softly, casting a golden hue across the walls. They closed the door gently behind them and moved around in quiet synchrony—removing slippers, folding back the covers, and setting wands on the nightstand.

Violet climbed into bed first, scooting to one side. Dora followed, slipping beneath the sheets with a quiet rustle. Without needing to ask, she shifted closer, one arm sliding around Violet’s waist as if it had always belonged there. Violet, already facing her, tucked her head beneath Dora’s chin and let out a long breath, feeling the way her heart slowly steadied in the rhythm of Dora’s.

Their legs tangled instinctively under the covers, skin brushing skin from their sleepwear—Violet in a long shirt and shorts, Dora in a soft tank top and similar shorts. It was intimate without being heavy, a gentle presence where words didn’t need to intrude.

“You’re safe,” Dora whispered into her hair.

“I know,” Violet whispered back, clinging a little tighter.

And in the hush of the room, with the steady sound of breathing and the weight of arms wrapped around her, Violet felt the first flicker of peace take root. No ghosts haunted her just then. Just warmth, and presence, and the quiet promise of being held.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

IX

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

With Halloween fading into memory and November bringing crisp air and the scent of distant woodsmoke, Violet found herself preparing the sitting room of the Tonks household for something new. A few days had passed since the night everything changed—not just the confrontation with Dumbledore, but the moment Maisie and Leila's parents learned the truth about their daughters and the strange, inexplicable things they'd been doing since early childhood.

Now, Violet stood in the centre of the warmly lit room, her black and white hair braided neatly over one shoulder, dressed comfortably but with the quiet strength she always carried. A light fire crackled in the hearth. Rose sat nearby on the floor with Eira perched beside her, the snowy owl preening quietly. Hedwig dozed on the top edge of the armchair behind them, one golden eye occasionally blinking open. Macha curled lazily along the rug while Anand dozed near the door, her flank rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm that matched the hush in the air.

Maisie and Leila sat cross-legged on the carpet, their eyes wide with a mix of excitement and curiosity. Their parents were chatting quietly in the kitchen with Andromeda, who had offered to handle the deeper explanations of magical society, schooling, and what the future might hold for their children. Violet had been grateful for the offer; it let her focus on what she found herself enjoying more and more—teaching. Something about guiding young minds, especially ones so full of wonder, gave her a quiet sense of hope.

"Alright," Violet began, her voice calm and warm, drawing the attention of the three girls. She knelt to their level, her wand resting in her palm. "Today, I’m going to show you a few simple magical principles. You won’t be able to cast spells for a few more years, but that doesn’t mean you can’t understand them. And learning how magic works now? That makes it so much easier later."

Rose beamed with quiet pride, already familiar with this style of lesson. Violet had been teaching her magical theory for a couple of months now, easing her into concepts like magical focus, intent, and how different magical energies felt to the senses.

"Think of magic," Violet continued, holding up a hand and conjuring a soft, glowing orb of light, "like a part of you that wants to help shape the world around you. But it doesn’t just come out on its own. It needs your thoughts, your feelings, and your focus to give it shape."

Leila tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowed. "So it's like painting with your thoughts?"

Violet's lips curved into a smile. "Exactly. That’s a beautiful way to put it. Magic is creativity and emotion and thought, all tied together."

She moved through a few minor demonstrations—floating a teacup gently through the air, making a few flowers bloom from the potted plant near the window, showing how different wands can affect the casting of the same spell. The girls watched in rapt silence, occasional gasps of delight escaping as they leaned forward.

Maisie, true to her chaotic nature, tried to imitate the wand movements with a stick she’d picked up from outside earlier, her face scrunched in determined concentration. Rose giggled, encouraging her, while Leila asked thoughtful questions about why Violet said intent mattered more than words.

Throughout it all, Violet remained patient and kind, never talking down to them, explaining concepts in ways that connected to things they knew: how spells were like songs with a tune you had to match, how wands chose their owners like cats choosing their favourite person, and how accidental magic was normal—especially when emotions got big.

She let them feel different wands—none active for casting, but each subtly pulsing with its own unique magical resonance. Rose lit up when she held each one, describing how some felt like whispers or warmth. But always, her fingers would linger on one particular wand—Violet’s own Elder Wand, which she only ever allowed Rose to touch directly. It pulsed beneath Rose’s hands with a familiar thrum, and though she didn’t understand why, it always made her feel safe, like something ancient and watchful saw her as its own. Maisie swore one of the other wands tingled like mischief, while Leila simply smiled, her fingers resting lightly on a third wand longer than the rest, as if she were listening to something deep inside it that no one else could hear.

For a morning filled with quiet wonder and new beginnings, the house felt calm. And Violet, though tired from the weight of recent events, found something warm blooming in her chest. Not just pride for Rose, or fondness for Maisie and Leila’s eager minds, but something more deeply rooted—the sense that this, maybe, was the kind of life she had once believed she could never have. A peaceful moment. A purpose beyond survival. A place she didn’t need to run from.

And she held onto it tightly, letting herself believe, if only for today, that she was building something worth keeping.

~

After the impromptu overview of magic for the kids and the more in-depth conversation their parents had with Andromeda, the house felt brighter, warmer—buzzing not with spells but with the energy of understanding and relief. The parents were grateful, thanking Andromeda sincerely for opening her home and helping them understand this new world their children would one day enter.

Upstairs, the girls had already dashed toward Rose's room, laughter echoing from the hallway. Andromeda gave Violet a knowing smile as the witch quietly excused herself to check on them.

Violet climbed the stairs slowly, her steps quiet on the carpeted landing. When she reached Rose’s room, the door was slightly ajar, letting soft light and the hum of giggles spill into the hallway. She leaned against the doorframe and peeked inside.

Rose sat on her bed with Eira nestled comfortably in her lap, the little snowy owl chick preening happily. Her fingers absently stroked the soft down of Eira's feathers as she chatted with Leila and Maisie. Leila was cross-legged near the headboard, calmly drawing something in her sketchpad—some swirling stars and what looked like a girl with wings. Maisie sat on the floor with Anand sprawled across her legs, the loyal husky practically melting under the enthusiastic petting. Maisie was already mid-story, wildly gesturing with one hand as she spoke, clearly embellishing every detail for dramatic effect.

Macha was curled up at the foot of the bed, her feline body draped like a living shadow across the blankets. Her sleek black fur shimmered faintly in the dim light, her paws tucked beneath her as her tail twitched now and then, ears flicking at the sounds of laughter. Eyes half-lidded, she let the warm chatter lull her into something close to sleep.

Outside the window, through the shifting curtain, Violet spotted Badb and Hedwig circling lazily under the early evening sky, two graceful shadows against the fading light.

For a moment, Violet just watched them—this scene of joy and peace that felt almost too gentle to be real. Her heart ached, not with sadness, but with a fragile kind of hope. These were the memories Rose deserved. This was the life she should have had.

She slipped away from the door without announcing herself, letting the girls have this moment together. As she descended the stairs, her chest felt both heavy and full—a quiet resolve settling in her bones. If it was up to her, this world would not take from these girls what it had taken from her. Not again.

~

The house was quiet now, the echo of laughter and small footsteps finally faded into the hush of sleeping children. Upstairs, Rose, Maisie, and Leila slept nestled in a pile of blankets and plush animals, the peaceful rhythm of their breathing undisturbed by the weight that pressed down on Violet's shoulders.

She sat in the living room, cross-legged in front of the fire, its gentle flicker casting long shadows against the walls. The notebook in her lap was old, the spine fraying and the pages full—overfilled, really—with scribbled notes, fragments of half-recalled prophecies, maps with circles and Xs, and underlined words that stood out like screams on the page. Names. Places. Objects. Horcruxes. All penned in her small, tight script.

It looked, to anyone else, like the scattered thoughts of someone teetering on the edge of obsession.

But to Violet, it was a roadmap to making sure that the future she and Rose were building would not be stolen by the ghosts of her past.

She stared down at one name, her fingers pressing into the page until the paper crinkled. Tom Riddle. The bastard who kept surviving. The reason she'd nearly lost everything once—and still could.

She didn’t hear Nymphadora enter until the couch beside her dipped slightly. Violet looked up, startled, the firelight catching the worry on Dora’s face.

"You should be sleeping," Violet said softly, not accusingly, just tired.

Dora ignored the statement, her eyes falling to the chaotic swirl of pages in Violet’s lap. Her jaw tensed slightly.

"You really think it's all still out there? That he left pieces of himself behind here too?"

Violet hesitated, then nodded, the weight of it dragging her shoulders lower. "Yes. The timeline’s different, sure. But he’s too arrogant not to try again. And if I wait—if I keep pretending it’s not my problem anymore—it’ll be Rose who pays the price. Maybe Maisie. Maybe Leila. And I can't—" her voice caught, and she swallowed hard. "I can’t let that happen. Not again."

Dora was silent for a moment. Then she reached over, her fingers brushing against Violet’s hand before curling gently around it. Her tone was soft, but resolute. "Then don’t do it alone this time."

Violet blinked at her, as if those words cracked something open. "I can’t drag you into this. You don’t know what it’s like—what it’ll cost."

"Don’t I?" Dora interrupted, firm but not unkind. Her grip tightened ever so slightly. "You said in your world I stood with you. That I fought. Died, even. Maybe I’m not exactly her, but I’m still me, Vi. And I’m still a damn good Auror-in-training with a knack for learning fast and punching harder."

She drew in a breath, her voice lowering, filled with something raw and real. "But it’s not just that. It’s you. I care about you. I care about Rose. And if you’re going after something like this—something that dark and dangerous—I don’t want to stand back and watch you get torn apart by it. I want to be there. Beside you. Not behind you."

She paused, searching Violet’s expression, her next words almost whispered. "So teach me. Everything. Because I’m not going to let you carry this alone."

Violet stared at her for a long, aching moment, her heart hammering. That storm inside—the one that always loomed—slowed just a little. The calm in Dora’s gaze became something to anchor herself to.

Finally, Violet nodded, her voice trembling with exhaustion and something softer. "Okay," she whispered. "I will."

And maybe, just maybe, this time, she wouldn’t have to do it all alone.

~

The days that followed settled into a rhythm of quiet intensity, underscored by growing urgency.

When Rose was at school and Nymphadora wasn’t at work, Violet trained her. Their training sessions were long and demanding, a fierce dance of spell and counterspell that left them breathless and sore—but stronger. Violet didn’t hold back, and Nymphadora never once asked her to. Each day was a lesson shaped by war, experience, and the sheer will to survive. Violet taught with unflinching clarity, every instruction shaped by years on the battlefield. From ducking behind cover to casting layered shield spells, from chaining silent curses together to disarming an opponent mid-air—there was no room for hesitation.

"You’ve got the power," Violet said one afternoon, panting slightly after disarming Dora for the third time in a row. Her wand still trembled from the force of the final spell. "But you need to trust your instincts. You hesitate, and it’ll get you killed."

Nymphadora, sprawled on the mat and flushed with exertion, laughed breathlessly. "Says the woman with a war carved into her bones."

"Exactly," Violet replied, reaching down to help her up. "I lived through it. I don’t want you to just survive—I want you to walk out of every fight standing."

But their focus wasn’t only on battle tactics. Their true war room wasn’t in the basement, but in the attic above—a space Dora had quickly nicknamed the "War Room," though even she had admitted it now resembled something far beyond that. What had begun with a few pinned maps had transformed into a chamber of strategy and obsession. Massive wall-spanning maps of Britain and Europe were dotted with colored pins and threads linking key locations—Tom Riddle’s known haunts, sites of magical anomalies, whispered legends of cursed objects.

Books, parchments, and folders spilled from shelves and tables, the accumulated knowledge of two lifetimes. There were ancient texts from the Black family vaults, rare magical theory scrolls lent by Andromeda, and journals full of Violet’s own meticulous notes. Lists of artifacts, family trees of the Gaunts and other dark lineages, sketched diagrams of protective enchantments and soul magic—all of it filled the room.

"It’s like a conspiracy theorist’s dream," Dora murmured one evening, spinning slowly in place to take it all in. "All that’s missing is a wall of red string."

Violet smirked, flipping through a pile of notes. "We have magical thread. Maybe we’re just classier."

Downstairs, Ted worked tirelessly in parallel. While the Ministry’s files on Death Eater activity were distressingly empty, his focus remained razor-sharp on another front: Sirius Black. Through hushed conversations with legal contacts, handwritten letters to archivists, and long nights combing through dusty records, he built a slow but steady case. Still, there were no trial transcripts, no defence testimony—only an arrest warrant filled with holes and a cold transfer slip to Azkaban.

Every time he passed Violet a folder over breakfast or dinner, she felt the weight behind it. This wasn’t just justice for Sirius. It was a piece of her broken world finally being made right.

Andromeda supported them in her own quiet ways. She brought tea to the attic without comment, handed Violet new tomes without being asked, and treated her injuries from training with a healer’s steady touch. She never said much, but her presence was a comfort that grounded the whirlwind of preparation.

In those chaotic days of training, study, and planning, something steady began to take root. A sense of purpose. Of shared burden. For the first time in years, Violet didn’t feel like she was fighting alone. And with Nymphadora beside her, sharp and steady and unyielding, she dared to hope she wouldn’t have to again.

~~

The winter winds howled across the craggy cliffs, bringing with them salt and rain in equal measure. Violet stood at the edge of the stormy coast, her boots anchored on slick stone, her black leather jacket plastered to her shoulders by wind and water. Behind her, Macha curled low to the ground in her feline form, muscles tense beneath her sleek fur. Anand stood beside her, ever-watchful, her pale eyes scanning the horizon with quiet intensity. Badb circled overhead, her wings outstretched against the slate sky, a harbinger of what was to come.

Only Hedwig was absent, left behind to watch over Rose and Eira. Violet's chest ached slightly at the thought, but she steeled herself with a breath of briny air. This was necessary.

Before her loomed a dark, jagged cliffside, and nestled within it, almost invisible to the untrained eye, was the narrow, hidden entrance to the cave. Violet stepped forward, drawing a sharp breath as she pulled a ceremonial dagger from her belt. The blade kissed her palm in a single, clean motion, and her blood mingled with the falling rain. She pressed her hand to the stone, murmuring an incantation in an older tongue.

For a long, breathless moment, nothing happened. Then the stone shimmered, pulsed with faint green light, and groaned as the cave mouth slowly opened. Violet stepped into the darkness without hesitation, her wand slipping into her free hand.

"Lumos," she whispered.

Light bloomed at the tip, revealing a slick, uneven stone corridor that curved sharply downward. The air grew colder with each step. Water dripped in a steady rhythm from the ceiling, the sound echoing like slow, ticking time.

She emerged into a vast underground cavern, the space stretching so far that her wandlight couldn’t reach the far walls. At its center lay a still, black lake, glasslike and silent. A narrow, jagged ledge wrapped along the edge, and in front of her, a small stone dock extended over the water—where a boat waited.

It was ancient. No oars, no sails. Only a heavy iron chain descending into the inky depths, tethering the boat to the water itself. Violet stepped closer, her breath fogging in the cold, damp air.

She knew what lay ahead. She remembered this place in her old world.

This was where Slytherin's locket had been hidden. She had no reason to think it would be different in this world.

She only hoped she was not too late.

With a glance to Macha and Anand, who followed silently behind her, Violet placed a hand on the edge of the boat and waited to see if it would accept her weight.

Before Violet could step into the boat, a flicker of magic brushed against the edge of her senses. She froze. It wasn’t the dark, oppressive residue of the Horcrux—this was familiar, fiery, and laced with determination.

A voice echoed faintly through the tunnel, bouncing off the slick cave walls. “Violet Potter, if you take one more step into that cursed lake without me, I swear—"

Violet turned slowly, guilt already sinking its claws into her ribs.

Nymphadora emerged from the shadows of the cave entrance, soaked from the sleeting rain outside and still clad in her crimson Auror robes. Her hair, darkened from the rain and clinging to her face, shifted hue with her emotions—now a deep, angry scarlet to match her robes. Her eyes locked onto Violet with a fury that burned hotter than the cold wind howling through the tunnel.

Violet didn’t need to ask how she found her. Badb. Or Hedwig. Or maybe just Dora knowing her too well.

“You—” Nymphadora strode forward, boots echoing against the wet stone. “You absolute, reckless, self-sacrificing idiot. You were going to do this alone? AGAIN? You promised you wouldn’t shut me out.”

Violet tried to speak, but Dora held up a hand, breath hitching, her voice tight. “No. Not here. Not now. I am not yelling in a cave soaked with cursed magic. But when we get home, we are going to have a very, very long conversation.”

Violet swallowed, nodding. “I know. I—I’m sorry.”

Dora didn’t say anything. She just moved to stand beside Violet, staring at the boat and the dark water beyond. Her anger simmered, but so did the weight of fear beneath it. Not fear of the cave—of losing Violet. Again.

Anand stepped beside Dora, offering a low, almost canine huff of solidarity. Macha slithered down from Violet’s shoulders and perched nearby, watchful.

“Next time,” Dora said quietly, her voice still taut with emotion, “you wait for me. Because I’m not letting you walk into the dark alone again.”

Violet glanced at her, and the resolve in her chest felt a little less like a burden, and a little more like shared armor.

They turned together toward the boat, side by side, the lake before them waiting.

The boat glided silently across the still, black water, pulled steadily by the chain submerged beneath the lake. Neither Violet nor Nymphadora spoke, the only sounds the soft splash of the boat's passage and the distant echoes of the storm raging beyond the cave walls. The air was thick with damp cold, the kind that sank into bone and spirit.

Violet sat near the bow, her wand casting a pale, steady glow ahead of them. The expression on her face was carved from stone, her eyes fixed forward, haunted by more than just the darkness around them. Beside her, Nymphadora was equally silent, tension simmering beneath her stillness. Her red Auror robes were damp with seawater, her eyes sharp and watchful.

As they approached the small, rocky island in the center of the underground lake, the shape of the crystal bowl came into view. It stood atop a weathered stone plinth, glowing faintly in the wandlight. Within it shimmered a clear, still liquid, and beside it, resting in a small niche, sat a crystal chalice.

Violet's breath caught slightly, and her voice, when it came, was quiet, low, as though afraid to stir the cave too harshly.

"This is it," she said. "Just like in my world. This place... it's almost exactly the same."

Nymphadora said nothing, watching her closely.

Violet kept her eyes on the bowl. "Dumbledore brought me here when I was sixteen. Said he needed me. Said I had to see it, to understand the war. But mostly, I think... he needed someone else to drink the potion."

She took a shaky breath and stared down at her gloved hands. "He made me drink it. All of it. Said not to touch the water. That it was cursed. But the potion..."

She swallowed thickly.

"The potion shows you what you fear. Your worst memories, twisted and stretched until you can barely breathe. He made me drink until I was sobbing. Until I begged. He just kept forcing it down my throat."

Her voice cracked, and her hand gripped the edge of her coat until the leather creaked.

Nymphadora finally spoke, her voice low and burning with protective fury. "He made you drink that? You were just a kid."

Violet nodded, still staring at the bowl. "And now I have to do it again."

"You don’t," Dora said, stepping closer. "Not alone. Not this time."

Violet turned to look at her, eyes shadowed with remembered pain but softened with gratitude. The boat bumped gently against the rocky shore, the cave silent around them.

"Let me help," Nymphadora said.

Together, they stepped from the boat onto the stone, the weight of the past heavy in Violet’s bones—but no longer hers to bear alone.

They stood in tense silence, the crystal basin before them shimmering softly in the wandlight. The air was unnaturally still, as if the cave itself were holding its breath.

Violet stepped closer, her eyes fixed on the bowl with grim resolve. The liquid within looked deceptively harmless, but she knew better. Her hand reached for the chalice, fingers curling around the smooth crystal stem with practiced familiarity. She turned slightly as she raised it, only to feel Nymphadora's firm hand wrap around her wrist.

"Are you sure?" Nymphadora's voice was low but urgent, her eyes searching Violet's face. "You don’t have to be the one to drink it. There has to be another way."

Violet met her gaze, softening for a heartbeat. "I’m sure," she said quietly. "I've done it before. I know what to expect... more or less. Better me than you." She hesitated, then added, her voice slightly hoarse, "Just... make sure I drink all of it. That’s the only way to get to the Horcrux."

Nymphadora's jaw clenched, her grip tightening before she nodded. "Fine. But I hate this plan."

"So do I," Violet whispered.

She dipped the chalice into the potion. As she lifted it to her lips, the first sip sent a shiver through her, the taste acrid and cold. She flinched but forced herself to swallow.

The second sip came with a flicker of darkness at the edge of her vision. Memories stirred, warped by the potion's cruel magic.

By the third, she was trembling.

Images clawed at her mind—the smell of smoke and ash, the weight of broken bodies in her arms, the sound of Rose screaming, the crack of spells and the silence of death. Her breaths came faster, and her grip on the chalice faltered.

"Violet," Nymphadora said urgently, catching the cup before it fell. Violet looked up at her, her pupils blown wide with fear, sweat trickling down her temple.

"More," Violet rasped, her voice ragged. "Have to finish."

Nymphadora hesitated only a second before raising the chalice again, guiding it to Violet's lips.

"I'm here. Just hold on to me," she said, her voice gentler now, trembling slightly as she watched Violet choke down another mouthful.

Violet gasped, flinching away, but Nymphadora followed, arm steady, her other hand bracing Violet as she knelt beside her. Violet sobbed between gulps, her body wracked with the images burning in her mind—visions of lifeless eyes, the ruins of Hogwarts, the bodies of her friends and family, twisted and broken.

"No more," Violet pleaded as the pain deepened. "Please..."

"Just a little more," Nymphadora whispered, though tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. "You’re almost there. I’ve got you. I’m right here."

She tilted the final drops into Violet's mouth, holding her close as Violet convulsed with sobs and shudders. The chalice clattered to the stone floor, empty at last.

Violet collapsed into Nymphadora’s arms, barely conscious, her body shaking violently, her breath ragged and broken. Nymphadora held her tight, her own face pale with anger and grief.

As Violet whimpered, haunted and fragile, Nymphadora whispered fiercely into her ear, "Never again. You're never doing this alone again."

And beneath the surface of the basin, something shimmered—a dark glint of metal finally visible through the clearing potion, a locket.

Nymphadora held Violet tightly, one of Violet's arms slung over her shoulders as she supported her weight. Violet trembled violently, pale and barely conscious, her breathing ragged and shallow from the effects of the potion. Gritting her teeth, Nymphadora reached out with her free hand and snatched the locket from the crystal basin.

"Hang on, Vi," Nymphadora whispered, her voice tight with emotion. She reached deep within herself, gathering her magical strength. Around her, Macha, Anand, and Badb surged forward, their eyes glowing faintly as they lent their energy. With a crackling hum, their combined magic wrapped around her like a protective shroud, breaking through the ancient wards that surrounded the cave.

With a thunderous crack , they vanished from the cave and reappeared in the garden behind the Tonks house. The cold night air was filled with tension as the sound echoed into the sky.

Andromeda burst through the back door at the sound, already assessing the scene before her eyes could fully adjust. "What happened? What did she do?"

"The potion," Nymphadora said quickly, her voice hoarse. "It was in the basin with the Horcrux. She made me force it down. It—it shows you your worst nightmares. She's been through this before, she knew what it would do, but it was worse this time. I had to—"

"Bring her inside," Andromeda ordered, her healer instincts already kicking into high gear.

They moved quickly into the living room. Andromeda cleared a space on the couch and laid Violet down, her own wand already in hand, casting diagnostic spells even before Nymphadora fully stepped back.

From the hallway, Rose appeared, rubbing her eyes sleepily—only for them to widen in horror at the sight of Violet on the couch, pale and trembling. "Mum!"

She tried to run to her, but Nymphadora knelt and gently caught her, pulling her into a firm but gentle embrace. "She's going to be okay, Rose. Andi's helping her now. She just needs some time to recover."

Rose clutched at Nymphadora, burying her face in her shoulder but keeping her tear-filled eyes locked on Violet. Her small frame shook, and her fingers clung to Nymphadora's robes like a lifeline, instinctively turning to the woman who had quietly become another maternal anchor in her world. Eira flew in from the top of the stairs, perching on the back of the couch beside Hedwig, who ruffled her feathers in agitation. Badb circled once overhead before landing beside them, her keen gaze flicking between Violet and the others. Anand and Macha stood guard nearby, their gazes unwavering and protective, their presence radiating quiet strength.

Andromeda, meanwhile, had summoned a small case from the cupboard and selected two glowing vials. "This one's the stabilizer," she murmured to herself, then louder: "Hold her steady."

Nymphadora gently laid Rose down beside her on the couch and stepped in to support Violet again as Andromeda uncorked the potion and carefully tipped it into Violet's mouth. Violet flinched, instinctively resisting even in her unconscious state, but Nymphadora stroked her hair and whispered soothing words.

"You're safe now, Vi. You're home. It's over."

The tension began to bleed out of Violet's body as the antidote took effect. Her breathing evened, the pallor in her face began to fade, and the shaking lessened. Andromeda sat back with a breath of relief.

"She'll need rest, but she'll be alright."

Nymphadora sat beside her, Rose crawling back into her lap, and the three of them stayed close, refusing to leave Violet's side. The locket sat on the coffee table, encased in protective wards, its presence a chilling reminder of what they'd just been through—and what still lay ahead.

After a few long moments on the couch, the tension slowly draining from the room, Nymphadora stirred. Carefully shifting Rose from her lap to the cushion beside her, she leaned in and kissed the top of the girl's head. "Alright, sweetheart," she said softly, brushing a lock of hair behind Rose's ear. "Time to get ready for bed. I’ll be in to tuck you in shortly."

Rose hesitated for a moment, glancing at Violet again with wide, uncertain eyes, her fingers clinging to the hem of Nymphadora’s shirt. But after a quiet moment and a soft nod from Violet, she gave a small nod of her own and padded off toward her room, clutching her wolf plushie tightly to her chest.

Nymphadora turned her full attention back to Violet, who still looked utterly spent. Her body sagged against the cushions, her breath slow and uneven, her green eyes hazy with lingering exhaustion. Without a word, Nymphadora slid her arm around Violet's waist, her other hand steadying her shoulder, and gently helped her to her feet.

The walk upstairs was slow and quiet. Violet leaned heavily against Nymphadora, her weight a silent testament to how much the potion had taken out of her. She moved as if her body were full of lead, her steps unsure, but never once did Nymphadora rush her. Her grip was secure, her presence a steady anchor.

Once in the bedroom, Nymphadora helped Violet sit on the edge of the bed. Violet’s damp clothes clung to her, soaked through with rain, sweat, and the residual chill from the cave. Nymphadora crouched down and began to help her undress. The silence between them was comfortable, soft. Violet winced occasionally, the aftermath of the potion still biting through her nerves, but Nymphadora was gentle, her touch tender and unhurried.

When she had Violet out of her soaked clothes, she guided her into a fresh pair of sleep shorts and a loose, comfortable shirt that clung gently to her damp skin. Violet let out a soft sigh of relief as the cool damp was replaced by dry, warm comfort. Then, slowly, she reached for Nymphadora’s hand.

"Stay with me?" Violet asked, her voice barely a whisper. Her bright green eyes shimmered with vulnerability and trust, her fingers trembling slightly.

Nymphadora smiled softly, her heart aching at the raw openness in Violet’s expression. "Of course," she said, her voice just as gentle, squeezing Violet’s hand with reassuring warmth.

She left only briefly to the adjoining bathroom to change, slipping into her own sleepwear—a pair of soft cotton sleep shorts and a tank top that left her arms and shoulders bare. Her hair had shifted shades in her absence, soft lilac streaks winding through her brown curls, a quiet echo of her worry and affection.

As she stepped back into the hallway, she found Rose standing outside Violet’s room, small and hesitant, her plush wolf still clutched tightly to her chest. She glanced up, unsure, her lips trembling as though she didn’t know if she was allowed to come in.

Nymphadora's expression softened. She bent down, opening her arms. "Come on, love," she said, her voice warm and certain.

Rose ran the short distance into her arms, and Nymphadora gently guided her into the bedroom. Violet had already slid under the covers and opened her arms again when she saw them. Rose didn’t hesitate this time—she climbed into the bed and immediately nestled into Violet’s embrace, her head resting over Violet’s heart.

Nymphadora crossed to the other side of the bed, sliding in behind Violet with practiced ease. She reached over and drew the covers up over all three of them. As she settled in, her bare legs tangled softly with Violet’s beneath the blanket, and her arm slipped around both Violet and Rose, protective and gentle.

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the side of Violet's neck, her lips lingering in a quiet moment of intimacy. Her breath was warm against Violet’s skin, and her touch radiated silent devotion.

Violet sighed, deeply, finally relaxing into the warmth of her family. Her heart beat steadily, soothed by Rose’s small breaths against her chest and Nymphadora’s steady presence behind her.

Outside, the wind rustled the branches, but within the room, there was only warmth, love, and healing. In that quiet cocoon, a fragile peace held strong, knit together by love that was no longer just beginning to bloom—it was already quietly taking root.

The next morning came wrapped in a pale, cold light that filtered through the curtains. Violet stirred first, her body aching and her thoughts still heavy with the aftershocks of the night before. Rose had nestled between her and Nymphadora during the night and was now clutching Violet’s side tightly, her face tucked into Violet’s shoulder.

When she did wake, Rose was extra clingy, quiet in a way that told Violet she remembered the chaos and pain from the night before. But after a quiet breakfast with the family and a reassuring cuddle with both Violet and Nymphadora, she insisted on going to school.

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" Violet asked, brushing Rose’s hair behind her ear.

Rose gave a small but determined nod. "I want to go. I have to tell Leila and Maisie about...about the sleepover. And I feel better today."

Violet shared a look with Nymphadora, who nodded gently, and together, they walked Rose to school. Rose clung tightly to both of them on the way there, but by the time they reached the gate, she gave them a small smile and ran off to join her friends. Nymphadora kept her arm draped protectively around Violet’s shoulders as they watched her go.

Back at the house, Violet sank onto the living room couch with a soft groan. She still looked pale, her movements sluggish with lingering exhaustion. Nymphadora sat right beside her, her presence grounding.

Andromeda entered the room a moment later, her healer’s gaze sweeping over Violet. "You should still be in bed, Violet. You need more rest."

Violet shook her head. "Just... let me look at the Horcrux. I need to be sure we got it."

With a sigh, Andromeda relented and summoned the locket from the secure drawer they had placed it in the night before. Violet conjured a smooth, dark stone slab on the coffee table and placed the locket upon it. Her fingers curled around her goblin-forged dagger—the blade etched with runes and infused with basilisk venom from her world.

Taking a breath, she hissed at the locket in Parseltongue. "Open."

Nothing happened.

She frowned. "Open," she said again, sharper.

Still nothing.

Confused, Violet glanced at the others. Andromeda, curious, leaned over and pressed the tiny clasp. With a soft click, the locket popped open.

Inside was no fragment of soul. No foul magic. Only a small, carefully folded piece of parchment.

Nymphadora blinked. "Wait, what—?"

Violet’s breath caught in her throat as she picked up the note and unfolded it.

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.

The room was silent for a long moment before Andromeda murmured, "Regulus."

Violet nodded slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. "Regulus Arcturus Black. He took it... he actually took it."

"And if he succeeded," Nymphadora added, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, "then the real Horcrux is somewhere else entirely. And maybe... maybe he tried to destroy it."

Violet stared at the locket, her green eyes locked on the message inside. R.A.B. The letters burned themselves into her memory. The tension that had been coiled so tightly inside her since the night in the cave finally snapped.

"No..." she whispered. Then louder, more anguished, "No!"

She shoved herself off the couch, the blanket falling from her lap as she surged to her feet. The conjured stone slab holding the locket rattled against the coffee table, her magic reacting to her sudden fury.

"Weeks of planning, digging, nearly dying drinking that cursed potion, for this ?!" Violet roared, her voice cracking under the weight of her fury. The very air around her seemed to vibrate, lights flickering as her magic surged in jagged waves, seeking release.

Nymphadora immediately stood beside her but didn’t reach out, recognizing the brittle edge in Violet’s posture—the kind of fury that came from a heart already too cracked to endure more. Andromeda, face unreadable, calmly stepped back, her hands folded and ready if needed.

"I should have seen it!" Violet shouted, pacing back and forth like a storm bottled in human form. "I should have double-checked, triple-checked, but I remembered ! I remembered the Horcrux being there! That was supposed to be the one I knew !"

She spun suddenly and struck the stone slab with her hand, the pain sharp and grounding, but not nearly enough to dull the blaze in her chest. Her breathing came fast and shallow, chest rising and falling in panicked rhythm.

"I made us go through that agony for nothing . I drank every drop of that nightmare. I let you watch that, Dora—I made you watch me suffer, and for what? For a note! A damned note !"

Her voice broke on the last word, her rage now dancing with grief, despair bubbling up beneath it like acid. Her hands trembled violently as she clutched her hair, fighting to keep herself from shattering entirely. Her magic, still raw and volatile, crackled faintly around her like static clinging to her skin.

"I keep failing," she gasped, her voice catching on the sharp edge of her emotions. "No matter how hard I fight, how much I plan—it’s like he’s always ten steps ahead. Like I’m always too late."

Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, gasping for breath, the weight of disappointment, of guilt, of accumulated pain bearing down on her chest like a boulder. Her mind raced with images—the cave, the potion, the sound of Rose’s small voice, the way Nymphadora’s eyes had looked as she was forced to pour another goblet of poison into her mouth. The ache in her chest intensified into something deeper, something older.

"I thought..." she whispered, eyes squeezed shut. "I thought if I could just destroy one , then maybe I wouldn’t feel like this broken, useless thing. Maybe I could feel like I was making up for everything I couldn't stop before."

Nymphadora finally stepped closer, her hand gently brushing against Violet's arm. "Vi, stop. Breathe. You're not thinking clearly. This wasn’t your fault. We have a name now. Regulus Black. That’s something. That’s a lead."

Violet turned away, curling slightly into herself as if trying to hold herself together. "It feels like we’re right back at the start," she said, her voice barely audible. "Like I'm useless. I should have—I should be better than this."

Nymphadora crouched beside her and took her hands, holding them tightly. "You're not useless. You're exhausted, and frustrated, and grieving. But you're not useless. You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes. You’re human. We wouldn't be this far without you. And we will find the real Horcrux. Together."

Violet shook her head again, tears now falling freely, anger slipping into sorrow. "He always stays ahead of me. Even now, even in this world. And I’m so tired. So tired of chasing, of fighting, of hoping."

Andromeda stepped forward at last, her voice calm but firm, eyes soft with understanding. "You're allowed to feel angry. You’re allowed to grieve setbacks. But don’t let this trick of his defeat you. You survived that cave. You protected your family. That is not nothing, Violet. That is everything ."

The weight of their words slowly began to settle in her bones, grounding her through the tremors. Violet let out a shaky, uneven breath and finally sank back down onto the couch, her head in her hands, her whole body limp with exhaustion.

She whispered, voice barely audible through the lingering tremble, "I just wanted to be done with at least one of them... Just one..."

Nymphadora sat beside her again, her hand warm and grounding in Violet’s trembling grasp. "Then let’s find Regulus," she said softly. "And let’s finish what he started. Together. No more doing this alone."

~

Violet sat curled up on the couch, still drained, wrapped in a thick blanket. The fire in the hearth had dwindled to warm embers, but its comfort lingered. Nymphadora sat beside her, legs tucked beneath her, gently rubbing small circles into Violet's back with the heel of her palm.

Andromeda entered the room with a small tray—tea, toast, and a fresh potion vial nestled among the china. She set it down on the table in front of Violet and fixed her daughter and Violet with the sort of look only a healer—and a mother—could master.

"You're not doing anything today, Violet."

Violet blinked, stiffening slightly. "Andromeda, I—"

"No," Andromeda said firmly, voice brooking no argument. She crossed her arms, all kindness still present in her eyes, but steel in her tone. "You could have died yesterday. You're running on stubbornness and trauma. You will rest. Today is not a debate."

Violet opened her mouth to protest again, but Nymphadora tightened her hand around Violet's, her touch gentle but supportive. "Just for today, Vi," she murmured. "You promised you'd let us help carry this."

Andromeda gave a small nod of approval before continuing, her tone softening. "I'll follow up the Regulus lead. He was my cousin, after all. If anyone can begin to trace his last movements, it's me. I'll start with Grimmauld Place. Kreacher might know something"

Violet hesitated, her fingers curling in the blanket, the protest dying on her lips. There was a tiredness in her bones that even magic couldn't touch.

Andromeda stepped closer, gently brushing a lock of black-and-white hair from Violet's face. "Let me do this, dear. I know how much you carry. But you are not alone."

She turned to Nymphadora then, arching an eyebrow with a small, knowing smirk. "And you. Look after her. And not just because she looks tragically handsome when brooding."

Nymphadora flushed slightly, giving her mother an exasperated but amused look. "Mum."

"What? I'm old, not blind. You're good for each other. You steady each other. Violet lets you be serious, and you remind her what it means to be young again."

Violet managed a soft chuckle, her voice hoarse but warm. "She does that."

Andromeda smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to Nymphadora's curls and giving Violet's shoulder a squeeze. "I'll be back by dinner. You, rest. You, make sure she does."

With that, she swept out of the room with the grace of someone who had managed battles both magical and maternal. The front door shut softly behind her, leaving Nymphadora and Violet in the hush of the living room.

Violet leaned her head against Nymphadora's shoulder, letting out a slow breath. "She’s scarier than any Dark Wizard I ever fought."

Nymphadora grinned, resting her cheek on top of Violet's head. "You’ll thank her later. Now, finish your tea. Then I’m dragging you back to bed. No arguments."

~

Nymphadora gently helped Violet back into bed, one arm wrapped around her waist as she guided her into the softness of the blankets. The late morning light filtered in through the curtains, casting a warm, gentle glow around the room. With practiced tenderness, Dora fluffed a pillow behind Violet's back, making sure she was comfortable before sitting on the edge of the bed to set an alarm charm beside them.

"There," she said softly, brushing a lock of hair from Violet's face. "That way you won't worry about missing Rose. We’ll wake up with plenty of time."

Violet nodded slowly, her expression worn and conflicted. She let herself be coaxed back into the bed, curling instinctively toward Nymphadora as the other woman climbed in behind her. Dora's arms encircled Violet without hesitation, pulling her close so that Violet’s back rested against her chest. The steady beat of Dora’s heart against her spine was grounding, soothing. But underneath that calm, Violet trembled.

For a while they just lay there in silence, letting the quiet calm them. Then, with a small breath, Dora spoke.

"Most of the anger I had yesterday... it wasn’t really anger. It was fear, Vi. I was terrified. You just left. Went off to drink poison on your own. I kept picturing what I’d find, if I found you too late."

Her voice trembled slightly as she continued, “And yeah, part of it was me feeling like... maybe you didn’t trust me to have your back. Even after all the training. After everything.”

Violet’s eyes filled with tears almost instantly. She turned slowly in Dora’s arms until she faced her, her hands lifting to hold Dora’s waist tightly, as though anchoring herself. Her heart was pounding with guilt and desperation, but her voice came out barely above a whisper.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head fiercely. “That’s not it. Dora, I trust you more than anyone. I do. I just...” Her voice cracked and she pressed their foreheads together, eyes closing as the tears slipped down her cheeks. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want you to have to watch me suffer like that. I didn’t want you to see me... broken.”

She swallowed thickly, the words harder to get out. "And I didn’t want to risk you. I know you’re strong. I know you’ve been training. But all I can remember is how many people followed me into danger and never came back. How many people I couldn’t protect. Including you. In my old world, you died, Dora. You died fighting by my side. I held your body. I screamed when I realised I’d lost you. I see it in my nightmares still."

Dora’s breath caught, her arms tightening around Violet’s waist, drawing her in even closer.

“I want you with me,” Violet said, voice trembling. “I need you with me. But I don’t know how to stop being scared. How to stop seeing the worst possible outcome. I don’t know how to let myself have this, have you, without thinking it’ll all be taken away again. I’m trying. I will try. I promise. I just... I need time to heal.”

Dora leaned in, brushing her nose lightly against Violet’s, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, her own eyes glassy. “Then we’ll take that time together,” she said gently. “You don’t have to fix everything alone. You’re not alone anymore, Vi. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. We’ll work on this. On us . Together.”

She let her fingers trail lightly down Violet’s arm, their skin touching in a quiet intimacy that said more than words ever could. “I know you need time, and I’ll give you all the time in the world. But don’t ever doubt that I want this too. That I want you , not just the parts that are easy, but the ones that are still healing too.”

Violet’s eyes filled again, but this time it wasn’t just pain—it was a relief so profound it left her breathless. “I do want more,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I want you . I just... don’t know how to be good at this.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Dora murmured. “You just have to be real. And you already are.”

Violet closed her eyes and exhaled shakily, nodding. She tucked herself tighter into Dora’s embrace, letting the warmth and closeness soothe the ache in her chest, the steady rhythm of Dora’s breathing anchoring her in the moment.

Together. The word felt like hope. Like the start of something she never believed she’d get to have. And for the first time, it didn’t feel so impossible.

~~

In the days since the cave, things had shifted quietly, subtly, but undeniably.

It started with Dora staying the night—once, then again, and again, until neither of them questioned it. It had never been explicitly said, no words spoken to claim the space or define the change. But every evening, they brushed teeth together, changed into their sleep clothes side by side, and curled beneath the same blanket.

Then came the drawer. One morning Violet opened it to find one of Dora’s tank tops tucked neatly next to her own things. A week later, a second drawer had been filled with folded sleep shorts and socks. Violet never mentioned it, only touching the fabric softly before closing it again with a quiet smile.

Her shampoo appeared in the en suite a few days after that—a scent Violet quickly grew to associate with comfort and closeness. Dora’s spare wand holster rested beside Violet’s. A second mug appeared on the dresser, this one in a bright orange with animated kittens that purred when it held hot tea.

And one evening, returning from helping Rose with her homework, Violet entered the bedroom and found Dora’s boots lined up beside her own at the foot of the bed. Sturdy, practical. Worn and weathered. Hers.

Something about the sight made Violet pause. Her heart stuttered in a way she didn’t expect, a quiet heat rising behind her eyes. It was such a small thing, unspoken and ordinary. And yet, it was everything.

She stood there for a long moment, one hand brushing over the leather of Dora’s boots, before quietly reaching down to straighten them, placing them flush beside her own. Matching. Equal. Side by side.

They hadn’t named whatever this was—whatever they were—but that didn’t make it less real. The room was becoming theirs .

And as Violet changed into her sleep shirt and felt the warmth of Dora’s arms wrap around her that night, she found she wasn’t afraid of the quiet anymore.

She was learning, slowly, that love didn’t always arrive with declarations or drama.

Sometimes it slipped in gently, in borrowed drawers and boots beside your bed. And that was more than enough.

~

The morning arrived softly, the golden hue of dawn slipping through the curtains in slow, gentle beams. Violet stirred in bed as Dora moved carefully beside her, the rustle of fabric and the quiet click of the wardrobe rousing her. Dora had an early shift today, and though she tried to be quiet, Violet was already half-awake.

"You're up early," Dora whispered, half-smiling as she pulled on her auror uniform trousers.

"You're up early," Violet murmured back, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "So I’m getting up too."

She slid from the bed and padded barefoot across the room. Without needing to say anything more, Violet began helping Dora get ready—handing her shirt, brushing some lint off the jacket, smoothing a crease at her collar. They moved around each other like a quiet morning ritual, soft touches and quiet glances passing between them.

Downstairs, Violet insisted on making breakfast. Dora tried to protest, but the determined look in Violet's eyes cut through her resistance. So she sat at the kitchen table, smiling sleepily while Violet made tea and toast and scrambled eggs, occasionally flicking her eyes up from the pan to check on Dora with a barely-there smile curling at the corner of her lips.

When it was ready, they stood near the door together, Dora’s bag slung over one shoulder. The food was simple, but warm and filling. And as Dora prepared to leave, Violet stepped close, tilting her head gently forward until their foreheads pressed together.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Their noses brushed, a soft friction of shared breath and closeness that held all the emotion a kiss might, without needing one. Eyes fluttered closed, hands brushed over arms. The silent promise lingered between them, unspoken but understood. They hadn’t kissed yet, but this—this was theirs.

“Be safe,” Violet said softly.

“I will,” Dora replied, her voice equally low. "I’ll be back before you know it."

They lingered one second more, then pulled apart. Dora gave a wink as she opened the door, and was gone in a soft crack of Apparition.

Violet remained there a moment longer, hand still raised as if to touch Dora one more time. She let out a soft breath, then turned back toward the kitchen—where Andromeda was already seated, a mug of tea in hand and a knowing smile playing across her face.

"You two are adorable," Andromeda said, her tone light with just enough teasing to make Violet flush.

"We're not…" Violet started, then faltered, realising how ridiculous the denial sounded.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow, amused. "Not what? A couple? Darling, if you’re not a couple, I’ve been living with a romantic drama and didn’t realise it."

Violet rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too, her cheeks tinged faintly pink. She turned to pour herself tea, Dora's mug still sitting beside the stove, half-drunk. Her fingers lingered on the handle.

"We haven’t named it," she said softly, more to herself than anyone else.

Andromeda took a sip of her tea. "Sometimes, names don’t matter. What matters is how you treat each other. And you treat each other like you’ve already built a home together."

Violet sat across from her, warmth blooming in her chest. And for once, she didn’t feel the need to fight it.

Violet and Andromeda sat in the warm glow of the kitchen, the light still soft with early morning hues. The kettle hissed gently on the stove as the two women shared a rare quiet moment, steam curling up from their tea mugs.

Andromeda stirred hers slowly, watching Violet from the corner of her eye. "You’re looking steadier," she said at last. "Stronger."

Violet gave a small, grateful smile as she wrapped her fingers around the mug. "I feel it," she admitted softly. "Still tired, but not like before."

Andromeda nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Good. You’ll need your strength."

Violet raised a brow. "Oh?"

"I’ve been working on Kreacher," Andromeda said, her tone shifting just slightly—into that of the confident, determined woman who had once navigated the dark web of the Black family. "It’s taken a while, and Merlin knows he’s stubborn as an old mountain goat, but I’m fairly certain he knows where the Horcrux is. The one Regulus took."

Violet sat up straighter. Her heart gave a sudden jolt in her chest. "You’re sure?"

"Confident," Andromeda confirmed. "It’s in how he skirts the subject. The little twitches, the way his eyes shift when Regulus is mentioned. He’s protecting something... or someone. Likely both."

Violet bit her bottom lip, mind racing. "So how do we get him to tell us?"

Andromeda smiled faintly. "I’ve got a few ideas. I’m not pushing him too hard—if we want real answers, he needs to trust us. And not feel like we’re using him like... well, like Sirius did."

Violet’s face softened. She thought of the frail, broken elf that had once served the House of Black in her old world. Kreacher had always been more than he seemed.

"Thank you," she said, and her voice carried weight. "For doing this. For him. For Regulus."

Andromeda reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "He was my cousin too. And I may not know exactly what Regulus did or why, but if he died trying to destroy that Horcrux, then he deserves to be remembered for it. And Kreacher deserves to be heard."

The kettle gave a final click as it shut off, and the moment passed, but the warmth lingered. Violet squeezed her hand back, her thoughts already turning ahead. They were closer now. Another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

One step nearer to ending it all.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

X

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

One Saturday afternoon, as November neared its end, the house was warm with the gentle hum of television and the quiet, comfortable company between Violet and Rose. They were curled on the couch in the living room, Rose leaning against Violet's side with Eira nestled beside her, half-dozing to the sound of animated voices on the screen. The world outside was grey with clouds, a faint mist softening the view from the window.

Then the front door opened, and the sound of boots on the floorboards echoed into the room.

Andromeda stepped inside, windblown and triumphant. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with the fierce spark of success. She held herself tall, radiating a quiet urgency. Violet’s instincts stirred the moment she saw her.

"You got it," Violet said, rising swiftly from the couch, heart already thudding.

"He gave it to me," Andromeda replied, her voice hushed with reverence and strain. "I convinced Kreacher it was time. That Regulus would have wanted it destroyed."

Violet didn’t wait. She turned on her heel, grabbing the goblin-silver dagger from the mantel where it always sat in easy reach. Her eyes met Rose’s for a brief moment. "Stay by the door, sweetheart. Please."

Rose nodded, rising with Eira in her arms. The little owl chick fluttered once but stayed close, sensing the shift in the room.

Down in the basement, the air was cool and still. Protective enchantments hummed quietly around the walls, a soft magical buzz from the wards Violet and Andromeda had layered over the weeks. A conjured stone slab stood in the centre of the room, cold and waiting.

Violet stood tall, posture rigid as she rolled her shoulders and shifted her grip on the dagger.

Andromeda gave a soft whistle, and Kreacher appeared, his old eyes cautious but calm. In his hands was a blackened locket that radiated a sickly aura. He stepped forward slowly and placed it with deliberate care on the stone. He didn’t say a word, just gave Violet a respectful nod before vanishing.

Violet stepped forward. The weight of memory pressed down on her shoulders, but her expression didn’t flinch. Her lips parted.

"Open," she hissed in Parseltongue.

The locket shuddered, then the clasps clicked open, and with a snap it sprang wide. At once, tendrils of shadowed magic spilled into the air. Voices—her voice, Sirius’s voice, screaming, accusing, pleading. Glimpses of her worst moments flickered in the edges of her vision.

"You will always fail. You are unworthy. You let them die."

But Violet’s face didn’t change.

Her arm was already moving before the illusions could take shape, before the whispers could twist deeper. With a steady, brutal arc, she slammed the dagger down into the centre of the open locket. The goblin-silver blade, with it's basilisk venom, pierced straight through it.

The Horcrux screamed.

A violent burst of magic exploded outward, windless and hot, and the voice let out one last echoing howl of rage before silencing. The locket crumpled inward, the black mist evaporating into the air, and a soft shimmer ran down the blade as the magic was undone.

Silence followed.

Violet’s chest heaved once, then stilled.

"That’s one more gone," she said, voice quiet but iron strong. She turned to where Rose stood in the doorway, eyes wide but steady. "It’s done."

Andromeda stepped up behind her, resting a hand on Violet’s shoulder. There were no cheers or smiles. Just the quiet knowledge of another piece of darkness erased.

~

After destroying the Horcrux, a shift settled over the house. It wasn’t just the absence of dark magic or the faded pressure that had clung to the corners of Violet’s thoughts since she returned from the cave. It was something quieter, more subtle—a kind of stillness that had been missing for too long. A breath finally exhaled.

The weight that had pressed down on Violet’s shoulders for years seemed to ease, if only slightly. She still didn’t have all the answers. The diary was still out of reach, and she had no real lead on the Gaunt ring. But even so, there was something different about the air that night. The locket was gone. One piece of Voldemort was destroyed, and that was no small thing.

That evening, Violet waited up in the quiet of the house. Rose had gone to bed hours ago, curled up with Eira and her cuddlies. Andromeda and Ted had retired not long after, leaving Violet alone in the warm lamp-lit living room, barefoot and dressed in one of Nymphadora’s oversized sleep shirts—a soft, well-worn thing that smelled faintly of her. It had slowly become Vi's preferred sleepwear, comforting in a way she hadn't expected.

When the familiar sound of the front door opening reached her ears, Violet was already up from the couch, her heart giving a small flutter. Dora stepped in, her red Auror robes damp from the drizzle outside, strands of her hair falling loose and tired around her face.

Violet didn’t hesitate, stepping forward to meet her with quiet purpose. "Let me help," she said softly, already reaching to ease Dora out of her damp outer robe. She hung it on the peg by the door before turning back, her eyes narrowing slightly as they landed on a tear in Dora’s sleeve—a thin line of blood trailing down her arm.

"It's not bad," Dora said, but Violet was already guiding her gently into a chair, summoning the small healing kit they kept tucked away in the corner cabinet.

Violet didn't speak much as she worked, her fingers nimble and sure, cleaning the wound with gentle care and applying a salve that would help with the bruising and sting. Her touch was featherlight, but there was a tension in her jaw—a concentrated frown that made Dora's heart ache.

"You don’t have to fuss," Dora murmured, her voice teasing and fond.

"I want to," Violet replied simply, her voice quiet but firm.

That made Dora smile. Not the wide, wolfish grin she often wore, but something softer, something that made her eyes glow. When Vi finished wrapping the bandage and set the kit aside, Dora reached up and pressed a kiss to Violet’s forehead.

"Thank you," she whispered, her thumb brushing softly over Violet’s cheek. "For being you."

Violet flushed, ducking her head slightly as a small, shy smile tugged at her lips. "Go wash up," she said gently, nudging Dora toward the hall with a hand to her arm. "I’ll warm the bed."

As Dora disappeared into the bathroom, Violet lingered for a moment in the doorway, her hand resting over her chest where her heart still fluttered. She was healing. Not just from the Horcruxes or the nightmares, but from the years of believing she couldn't be soft, couldn't be loved.

Maybe she didn’t have to say the words yet. Maybe she didn’t even know how.

But she was showing them. And Dora understood.

Nymphadora slid under the covers, her movements slow and careful, as though savoring the soft hush of the night. The bedroom was dimly lit, the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains casting silver across the sheets. She wore one of her favorite loose tank tops and a pair of sleep shorts, her skin still faintly warm from her late shower. As she curled up beside Violet, their bare legs met and pressed together beneath the blanket—skin against skin, warm and grounding, sending a subtle shiver through them both.

Violet instinctively shifted closer, her body already tuned to Dora’s presence, already craving it. She buried her face into Dora’s shoulder with a quiet sigh, the scent of her clean skin and familiar warmth soothing the lingering ache in Violet’s chest. Dora wrapped her arms around her with practiced ease, her hand sliding up under Violet’s sleep shirt to rest against the small of her back in a protective, intimate gesture.

Her other hand found its way into Violet’s hair, slowly brushing through the dark strands that had come loose during the long day. Their breathing synchronized as the silence stretched—soft and easy, full of unspoken words and deepening understanding.

"You feel different," Dora murmured eventually, her voice low and drowsy but full of something more—curiosity, affection, quiet wonder. "Lighter. Happier."

Violet hummed faintly in response, her fingers absentmindedly tracing lazy shapes along Dora’s waist. "We destroyed it today," she whispered. "The locket. The Horcrux."

Dora pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, concern flickering first before being replaced by pride. "Yeah? That explains it, then. You’ve felt... I don’t know. Free. Like something heavy finally let go."

Vi nodded, her voice tinged with fatigue and a fragile relief. "It was Kreacher. He’d kept it safe. Andromeda got through to him. We took it down to the basement. I opened it with Parseltongue. It tried to fight—tried to get into my head, to show me things—but I didn’t let it. I struck first. Just... destroyed it."

Dora’s fingers gently brushed Violet’s cheek, her touch full of tenderness. She leaned forward and pressed a long, slow kiss to Violet's forehead, her lips lingering there for a breath longer than before. When she pulled back, her expression was rich with pride, affection, and something deeper, something Violet had never dared hope for.

"I’m proud of you," Dora said softly. "You didn’t let it win. You didn’t let it break you."

Violet’s eyes welled slightly, her throat tightening. She tucked her face back into Dora’s neck, her arms tightening around her waist. The quiet between them deepened into something reverent, something quietly sacred. Their legs remained tangled, bodies tucked together in perfect symmetry, hearts beating in quiet harmony.

It wasn’t passion in the traditional sense. It was more. It was the intimacy of shared silence, of healing hearts wrapped around each other in trust. It was the warmth of fingers brushing against bare skin, of soft sighs and gentle pressure, of finding home in each other without needing to name it.

As Dora’s thumb swept slow, soothing arcs across her back, Violet whispered, barely audible, "Thank you for being here. Even if I don’t know how to say it right."

Dora’s response was to squeeze her closer and murmur into her hair, "You don’t have to say it right. I already know."

In the hush that followed, Violet finally let herself believe it.

And in that soft moment before sleep, she realized just how far she’d come—and how much further she still wanted to go, as long as Dora was there to walk beside her. The room might still technically be hers, but it no longer felt that way. Not really. The toothbrush in the en suite. The boots by the door. The clothes in the drawer. The heartbeat beside her. It was theirs now.

~

Over the next few weeks in the lead-up to Christmas, the Tonks house shifted into something warm and magical—not with spells, but with the slow unfolding of holiday traditions that Violet had never truly known. It wasn’t just for Rose, though her excitement lit up every room she entered. It was for Violet, too. For a lifetime of holidays stolen or scarred. For the pieces of herself that she didn’t yet know how to name, but that were quietly stitching themselves back together with every soft moment.

The tree went up in early December, tucked into the corner of the living room. It wasn’t grand or perfect, but it was theirs. Rose had chosen it from the market with wide eyes and freezing fingers, her breath forming little clouds in the air as she clutched Violet’s hand tightly. That little girl smile—so full of hope and wonder—never failed to reach deep into Violet’s chest and remind her what she was fighting for. When it came time to decorate, Rose became a whirlwind of energy, stringing garland and tinsel with more enthusiasm than precision. A simple bauble she had made at school — cardboard and glitter with her name scribbled across it in uneven letters — took pride of place near the top, carefully hung by Violet herself, as if it were the most precious ornament in the world.

And maybe it was. Because that bauble wasn’t just a decoration. It was proof. That Rose had a school. That she had friends. That she was creating memories. That she had survived, and was thriving.

Violet and Nymphadora had their moments too. Quiet, intimate moments that continued to build on everything they had been growing. A kiss had not yet passed between them, but the space between their hearts grew smaller by the day. Dora would sneak up behind Violet in the kitchen to wrap her arms around her waist, pressing her forehead to the nape of her neck. Violet would catch herself watching Dora as she read on the couch, memorizing the lines of her face, the soft curl of her hair, the way her expressions danced when she wasn’t looking.

Sometimes Dora would steal Violet’s oversized jumper or leave her boots neatly beside Violet’s without a word. They hadn’t named what was growing between them, but Violet felt it in her bones—something steady, something safe. And Violet, for the first time in years, began to believe she could love. Really love. Not out of duty or survival, but because she wanted to. Because Dora made her laugh. Made her feel safe. Made her feel seen.

The brokenness that had once defined Violet no longer screamed at her with every breath. The scars were still there, still ached in the quiet hours or when memories crept up uninvited, but they weren’t her whole story anymore. They were simply a part of her history—not her destiny.

And so much of that healing came from Rose.

The way she would crawl into Violet’s lap after a long day. The way she’d look up and call her “Mum” with such simple, unquestioning affection that it made Violet’s heart tremble. The way Rose depended on her not with fear or obligation, but trust. Every time Rose reached for her hand, every time she asked for another bedtime story, or beamed with pride when Violet came to pick her up from school—it all mattered. Violet didn’t just feel needed. She felt wanted. Loved.

Rose, watching them in the subtle way children always did, started reaching for Dora’s hand more and more. Sometimes, she would call her “Dora-mum” in a quiet, sleepy murmur when half-asleep on the couch or during a story being read to her. Violet’s heart clenched every time, full not of pain, but of something fierce and beautiful and new.

Christmas was coming, and for the first time in either of their lives, it felt like it might be something good. Something whole. They weren’t healed. Not yet. But they were healing. Together. And that made all the difference.

~

With Christmas drawing ever closer, the halls of the Tonks household were filled with the smell of cinnamon and pine, the gentle hum of carols playing somewhere in the background, and the occasional giggle of Rose as she helped decorate. But amid the warmth and festivity, Violet found herself slowly fraying at the edges.

She wanted this Christmas to be perfect.

It wasn’t just about the tree, or the food, or the stockings carefully labelled with names that meant the world to her. It was about Rose. About giving her something she had never had before. A real Christmas. One filled with love, safety, and joy. No locked cupboards, no fear of punishment for smiling too brightly. No emptiness masked with feigned cheer.

And Violet was determined to give that to her. Which, of course, meant she was spiralling. Just a little.

She had planned to go shopping that morning. With Dora working a long shift and Rose at school, it seemed the perfect opportunity to finish gathering gifts and treats. Violet had already made a list. It was, if she was honest, several pages long and partially written in colour-coded ink. She was halfway through pulling on her practical boots when an owl rapped smartly against the kitchen window.

She frowned, untying the small scroll from its leg. The seal of the Ministry stared up at her.

A summons.

Lady Violet Peverell was requested to attend the upcoming Yule Session of the Wizengamot.

Violet hissed a curse under her breath, crumpling the edge of the parchment in her fist. There was only one person in that chamber who would pull this so close to the holidays. Dumbledore. She could feel the quiet push behind the summons like a thread tugging her name through official channels. It was political, undoubtedly. A reminder of his reach. A move in some long game she hadn’t yet seen the full board of.

Still, she couldn’t ignore it. Not without giving him more ammunition.

Her shopping plans forgotten, Violet went to her room and dressed. The robes she selected were formal, but not ornate—a deep, rich black that shimmered subtly under light, woven with protective enchantments and cut more like duelling robes than ballgowns. Her hair she left mostly loose, a tight braid crossing one shoulder to keep the shorter strands in place. She looked dangerous. Regal. Controlled. Exactly what she wanted them to see.

At the Floo, she took a steadying breath and stepped into the flames.

"Ministry of Magic. Atrium."

The world spun, green and gold flashing past until she landed with the familiar crunch of soot beneath her boots. The grand entrance hall of the Ministry was already dressed for Yule, draped in tasteful garlands and enchanted snowfall falling from the high ceiling. None of it touched her.

She moved toward the wand-checking station. As she presented her Aspen wand, the witch behind the desk glanced at the parchment that unfurled magically beside her.

"Lady Peverell, confirmed," she murmured. The ink shimmered briefly across the paper, recognising the wand. "You’ll be escorted to the Wizengamot chambers."

Violet raised a brow, but said nothing as two Aurors approached. It was standard, she reminded herself. At least for anyone entering via the public Floo instead of the private member entrances. Still, she didn’t like the symbolism of it—like she was being watched. Weighed.

Then one of the Aurors stepped forward, and her breath caught for a moment.

Dora.

Nymphadora Tonks, in full red Auror robes, her hair a muted dark brown for work, eyes sharp with professional calm. She blinked once at Violet, the barest flicker of emotion in her expression.

The other Auror nodded to her. "Tonks, you’ll escort Lady Peverell."

"Understood," Dora said, voice steady.

Their eyes met. For a moment, nothing else existed. Dora couldn’t speak freely, not here, but her gaze lingered a heartbeat longer than it should have.

Violet gave the faintest tilt of her head, then fell into step beside her. It would be a long walk to the chamber.

And this day, she could already tell, was only just beginning.

The elevator chimed softly as it descended into the depths of the Ministry, the soft, mechanical hum only slightly louder than the buzz of magic that always lingered in the air. Violet stood still and steady, cloaked in fine formal robes the colour of midnight, practical and sharp, more battle-worn elegance than ornamental. Her silver-trimmed sleeves moved slightly with each breath she took, her expression calm but alert. Beside her, Dora shifted subtly, their arms brushing. The Auror's red robes were neatly worn, but there was a tension in her shoulders she couldn’t quite hide.

Dora glanced up at her, voice quiet but urgent. "I didn't know. About the summons. I didn’t see anything until I was assigned to escort you. I... I hope you don’t think I kept it from you."

Violet turned her head, her features softening slightly. "I know you didn’t. I trust you, Dora."

A beat passed. Dora's shoulders eased, the smallest exhale escaping her lips. It was only a handful of words, but the relief in her expression was deep.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I know you’ve never given me a reason to doubt you, I just... sometimes I still expect the worst. From people. It’s hard not to."

Violet nodded, understanding the weight of that instinct all too well. "We can talk more at home," she added softly. "We always have time for that."

The elevator stopped.

They stepped out into the marbled hallway, every surface polished to a gleam. Outside the chamber of the Wizengamot, Ministry workers moved like clockwork, orchestrating the formalities before the gathering was called to order. A wizard in ceremonial navy robes stood at the arch, prepared to announce any new arrivals or changes in seating.

Violet paused just inside the threshold, turning briefly to meet Dora's eyes. Her smirk was subtle, but it lit up her face with that unshakeable confidence Dora had only ever seen when Violet was heading into battle. Her presence shifted, spine straightening, chin lifted with regal poise. For a moment, she looked utterly untouchable. Powerful. Like a force of nature that had simply taken on a human form.

And Dora couldn't look away. Her breath caught, heart stumbling as something fierce and unspoken clenched in her chest.

"Lady Peverell," the herald's voice rang out as Violet strode forward, cloak trailing behind her.

Dora stood still for just a second longer, watching her go with awe.

Striking. That was the word. Violet Potter was strikingly beautiful. And completely hers.

Violet strode into the chamber like a storm cloaked in silk and steel. The circular hall of the Wizengamot—echoing with the shuffle of robes and the quiet murmur of voices—fell into a hushed stir as she entered. The seats of power, arranged in rising tiers around the central floor, were filled with members of the noble houses and high-ranking Ministry officials. There were gaps too—empty seats where old bloodlines had faded into history, or where the next in line was still too young to claim their place.

Her boots rang against the ancient stone as she approached the central pedestal. Conversations dropped away, replaced with a tension that hummed in the bones of the chamber. It had been hundreds of years since anyone had seen a Peverell in this hall. Most thought the line long dead. The crest she wore on her ring—three symbols wrapped into one: wand, stone, cloak—was a whisper from myth, now made real in flesh and bone.

The Chamberlain of the Wizengamot, an older wizard in deep green robes embroidered with neutral house sigils, stepped forward and gave her a courteous bow.

"Lady Peverell, the chamber acknowledges your arrival. You must now present your right to sit."

Violet nodded, her expression unreadable as she extended her left hand over the verification plinth. Her hand was steady, the silver ring gleaming against her skin as it hovered above the ancient stone. The plinth pulsed with power older than Hogwarts itself, its enchantments woven when the first wizard councils still governed with raw magic and ancient law.

Light blossomed from within the stone, rising to meet the Peverell ring. For a moment, everything held its breath. Then a glowing symbol appeared above Violet's hand—a radiant, shimmering mark of the Deathly Hallows.

Gasps echoed through the room. A name, thought to be legend. A claim made real.

Violet lowered her hand, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. But she wasn’t finished.

"I wish to assert claim to another seat," she said, voice smooth and clear. With her right hand, she drew out the ring of the House of Black and slipped it onto her finger. "As the magically accepted Head of House Black."

An uproar immediately erupted across the chamber. Cries of disbelief, outrage, and furious murmurs came most fiercely from the Dark-aligned faction, particularly those clustered around Lucius Malfoy. Their gazes were full of disbelief and fury. The House of Black was a cornerstone of ancient power, and to see its banner now tied to this woman they knew nothing about sent a ripple of panic through their side.

The Chamberlain merely nodded, unfazed by the political ripples.

"We shall verify," he said, and the Black ring met the stone. Within moments, a new symbol joined the air—the fierce crest of House Black: a raven in mid-flight, a blade clutched in its talons.

The outrage doubled. Voices were raised in heated tones. Someone in the upper tiers shouted that it was impossible. That the line must be broken. That she must have forged it.

Violet stood still amid the chaos, hands clasped before her. She didn’t glance at Malfoy. Didn’t look to the furious men and women demanding answers. She looked only at Dumbledore.

He watched her from his high seat among the Chief Wizards. The twinkle in his eyes was gone, replaced by a keen calculation—and a deeper, sharper confusion. He didn’t recognize her. The name Peverell sparked old memories, half-buried in dust and myth, of obsessions once shared with Grindelwald and long dismissed as fantasy. Yet here she stood, wrapped in power and certainty. He knew only that she had taken Rose Potter out from under his careful plans, slipping through his grasp without explanation. She was an enigma, a variable he had not accounted for—and Dumbledore hated not knowing.

"As Head of House Peverell and magically accepted Regent of House Potter by bloodline and ancient law," Violet continued, now addressing the chamber as a whole, "I formally assert my claim to the Potter seat."

She stepped forward and offered her third ring. The Chamberlain barely hesitated. He did not even raise it to the stone.

"Magical lineage confirmed," he said calmly. "The Regent of House Potter is acknowledged."

This time, the outcry came from the other side. From the so-called Light faction. Those who stood behind Dumbledore. Some leapt to their feet, gesturing, shouting about protocol and process, but the Chamberlain merely raised a hand and the enchantments of the chamber pulsed once.

Silence fell.

And Violet turned without another word and strode to the tier where the oldest families sat. Most of the seats were empty—those lines lost to time or war. She chose her place among them and sat, regal and composed, like she had always belonged there.

Her name whispered on everyone’s lips.

Lady Violet Peverell.

And the game had just begun.

The session proceeded with the expected mixture of debate, posturing, and careful words wrapped in velvet tones. Violet sat still, quiet and attentive, though not unengaged. She tracked the flow of conversation and political maneuvering with the same precision she would in battle. Andromeda and Ted had coached her well in the previous months for when this would eventually happen—what to watch for, when to speak, and how to wield presence as deftly as a wand. It seemed their lessons had paid off.

It was nearing the session's end when Violet rose once again, her formal robes settling like a shadow around her as she stepped forward. A hush rippled across the chamber. She stood with a calm, composed authority that demanded attention.

"I wish to raise a motion before the session adjourns," she said, her voice ringing clear. Her gaze slid to Dumbledore, the expression on her face unreadable. "I formally request the return of artefacts belonging to my family."

The chamber shifted. Dumbledore sat up straighter.

"Firstly," Violet continued, "the wand known as the Elder Wand, currently wielded by Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore. It is an heirloom of the Peverell line—my family—and was stolen generations ago."

Gasps flickered through the chamber. Some recognized the wand's legend. Others stared at her like she'd uttered something pulled from fairy tales.

Dumbledore, however, did not speak. He merely watched her, unreadable.

"Secondly," Violet said, voice still even but gaining a quiet steel, "I require the return of the Potter family heirloom in his possession."

There was a longer pause at that. Dumbledore's lips pressed together. He did not deny it.

After a long, stretched moment, he nodded once. "I will comply with Lady Peverell's motion."

The Chamberlain glanced between them, confirming with an official nod that the Wizengamot had recorded the exchange.

"However," Dumbledore added, folding his hands before him, "I do not have the Potter heirloom with me. If Lady Peverell wishes, she may come to Hogwarts and collect it."

Violet's eyes narrowed faintly. She weighed his tone, dissected the words for hidden meanings. But in the end, she inclined her head.

"I will come to Hogwarts," she said simply. "After this session ends."

There was a pause, a subtle ripple through the air as those who knew how to read power registered her declaration for what it was: a move made with deliberation and control.

The motion passed. The record was sealed.

And with that, Violet Peverell sat again, eyes ahead, feeling the shifting currents of the chamber settle around her like invisible threads. 

~

The echoing halls of Hogwarts hadn’t changed.

Violet stepped through the massive front doors, the chill of winter clinging to her cloak as she entered the familiar stone corridors. The scent of old parchment, magical polish, and distant firelight filled the air. It was the same as she remembered it—and yet, it wasn’t. Because this was not her Hogwarts. Not truly.

Professor McGonagall stood waiting just past the threshold, her robes crisp, her gaze sharp behind rectangular spectacles. She looked every bit the force of command that Violet remembered, and yet there was a flicker of confusion, of barely restrained emotion behind her eyes.

“Lady Peverell,” McGonagall greeted, her voice formal and clipped. “I was informed you would be arriving, though only moments ago.”

Violet gave her a polite nod, her expression guarded but not hostile. “Thank you for receiving me, Professor McGonagall.”

The title didn’t go unnoticed. McGonagall’s gaze flickered, just for a moment, as if trying to place the familiarity in Violet’s voice.

“The Headmaster is still at the Ministry. I have been asked to escort you until his return.”

“Very well.”

They walked in silence for a time, their footsteps muffled by centuries-worn stone. Students passed them in small groups, some whispering and casting glances in Violet's direction. The school was abuzz with pre-holiday excitement, laughter echoing from common rooms, and scarves of house colors trailing behind.

McGonagall kept her posture perfectly upright, but her glances toward Violet were more frequent the further they walked.

“I understand,” she said at last, “that you have taken custody of Rose Potter.”

Violet’s expression didn’t waver. “She is where she belongs.”

McGonagall didn’t answer immediately. Her face was unreadable, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her.

“I was never in favor of placing her with those Muggles,” she said at last, her voice quieter. “But that does not mean I approve of removing her from the protections around her.”

“You think wards were protection?” Violet asked softly. “They were shackles. And she was suffering. I won’t apologize for saving her.”

They stopped at the base of a staircase. McGonagall turned to her, the stern lines of her face softer now, conflicted.

“You speak like someone who knows what suffering that girl endured. As if you felt it yourself.”

Violet’s green eyes met hers. “Because I do.”

McGonagall blinked, startled by the weight in Violet’s voice. There was something in the way she said it—an edge of raw memory, of truth spoken through a veil of pain. The words carried more than empathy; they echoed of lived experience. McGonagall didn’t press, but her sharp mind filed the moment away.

Before either could speak further, a house-elf popped into existence with a soft crack and bowed deeply. “Professor Dumbledore has returned. He will meet Lady Peverell in his office.”

McGonagall gave the elf a curt nod before turning back to Violet. “This way, then.”

They resumed their walk, quieter now, the silence thick with questions neither dared voice just yet.

The castle seemed to hum around them. As Violet walked the familiar halls, she couldn’t help but feel the ghosts of her own memories brushing against the walls—of a different life, a different time. She was not that girl anymore.

Violet stepped into the Headmaster's office with the same confidence she had used to stride into the Wizengamot chamber. Her cloak trailed behind her, the edge still wet from the morning frost, but her stance was firm, composed. The room looked much as it always had—twinkling instruments, moving portraits, and the quiet warmth of firelight against the deep wood walls. Fawkes the phoenix sat atop his perch, eyes watchful, head tilted as if curious.

Albus Dumbledore stood beside the desk, his expression unreadable. In one hand he held the Elder Wand, and on the polished wood of the desk sat the Cloak of Invisibility, folded neatly. His gaze flicked to Violet as she entered, and she saw no twinkle in those famous blue eyes—only curiosity, wariness, and something deeper. Perhaps uncertainty.

"Lady Peverell," he greeted, his tone courteous but cautious. "Before I return what is rightfully yours, I hope you will indulge me in a few questions."

Violet inclined her head. "So long as they are not a condition to what is owed."

Dumbledore offered a slight smile. "Of course not. I simply wish to understand. Who are you, truly? Why has your family remained in hiding for so long, after being thought lost to time?"

Violet stepped closer, her hands folded in front of her, every movement deliberate. "My family has always drawn the attention of those who would use or destroy us. The legends that swirl around the Hallows are not merely stories—they are bloodstained truths. Dark wizards, ambitious factions, the foolish and the powerful alike have hunted us for centuries. We survived by fading into myth."

Her voice never wavered, and if Dumbledore suspected anything, he gave no sign.

"And Rose Potter?" he asked. "Why come forward now?"

Violet's green eyes hardened, her voice quiet but sharp. "Because I heard what was done to her. What was allowed to happen. I couldn't ignore it. I may be many things, Headmaster, but indifferent to the suffering of children is not one of them. I share blood with her family. That is enough for me."

Dumbledore studied her closely. "And what is it you want, Lady Peverell? Truly?"

A long pause stretched between them. Then, Violet spoke with a softness that carried more weight than steel.

"Peace. I have survived war, exile, torture, and grief. I have fought battles no child should ever have to fight and made choices that still haunt me. I want peace. But more than that, I want it for Rose. She deserves to grow up safe. To be loved. To be free."

Something shifted in Dumbledore's expression, a flicker of understanding perhaps—or doubt.

"I do not know what to make of you yet," Violet admitted. "I know who you are in story and rumour. But stories are not always truths. Rose is forming a family. She is loved, protected, and healing. Whatever you think of me, know that I will not jeopardize that. I will not wage a war on two fronts when I am already fighting a silent one against Tom Riddle."

Dumbledore visibly stilled. "You know his name."

Violet gave a slight, grim smile. "My family has not been blind. I know who he is. I know what he has done. He killed my parents for standing against him. I made it my mission to learn everything about the man who made me an orphan."

There was a silence between them, heavy and tense, but not hostile. Dumbledore slowly extended the Elder Wand toward her. Violet accepted it, her fingers curling around the wand that had once been her family's, stolen and misused.

Then he gestured to the Cloak of Invisibility. "And this, passed to James Potter by your family line. Return it to where it belongs."

Violet picked it up and folded it with reverence. "I will."

She paused, fingers brushing the soft fabric of the cloak before lifting her gaze back to Dumbledore. There was still a tension between them, but she had no desire to fuel it further. Instead, she took a step toward the desk and spoke, her voice calm but layered with meaning.

"I don’t want a war between us. Not when there are greater threats in the shadows."

Dumbledore studied her, silent.

Violet continued, "I’ll extend an olive branch, for Rose’s sake. You’ve heard whispers of Horcruxes, I imagine. They aren’t whispers to me. They’re real. One was inside Rose, but it’s gone now. Another—destroyed."

Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened. "You’re certain?"

"I’m not in the habit of lying about things like this."

There was a long pause, the weight of what she said settling like dust in the air. Dumbledore gave a subtle nod—acknowledging the gravity of her words, and perhaps the quiet offer behind them.

The door shut behind her with a quiet finality. Violet descended the staircase with both relics secured, her head held high. Her family’s legacy was back in her hands.

~

After leaving Hogwarts, Violet stepped out into the crisp December air, her breath visible as the sun hung low in the sky. Snow flurries were beginning to swirl gently, dusting the ground with a soft white sheen. She checked the time—still enough space in the afternoon to manage her errands before collecting Rose from school. And though she was still emotionally untangling the meeting with Dumbledore, her thoughts were pulled toward something far more important: Rose’s first proper Christmas.

With a quick spin on her heel and a soft pop of Apparition, she arrived just outside the wards of Diagon Alley. The bustle of shoppers, the glow of floating lanterns and the gentle chime of carols cast a warm, familiar enchantment over the cobbled street. Tucking her coat tighter, Violet strode purposefully toward the first shop on her list.

Her first stop was a cozy, lesser-known shop nestled between a quill emporium and a potion supply store. The window displayed glowing parchment and enchanted inkpots, but Violet headed straight to the counter.

"Is the journal ready?" she asked quietly.

The shopkeeper, a kindly witch with lavender eyes, nodded and produced a beautifully bound magical journal. The red leather was soft to the touch, stamped with a delicate silver moon. The runes etched into the spine shimmered faintly.

"Bound to Rose Potter only," the witch said. "No one else will be able to open it. And the enchantments you provided are woven in."

Violet smiled, running her fingers over the cover. Inside, she’d added a spell of gentle affirmations in her own handwriting. Whenever Rose wrote something sad, uncertain, or afraid, the page would respond in warm, invisible ink:

You are safe.
You are loved.
You are stronger than you know.

Tucking the journal into her satchel, she moved on to the next shop—a bright, inviting storefront that specialized in magical literature for children. It didn't take long to find the set of books Dora had suggested: "The Magical Animal Adventures" series, complete with detailed illustrations, charming characters, and a healthy dose of chaos. Violet made sure to choose the edition that had space in the margins.

Dora had already spent evenings giggling to herself while planning on adding small bits of commentary.

"This unicorn is clearly just done with everyone."

"Rose, if you make it to Chapter 7 and don’t laugh, I owe you hot cocoa."

Violet chuckled as she leafed through the first book, her heart full.

After picking up a few more little things—sweets, puzzles, warm socks with charmed warming runes sewn in—she made her last stop.

In the back of a shop that catered to young flyers, she found the perfect child's training broom. It was small, sleek, and charmed not to fly higher than two feet off the ground unless an adult approved it. The soft padding on the handle and the custom charms meant it was as safe as flying brooms could get.

Violet ran her hand along the wood. The grain shimmered faintly in the light. This would be the first broom Rose ever owned. Something Violet had never had herself. With a soft murmur, she paid for it and shrunk it to fit into her coat.

By the time she stepped back out onto the street, her satchel full of gifts and her heart lighter than it had been all day, the sun was just beginning to dip.

She tightened her scarf and headed for the edge of the alley.

It was time to pick up her daughter.

~

That night, after Rose was tucked into bed and her familiars had settled protectively around her, Violet and Dora retreated to their room. Violet didn’t notice that she had begun thinking of it as their room, but she had. Her sleepwear was one of Dora's oversized shirts that fell just above her knees, worn and soft with age and comfort. Dora was in a pair of cotton sleep shorts and a tank top, her hair a lazy, dusky purple that always showed when she was tired but relaxed.

The bed was covered in rolls of enchanted wrapping paper and ribbon that occasionally tied themselves into bows when left unattended. Boxes and bags sat scattered around them—a delightful chaos of Christmas magic. Both witches sat cross-legged side by side, their shoulders brushing now and then, heads leaning close together when they inspected the next gift or debated ribbon colours.

Dora had brought home the non-magical presents on her way back from work, each one chosen with a child's joy in mind: brightly coloured LEGO sets with dragons and castles, a boxy LEGO train that puffed a little steam charm when fully assembled, a brand-new blue bike with streamers on the handles and a charmable bell that sang.

Violet was enchanted by each item, especially the bike. “She’s going to love this. She’ll never believe it’s hers,” Violet murmured, gently running her fingers over the shining silver spokes before wrapping it in an illusion charm that would disguise it until morning.

Next to them sat the magical gifts Vi had picked up in Diagon Alley: the red leather journal with shimmering moonlight runes that only Rose could open, already enchanted with Violet's handwriting to offer gentle affirmations when sadness or fear arose; the boxed set of “The Magical Animal Adventures,” lovingly annotated in Dora's handwriting with doodles and funny side comments. Dora had even stuck a note inside the front cover: "This was my favourite when I was your age. Let me know which creature you'd adopt!"

They passed tape and scissors between them, their fingers grazing, laughter low and soft in the dim light of their room. Dora tied a bow on one of the boxes, only for it to unravel with a squeak and tangle around her wrist. Violet chuckled, leaning over to untangle it, their faces mere inches apart.

Neither of them said anything about the closeness, but neither of them moved away either.

Outside the room, Andromeda paused for a moment in the hallway, quietly watching them through the cracked door. A fond smile tugged at her lips as she watched the two women laugh softly, working in perfect sync. She could see it clearly: the easy affection, the intimacy of quiet companionship, the way they leaned toward each other like it was natural.

They didn’t even realise how much like parents they already were.

Andromeda stepped away, heart full. She was so proud of her daughter for being patient and supportive, and of Violet—the way she had clawed her way toward healing, step by step, letting someone in, slowly but surely.

Inside the room, Violet was quietly smoothing down the corner of the last wrapped gift.

“We did good,” Dora said, resting her chin on Violet’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Violet whispered, leaning just a little more into her, feeling content. “She’s going to have the best Christmas.”

Neither of them noticed how their fingers had tangled together on the blanket between them.

After carefully hiding Rose's presents for Christmas, tucked away under illusion charms and behind wardrobe panels, Violet and Dora climbed into bed together. The air in the room was quiet, the kind of quiet that settles after long days and warm laughter. Violet curled into Dora's side, her fingers gently tracing idle patterns along Dora’s bare arm, feeling the warmth of her skin against hers. The gentle brush of skin-on-skin, bare legs touching below their sleep shorts and Violet nestled in one of Dora’s oversized shirts, brought a sense of comfort that neither of them took for granted.

But the silence didn't last.

Violet drew a breath, then spoke into the dim light of the room. "We keep... putting it off," she said softly, not quite looking at Dora. "But I think we should talk about what happened at the Ministry. What you felt. When you saw me."

Dora shifted slightly beside her, surprised by the question. She blinked, turning her head to meet Violet's gaze, her expression softening. "I didn't realise I was doing it," she admitted. "The way I jumped to defending myself—about not knowing about the summons."

Violet nodded slowly. "I know you didn't mean it like that. But I want to know what it stirred in you. If it matters to you, then it matters to me."

There was a long pause before Dora spoke again, her voice low and steady, but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper. "At Hogwarts... I was a bit of a troublemaker. Nothing big, just the usual rule bending. But being a full metamorph... it made me stand out. Some kids thought it was cool. Others... they were jealous. They'd make up stories, say I used my abilities to cheat, to lie, to flirt and manipulate. Rumours. Whispers. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t true. People started assuming the worst of me. And even when I joined the Aurors, part of me still... braces for someone to think I'm hiding something. That I’m playing at being something I’m not."

She paused, her voice faltering as her fingers curled slightly in the sheet. "I guess... when I saw you at the Ministry, I felt that twist in my chest again. That fear. Like you'd think I knew and didn’t tell you. That you'd believe I was just like everyone else who expected the worst of me. And it scared me. Because you're the one person I never want to think that about me."

Violet turned then, cupping Dora’s cheek gently. Her thumb brushed under Dora's eye, her voice thick with emotion. "They were wrong. Every one of them. They were stupid and cruel and blind not to see who you really are. You’re brilliant, Dora. You’re kind and fierce and better than most of the people who called themselves heroes in my world. If they couldn’t see that, then it’s their loss. I see you. And I trust you."

Dora's breath hitched, and her eyes shimmered as she leaned forward, forehead resting against Violet's, noses brushing in the quiet intimacy that had grown between them. It was a gesture more powerful than any kiss, filled with the weight of vulnerability and the grounding presence of someone who truly sees you.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice raw and grateful.

Violet smiled faintly. "Always."

They held each other in silence then, the weight of old wounds shared and seen. The quiet of the room became something sacred, filled with soft breaths and the warmth of connection. Wrapped in each other's arms, they let the past be spoken into the still air, and held onto the quiet promise of healing between them. With every brush of skin, every beat of their hearts pressed close, the future didn’t feel quite so heavy.

~

That night, for the first time in weeks, Violet dreamed without shadows.

The scene unfolded with golden light spilling over rolling countryside hills. Morning sun warmed the dew-kissed grass, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of lavender through an open window. Violet stood barefoot in the doorway of a charming countryside cottage, a soft wool cardigan wrapped loosely around her, the sleeves slightly too long and comforting in their weight. Her hair was longer now, falling in gentle waves over her shoulders, and her eyes held a serenity hard-won by years of healing. She looked out over the quiet world beyond the cottage, watching the horizon glow.

Behind her, the familiar rhythm of footsteps echoed softly on the wooden floorboards. Dora—a few years older, still unmistakably Dora—walked up behind her and without a word, slipped her arms around Violet’s waist. She nestled into her back, her chin resting on Violet’s shoulder, the gesture instinctual and endlessly affectionate. Her touch was warm, grounding, and filled with the kind of intimacy that could only come from years spent learning each other, healing together.

Violet leaned into her, relaxing instantly in her embrace. Their fingers naturally found each other’s and laced together. Both wore simple wedding bands that glinted gold in the early light—a subtle, enduring symbol of the life they had built. Dora pressed a kiss to Violet’s temple, and the two of them stood like that for a long moment, watching the sun rise as if they had nowhere else in the world to be.

Their silence was not empty. It was full—of trust, of love, of a peace Violet had once believed she would never know.

The stillness was broken not by pain, but by laughter.

From inside the cottage, a teenage Rose dashed into the hallway, barefoot and bright-eyed, her laughter echoing against the walls. She was older, perhaps fourteen, with long hair tied back loosely and confidence in her stride. Mischief sparkled in her eyes as she called out over her shoulder.

Two small forms came bounding after her—twin girls, no older than six, their faces flushed with laughter, curls bouncing as they chased their big sister.

"Rose took our biscuits!" one shrieked between giggles.

"I did not!" Rose replied with mock indignation, already halfway into a giggle. "I was protecting them! From you!"

All three burst onto the front porch, and the twins ran full-speed into Violet and Dora’s legs, squealing and clinging with the easy affection of young children who felt endlessly loved.

"Mama! Mum! She’s a biscuit thief!" one of the twins said with righteous fury, arms wrapped around Dora’s waist.

Dora laughed, crouching down to scoop her up into her arms, planting a kiss on her daughter’s cheek. Violet did the same with the other twin, lifting her easily and spinning her once before settling her on her hip.

Rose joined them on the porch, rolling her eyes dramatically but smiling as she watched her mothers with her sisters. Dora reached out with one arm and drew Rose into a side hug, pulling all of them into a warm bundle of laughter, love, and limbs.

They stood there for a long time, tangled together, a family framed by the sunrise. The laughter faded into a quiet hum of contentment as the morning light poured over them, gilding every freckle, every smile, every soft touch.

And in that dream—so real it brought tears to her sleeping eyes—Violet felt something she had never let herself believe in before: the undeniable truth that she could have this. That she could love and be loved. That she could heal, and build, and live.

Even in sleep, the warmth stayed with her.

Even in dreams, she believed.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

XI

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

Snow had fallen thick and soft across the Tonks' back garden, blanketing the world in white. The air was crisp, the kind that kissed cheeks red and made breath mist in the cold. Laughter rang across the lawn where Violet ran with Rose, Maisie, and Leila, bundled up in winter coats and scarves, their boots crunching through the snow. Anand darted between them, her powerful legs kicking up puffs of powder as she spun around the girls. Every so often, she would weave magic into the snow, creating walls and tunnels and sculpted beasts that the girls whooped and giggled around.

Violet stood in the middle of it all, her cheeks flushed with cold, her braid bouncing as she moved. There was a rare lightness in her smile—unguarded, full. She ducked behind a snow fort, poking her head up only to be hit square in the face with a snowball thrown by Leila, who shrieked and ran when Violet gave chase, laughter trailing behind her. It was, Dora thought, the kind of laughter that sounded like healing.

Leaning on the railing of the back garden deck, Dora smiled around the lip of her steaming tea. She wore one of Vi’s hoodies beneath her coat, sleeves pushed back to her elbows. Macha purred beside her, sprawled along the rail and soaking in what warmth the winter sun offered. Dora's fingers absently stroked the feline familiar's head as her eyes never left Violet.

Gods, she was beautiful like this. Not just her looks, though those were enough to steal breath from Dora even on her worst days—but the way she moved , how she let herself live in this moment. Her guard down. Her heart open, even if only a little. Dora's chest ached with how much she felt, how much she wanted. Her magic buzzed beneath her skin like a live current, attuned to Violet in a way that made her breath hitch every time their eyes met or hands brushed.

She didn’t notice her father had joined her until he bumped her shoulder with his own.

“You’re staring like a woman in love,” Ted said casually, holding a second mug of tea that he offered to her. His tone was light, but his eyes were kind.

Dora took the mug, cheeks blooming pinker than the cold could explain. “That obvious?”

Ted chuckled. “To anyone with eyes. You watch her like she hung the stars.”

Dora didn’t deny it. Instead, her fingers tightened around the mug, and her voice dropped to something softer, more vulnerable. “I do love her. I crave her. It’s not just the emotional pull, it’s... it's physical. Magical. Every time she brushes against me, my whole body reacts. Like my skin remembers her before my mind catches up. And that terrifies me.”

Ted looked over at Violet, who was now spinning Rose in the air to the sound of delighted squeals. Then back at Dora.

“Why does it scare you?” he asked, not judgmental, just present.

Dora’s breath caught a little. “Because it’s not like anything I’ve ever felt. It’s not just a crush, not just infatuation. It’s... deep. The way she holds me when she’s half-asleep, like I’m her anchor. The way her voice softens when she says my name, like she doesn’t even realize it. I want to be hers completely, but I don’t want to be one more thing she has to worry about. I want her to feel safe. But sometimes, when I look at her, when I touch her, it’s like I’m burning with how much I want her—body and soul—and I’m terrified I’ll go too far. That I’ll ruin what we have.”

Ted put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “You’re doing it right. You love her. You support her. You let her move at her pace. That’s what she needs. And trust me, sweetheart, that woman adores you.”

Dora looked up, startled. Ted nodded toward the garden. “Every time she glances back at the house, her eyes find you. She leans into your touch like it’s the only thing that keeps her steady. You think we don’t know you sleep in the same bed every night? You think your mum and I aren’t watching the two of you quietly orbit each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world?”

Dora laughed softly, blinking fast as emotion welled in her chest. “Yeah. Okay. Maybe I needed to hear that.”

Ted kissed the top of her head like she was still his little girl. “Sometimes we all do. Just keep being you, Dora. That’s who she fell for.”

Dora watched Violet scoop up Rose again and toss her lightly into a drift of snow while Maisie and Leila shrieked in delight. The wind caught a few loose strands of Violet’s hair and framed her face in winter light, and Dora’s heart stuttered.

~

A few days later, the house was quiet, warmed by the soft glow of magical lanterns that flickered gently above the fireplace. The scent of pine and cinnamon drifted faintly from the wreath on the door, mingling with the crackling hum of the hearth. Outside, fresh snow began to fall again, blanketing the world in a hush that made everything feel suspended in time.

In the living room, Violet sat cross-legged on the rug, a small fortress of open books and scattered parchment surrounding her. Some of the tomes were thick, ancient things with worn leather bindings, the kind that whispered magic just by their presence. Others were battered Muggle textbooks filled with annotations, and her own notebooks lay open among them, ink-stained and chaotic. She moved between them with a quiet sort of intensity, her pen scratching rapidly, eyes flickering with intensity and something else—something fragile.

She wore one of Dora's oversized jumpers, the dark fabric swallowing her slight frame, the sleeves slipping down past her wrists. The collar had slipped off one shoulder, exposing a pale line of skin and a small scar beneath her collarbone. Her hair was braided back lazily, strands falling loose, catching the glow of firelight. The sight of her like that—focused, unguarded, dressed in Dora’s clothes—was a silent testimony to how far she’d come, and how far she still had to go.

Ted stepped into the room and paused. He didn’t announce himself right away, just watched. The way Violet hunched slightly over her notes, brow furrowed, lips moving faintly as she reread a passage. There was tension in her shoulders, in the way she held her breath too long, like she was bracing for a blow that wouldn’t come. It was a posture he recognized—not of someone trying to learn, but of someone trying not to fall apart.

He crossed the room quietly and eased into the nearby armchair, a steaming cup of tea in hand. "You know," he said gently, offering the smallest smile, "if you stack many more of those books, you’re going to disappear behind them. I might have to mount a rescue."

Violet blinked up at him, startled for a heartbeat, but then her expression softened. Not quite a smile, but something close. "They’re easier to face than memories," she murmured. "At least books don’t expect you to know what you’re feeling."

Ted nodded slowly, his tone still warm. "No. But people can help you learn."

Violet let out a breath, almost a laugh but too tired to commit to the sound. She looked down at the jumper she was wearing and tugged the cuff over her hand, watching it curl there. "I never learned," she admitted softly. "How to... process emotions. Growing up, I wasn’t allowed them. Then in the war, emotions were a liability. A weapon doesn’t need to feel—it just needs to act."

Her voice cracked at the end, just slightly. She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers into her temple. "I still don't know how to want something without fearing it’ll be ripped away. Or how to love someone without believing I’ll get them hurt. I want to be better, but half the time, I feel like I’m just pretending at being a person instead of something built to survive."

Ted’s chest ached for her. He reached out and gently rested a hand on her shoulder. "You’re not pretending, Violet. You’re learning. Healing isn’t pretending—it’s growing into something you were never given the chance to be."

Violet’s eyes shimmered, and she looked away quickly, dashing a hand under her nose. "I’m scared, Ted. Of how much I feel. Of how much Dora matters to me. Of how much Rose matters. What if I can’t keep them safe? What if I lose them, like I’ve lost everything else?"

He squeezed her shoulder. "Then you love them. And that love? That’s what makes you more than a weapon. That’s what makes you whole."

Violet didn’t answer. But she leaned into the touch, just a little. Just enough. Her fingers returned to her notes, though her hand shook slightly. She didn’t push him away. Didn’t retreat into silence.

And for now, that was enough.

Ted didn’t move, simply remained by her side as the fire crackled on and the snow fell softly against the windows. Slowly, the tension in Violet’s posture began to ease. The shadows in her eyes still lingered—but they were no longer alone.

After sitting for a moment in companionable silence, Ted took a slow sip from his tea before glancing at the array of books and papers spread out around Violet.

"So," he said casually, "what's all this then? Looks like half a curriculum spread across your floor."

Violet blinked, then glanced at her notes, her cheeks colouring slightly. It was rare to see her flustered, and Ted smiled at the sight. "I'm... working on lessons. For the girls. For the new year."

Ted raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Lessons?"

"Yeah," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Rose will be back in school full-time after the holidays, and I don't want to overload her. Or Maisie or Leila. So I’m trying to space out their magical theory lessons. Maybe once every two or three weekends. Fun stuff, engaging. No strict homework. Just enough to introduce concepts gently."

Ted’s brow lifted further, a warm smile curling his lips. "That’s... incredibly thoughtful. And organised."

Violet shrugged, eyes on her notebook again. "They’re eager to learn. I just want to give them a foundation. Something solid. Something I never had when I was young."

Ted watched her closely for a beat, then leaned forward a little. "You really enjoy it, don’t you? Teaching them."

She hesitated. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the paper, but then she nodded slowly. "Yeah. I do. I didn’t expect to. I always thought of myself as a fighter, not a teacher. But there’s something about helping them understand... watching them light up when they get something. It’s... nice."

Ted let out a soft chuckle. "Have you ever thought about it? Teaching, I mean. As a real thing. A career."

Violet blinked again, genuinely surprised by the idea. "Me? Teaching?"

"Why not?" Ted asked. "You’ve got the knowledge, the passion, the patience. And the kids adore you. You’ve got a gift for it, Vi. Might be worth thinking about."

She didn’t answer right away. The thought had clearly never occurred to her. Her gaze drifted back to the scattered notes and lesson plans, and a flicker of something unreadable passed over her face—hope, maybe, or longing.

"Maybe," she said quietly. "Maybe I could. One day."

Ted smiled to himself and leaned back in his chair, content to let the thought settle in her mind, a quiet seed of possibility taking root in the warmth of their home.

~

That night, after the house had quieted and Rose had been tucked into bed with her plushies and Eira nestled beside her pillow, Violet and Dora found themselves in the familiar rhythm of readying for bed. The lamps were dimmed low, casting a soft golden hue over their shared bedroom, the walls faintly aglow with charm-muted moonlight.

Violet was standing by the mirror, brushing out her white-and-black streaked hair, dressed in one of Dora’s older sleep shirts that had become her own. She was quiet for a long moment, gaze unfocused in the mirror, before her voice broke the stillness.

"Dora," she said softly, almost hesitantly. "What would you think if I... looked into teaching? Like, actually teaching. As a job."

Dora turned from where she had just finished changing into her usual tank top and sleep shorts. She blinked in surprised delight, pausing mid-motion before walking over slowly.

Vi rushed to add, her voice quicker and almost defensive, "I mean—after the Horcruxes. Obviously. That comes first. And I’m not saying I’ll do it right away or that I even know what I’d teach. And there’s the fact that I’m not exactly the most qualified person on paper and—"

Dora reached her and gently, silently, slid her arms around Violet’s waist from behind, pulling her in close so their bodies were flush. Her chin rested on Violet’s shoulder, her hands warm against her stomach. Violet stilled, her words faltering.

"I think you’d be a brilliant teacher," Dora said quietly, sincerity woven through every syllable. "You already are. I see the way Rose lights up when you explain things to her. The way Leila leans in, like your words are painting stars. The way Maisie listens like she's trying to learn how to be brave just like you."

Violet swallowed hard, staring at their reflections. Her eyes shimmered with something she didn’t have the words for.

"If you want to look into it," Dora continued, rubbing gentle circles over her waist, "I can help. Or if you want to do it on your own, I’ll stay out of the way. Whatever feels right to you. But I think it’s a wonderful idea, Vi."

Violet turned in Dora’s arms, resting her forehead against hers, the movement so practiced and intimate now. She didn’t speak for a moment, just breathing her in.

She didn’t know how to explain what it meant that Dora didn’t laugh. Didn’t question her. That she simply saw the dream and offered to hold it with her.

What Dora didn’t say—because she didn’t need to—was that Violet considering a future like that meant everything. For so long, Violet hadn’t planned for anything past survival. She had stumbled through the war, a weapon forged in grief and fury, and even after building a home again, the future had still felt like an echo of someone else’s.

But now? The thought of classrooms. Of lessons. Of books and enchanted chalk. Of young witches and wizards who would learn and grow and maybe carry a piece of her hope forward.

It was the most Violet had hoped for herself in years.

And Dora was proud. So proud. But she just held her, gently swaying with her in the golden light, letting Violet feel safe enough to imagine it.

~~

The house was filled with the rich, comforting smells of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet spiced puddings. Laughter drifted in from the living room where fairy lights twinkled along the bannisters and around the hearth. Snow dusted the windows outside, making the warm glow of the house even more inviting. The fire crackled merrily, adding a warm background hum to the soft music playing on the old wireless in the corner.

At the dinner table, Violet, Dora, and Rose sat together, each of them clad in matching Christmas jumpers—bright red with little enchanted snowflakes drifting lazily across the knitted fabric, sometimes shifting into tiny flurries. Rose sat between Violet and Dora, nearly vibrating with excitement, her cheeks flushed from the anticipation of the night ahead, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her jumper.

Violet watched her, heart swelling with a fierce, protective happiness that almost brought tears to her eyes. Rose was glowing, giggling as she eagerly told Ted and Andromeda about the Christmas activities her class had done—the carols, the handmade decorations—and how she couldn't wait to see what Santa had brought her. Every time Rose smiled, every time she laughed, it healed a little more of Violet's heart, patched a piece of the broken soul that had once believed she didn't deserve to be loved or to love in return.

Across the Rose's head, Dora caught Violet's gaze and smiled, her own heart full seeing the joy radiating from both Violet and Rose. She leaned in slightly, bumping her shoulder affectionately against Violet's, a silent reminder that she was right there with her. A few days earlier, Violet had admitted quietly, almost hesitantly, that she'd never had a real family Christmas dinner—not before the war, and certainly not during it. There had been small moments of hope, quick meals squeezed between battles, but nothing like this—nothing so peaceful, so warm, so normal, so completely theirs.

Andromeda and Ted were bustling about, bringing in extra dishes, teasing each other gently as they moved around the table. Ted slipped a golden cracker into Rose's lap, making her squeal in delight and tackle him with a hug, while Andromeda topped off everyone's glasses—pumpkin juice for Rose, warm cider for the adults, the scent of cinnamon filling the air.

When they all finally sat down, heads bowed briefly in a moment of quiet thanks, Violet found herself blinking back the sting of tears. This wasn't just a holiday dinner. This was something she never thought she'd have. A family. Safety. Love. A future. She felt Dora's knee bump against hers under the table, steady and familiar, anchoring her in the moment.

The food was plentiful and delicious, the conversation light and filled with laughter. Dora cracked a joke that made Violet laugh—a real, unguarded laugh—the sound drawing fond smiles from around the table, like sunshine breaking through the clouds. Rose proudly declared that she would stay up all night to catch Santa in the act, prompting a series of "good luck" and "you'll be asleep in ten minutes" from the adults, much to her indignation.

Throughout it all, Dora's hand would occasionally brush against Violet's under the table, a small touch, a grounding presence. Violet leaned into it every time without even thinking, their casual intimacy woven so deeply into their lives now that it felt as natural as breathing. Every glance, every smile, every soft touch between them was another thread tying them together more tightly.

Later, as dessert was passed around—a rich treacle tart that had Violet’s eyes lighting up—Rose leaned into her side, resting her head briefly against Violet’s shoulder, the little girl practically purring with contentment. Violet wrapped her arm around Rose without hesitation, hugging her close, pressing a kiss to her hair. Across the table, Dora rested her chin in her hand and watched them both, her expression soft, full of fierce, unwavering love, and almost reverent in the way she saw Violet and Rose together.

It was Christmas Eve. And for the first time in any of their lives, it truly felt like home—like family, and like the start of something beautifully, irrevocably new.

After the plates were cleared and the table polished clean, the little family migrated to the living room, the fire crackling warmly in the hearth and the fairy lights casting a soft, magical glow over the space. The rich scent of cinnamon and pine lingered in the air, making everything feel impossibly cozy. Andromeda and Ted settled onto one of the couches with mugs of steaming tea, while Violet, Dora, and Rose claimed the largest sofa, a pile of cozy blankets waiting to be wrapped around them.

Dora rifled through a small stack of movies with a playful smirk, shooting Violet an almost mischievous look before triumphantly holding one up. "Muppets Christmas Carol. Best Christmas movie, hands down," she declared with mock solemnity, clutching the DVD to her chest like a treasure. Violet raised an eyebrow in amused skepticism but there was no hiding the affection that softened her expression. She shook her head with a small smile, already surrendering to Dora's enthusiasm. Rose, wide-eyed with excitement and trust, clapped her hands together eagerly and immediately agreed to watch whatever Dora thought was best.

As the movie began, Rose curled herself up snugly between Violet and Dora, a blanket draped over all three of them, tucking them into a warm little cocoon. Rose tucked her feet against Violet's side, her head resting lightly against Dora's arm. Without thinking, Violet draped an arm protectively around Rose's small frame, while Dora shifted slightly to better cradle them both, her hand brushing softly against Violet's.

The opening notes of the film drifted through the room, the laughter and chaos of the Muppets filling the air with bright, silly magic. Violet found herself chuckling quietly along, still a little bewildered by the energetic madness on screen but enchanted by the contagious joy around her. Every time she smiled, Dora's heart melted a little more, unable to resist the way Violet’s features lit up, unguarded and free.

Throughout the movie, Dora would lean in to whisper little bits of trivia in Violet's ear or sing along under her breath, making Rose giggle delightedly. Violet watched them both with a soft, overwhelmed sort of joy, her heart aching in the best possible way. She soaked in every laugh, every nudge, every shared glance—memorizing it all like it was something sacred.

Rose was utterly entranced by the singing, the silliness, and the heartfelt story unfolding on the screen. Every so often, she would turn her wide, shining eyes toward Violet, as if to make sure she was seeing it too, that they were sharing the wonder of it. And every time, Violet would smile back and squeeze her gently, a silent promise that she was right there, that she would always be right there.

As the story reached its heartwarming end and the credits began to roll, Rose was blinking sleepily, her thumb rubbing the edge of the blanket in a slow, tired motion. Violet and Dora shared a look over her head—a look full of quiet understanding, tenderness, and a love that didn't need words to be understood. This—this simple, magical night—was the kind of memory Violet had never dared hope for. And now she had it, cradled in the laughter and warmth of the people she loved most, in a home that had finally, truly become her own.

With a gentle sigh, Violet leaned her head against Dora's shoulder, feeling the easy weight of Rose against her side. Dora shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to Violet's temple, their hands intertwining beneath the blanket as the fire crackled low in the hearth, wrapping them in its soft, golden glow. For the first time in so long, everything felt exactly right.

Ted and Andromeda watched from the living room doorway, their hearts full and warm as Violet and Dora carefully carried a sleepy, giggling Rose up the stairs. Rose, still clad in her matching Christmas jumper, was clinging stubbornly to consciousness, protesting in a soft, slurred voice that she was determined to stay up and catch Santa.

Violet, her voice gentle but firm, promised that if Rose stayed up too late, Santa might just skip their house entirely. Dora, grinning, chimed in about how Santa was sneaky and faster than even the best Aurors. Rose giggled, her protests weakening as she nestled her head against Violet's shoulder, surrendering to the pull of sleep.

As they disappeared up the stairs, Ted and Andromeda shared a look, the kind only parents could truly understand—full of pride, love, and a touch of bittersweet joy. To them, Violet and Dora weren't just playing at being a family; they were one. The sight of the two young women in their matching jumpers, carrying their daughter between them, was enough to bring a soft mist to Andromeda's eyes.

Moving quickly and quietly, Ted and Andromeda crept over to the Christmas tree. The fire was low, and the fairy lights cast a magical glow over the room as they carefully arranged the presents. Most were already labelled for Rose from Violet, Dora, or "Mum and Dora," but a special few had been tucked away, tagged in careful handwriting as being from "Santa" himself.

Unbeknownst to Violet, Ted and Andromeda had included a few gifts addressed to her from Santa too—small tokens of love and joy, silly and sweet and full of the childhood magic she had been robbed of for so long. A stuffed snowy owl plush. A beautiful leather-bound journal. A box of enchanted chocolates that never melted, no matter how close to the fire you sat.

When they finished, Ted stepped back and surveyed the tree, his arm slipping around Andromeda's waist. The tree looked beautiful, glittering and overflowing with love. More than anything, it looked like the home it had become: filled with second chances, healing hearts, and a future they could all believe in.

Tomorrow would be Christmas. And for the first time in a very long time, it would be a Christmas none of them would ever forget.

~

Violet lingered a moment longer by Rose's door, her hand resting lightly on the handle. From within came the soft sounds of Rose breathing, Eira’s gentle chirping nestled against her chest, and the faint ruffle of Anand’s fur as she shifted slightly at the foot of the bed. Macha, curled atop Anand in her small feline form, flicked her tail lazily even in sleep. The room was bathed in a faint silver glow from the snowy moonlight outside, casting the scene in a peaceful, almost sacred light.

Nymphadora came up behind her, arms looping around Violet's waist with a tenderness that spoke of quiet promises. She rested her chin against Violet's shoulder, breathing her in. "She looks so happy," she whispered, her voice thick with affection.

"She is," Violet murmured back, her own voice soft and reverent, leaning back into her as if they could fuse into one.

Together, they finished the last touch for Christmas Eve: Violet carefully hooked the small, stuffed stocking onto Rose's door handle. It was filled with little treasures: sweets, a miniature unicorn figurine, and a hand-knit pair of socks from Andromeda. A few magical trinkets, carefully warded, had been slipped in by Nymphadora earlier that evening—tiny sparks of wonder waiting to be discovered.

Satisfied, they retreated quietly, leaving the door ajar just enough for Badb and Hedwig to swoop in when they returned from their flight through the snowy night sky.

Their room welcomed them with a dim, gentle light, a single candle flickering low. The window was cracked open slightly, letting in the brisk scent of winter that Violet loved, the chill threading into the room like a secret only she understood. She breathed it in deeply, letting it settle the restless parts of her heart.

Nymphadora kicked off her slippers with a little hum, her fingers deftly freeing her hair from the careful bun she had worn all evening. Pink strands tumbled loose around her face in a soft, wild halo. Violet, slower, methodical, moved to the small dresser, bending to unlace her boots, feeling the weight of the day slip from her shoulders.

"Do you think she'll wake us before sunrise?" Nymphadora asked, her voice playful, a smile ghosting across her lips as she watched Violet.

"Without question," Violet replied, a quiet laugh escaping before she could catch it, the sound warming the space between them.

Nymphadora chuckled and crossed the room in a few lazy steps, bumping her hip gently against Violet's. "Come on, then. Bed."

They changed into their night clothes — matching soft flannel tops covered in tiny dancing Christmas trees, Violet wearing one of Nymphadora's that hung off her just a little — and simple sleep shorts underneath. It was domestic and intimate in a way that made Violet's chest ache with how much she loved her. They slipped under the heavy quilt, the mattress dipping and shifting as they found each other instinctively.

Violet pulled the covers up to her chin, curling closer to Nymphadora without hesitation. Their legs tangled beneath the blankets, skin brushing skin, and she sighed out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Nymphadora’s hand found her waist, fingers splaying there possessively, grounding her.

"You did good, Vi," Nymphadora whispered after a long, comfortable silence, reaching out to brush a stray strand of black hair from Violet's forehead. Her touch lingered, tender and sure. "She’s safe. She's happy."

Violet's chest tightened, not with fear, but with the overwhelming force of love. She turned her head, pressing a kiss to Nymphadora’s knuckles and holding there, breathing her in. "We did good," she murmured against her skin, voice cracking slightly with emotion.

Nymphadora said nothing, only shifted closer, their foreheads touching, breaths mingling in the small space between them.

Outside, the snow continued its silent fall, wrapping the world in a soft cocoon. Badb and Hedwig swooped low past the window, a blur of black and white feathers against the grey sky, their shadows dancing briefly across the walls.

Inside, wrapped in each other's arms and the faint scent of pine and snow, Violet and Nymphadora drifted into sleep, their dreams tethered together, ready to face whatever the morning would bring.

~

The first pale rays of dawn had only just begun to seep through the snowy veil outside when Violet stirred, roused not by sound, but by the familiar, gentle tug of her bond with her familiars. She felt Macha’s soft presence first, a deliberate pulse of affection nudging her mind, followed by Anand's steady, warm encouragement flowing through the connection they shared. Even in sleep, they were careful—soothing rather than startling. They had learned early that abrupt awakenings triggered Violet's fight-or-flight instincts, often resulting in her wand drawn and pointed before she even realized what she was doing. The aftermath was always the same—Violet breaking down in tearful apologies, guilt-ridden for reacting on reflex. Nymphadora had discovered this the hard way during their early days together, a lesson that left them all cautious and gentle when waking her. Badb, perched on the windowsill, sent a soft thread of amusement through the bond, a faint croon escaping her beak as she watched the snowy morning unfurl.

Violet cracked an eye open, the room still hazy with the early light. She felt Nymphadora breathing slow and steady beside her, one arm thrown lazily over Violet’s waist, the flannel shirts they'd worn in the night rumpled and warm.

Soft, almost inaudible footsteps padded toward the bed. Violet closed her eyes again quickly, feigning sleep.

The door creaked open.

She could feel the small, hesitating presence in the doorway—Rose. Hovering, uncertain. A small shift of air, the softest intake of breath. Violet fought to keep her face relaxed, feeling her heart clench warmly at the thought of her daughter wanting so badly not to wake them, even on Christmas morning.

There was a tiny rustle, and then a muffled giggle. Anand, ever the conspirator, gave a low chuff and gently nudged Rose forward with her nose.

Violet could almost hear Rose's resolve strengthen. Little feet padded closer across the wood floor, a pause, and then—

With a delighted squeal muffled behind her hands, Rose scrambled up onto the bed, gathering her courage in a breath before launching herself in a triumphant leap onto Violet and Nymphadora.

"Merry Christmas!"

Violet turned just in time, arms snapping up with practiced ease to catch the little bundle of warmth and excitement. She laughed, the sound bubbling up naturally as she rolled onto her back, cradling Rose against her chest.

Nymphadora startled awake with a gasp, instinctively reaching for her wand—until she saw the giggling tangle of Violet and Rose. She blinked blearily before letting out a breathless laugh, her arms coming up to wrap around them both, drawing them into an even tighter embrace.

"Merry Christmas, my little whirlwind," Dora said, voice rough with sleep and full of joy.

Rose beamed between them, squirming happily, her curls a wild halo around her face.

Anand circled the bed once before hopping up carefully, tail wagging, while Macha settled contentedly m onto Violet's hip, purring deeply. 

And for a long, golden moment, wrapped in warmth and laughter and unconditional love, Christmas morning truly began.

~

The kitchen was a warm haven against the chill outside, golden light spilling from the windows and the rich, comforting smell of cinnamon and fresh bread hanging in the air. The world beyond was still blanketed in white, snow continuing to drift lazily from the grey sky, but inside it was nothing but warmth and laughter.

Violet, Nymphadora, and Rose padded into the kitchen in a tangle of flannel and sleep-ruffled hair, each clutching their stockings. Ted was already at the table, mug in hand, grinning broadly as he watched them. Andromeda stood by the stove, her wand flicking expertly as she finished setting out breakfast — warm pastries, buttered toast, scrambled eggs, and sausages sizzling fresh.

"Merry Christmas!" Ted called out, opening his arms wide as Rose bounded toward him, her stocking clutched to her chest.

"Merry Christmas, Granddad!" Rose squealed, launching herself into his lap.

"Sit down, everyone," Andromeda said with a soft smile, her voice rich with affection. "Breakfast is ready. Open your stockings while it's still hot."

They all settled around the table, Violet sitting close beside Nymphadora, who wrapped an arm around her waist and nuzzled briefly into her shoulder. Rose perched between Ted and Violet, bouncing with excitement as she tugged open her stocking.

From inside tumbled a delightful collection of small treasures: a handful of sweets, a tiny set of colored pencils and a notepad, a small spinning top enchanted to light up with a flick of a finger, and—the biggest prize—a little box with a brightly colored Lego kit tucked neatly inside. Rose gasped with delight, holding it up for everyone to see.

"Look, look!" she beamed. "It's a car! I can build it!"

Nymphadora winked at her over her cup of tea, barely hiding her grin. "I thought you'd like that, little racer."

Ted chuckled and pulled a pair of novelty socks from his own stocking, waving them proudly. "Nothing says Christmas quite like socks with dancing Hippogriffs on them."

Andromeda, with an air of mock seriousness, produced a tiny jar of enchanted honey from hers, the label proudly declaring it to be "guaranteed to sweeten even the sourest days."

Violet found small trinkets in her stocking: a pocket-sized enchanted mirror from Dora that would flash little hearts whenever she looked into it, a bag of her favorite dark chocolates, and a simple, elegant silver hairpin shaped like a feather. She turned it over carefully in her fingers, something tender and aching blooming in her chest at the thoughtfulness of it all.

"Thank you," she whispered, nudging Dora gently with her shoulder.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Nymphadora murmured back, brushing her knuckles against Violet’s thigh beneath the table.

The kitchen filled with the happy sounds of unwrapping and soft exclamations, the clink of plates and the warm, low murmur of conversation. Outside, the snow continued to fall, wrapping the world in silence, but here, surrounded by family, it felt like the world had narrowed to just this perfect, golden morning.

~

After breakfast, the family migrated to the living room, still wrapped in the cozy, lingering warmth of the kitchen. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a golden glow over the room that danced along the garlands strung across the mantle and the tree that stood proudly in the corner, its branches heavy with twinkling lights and carefully placed ornaments.

Rose was practically vibrating with excitement, her stocking treasures now safely tucked away as she bounced on her toes, eyeing the small pile of presents beneath the tree.

"Alright, alright," Ted said, chuckling as he settled into one of the armchairs, Andromeda taking her usual spot beside him with a knowing smile. "No need to burst, Rosie."

Rose giggled and clambered onto the floor near the tree, her excitement infectiously bright. Anand lay sprawled protectively nearby, her tail thudding against the floor with every wag. Macha, still small and sleek in her feline form, coiled herself neatly around Anand's side. Badb perched on the back of the couch, her sharp black eyes gleaming with amusement, while Hedwig sat with quiet dignity beside Violet, occasionally preening her snowy feathers.

Eira, tiny and fluffy, nestled close to Rose's side, letting out soft little cheeps of happiness. Rose gently patted her head, her touch instinctively careful with the baby owl.

Violet and Nymphadora settled on the couch, pressed close together. Violet kept a steady hand resting on Hedwig's back, grounding herself in the familiar softness of her oldest friend.

"Go on then, sweetheart," Nymphadora said, smiling warmly at Rose. "Find one with your name on it."

Rose needed no more encouragement. She crawled toward the tree, her hands searching eagerly through the brightly wrapped packages. She found one quickly—wrapped in paper covered with prancing reindeer—and turned with wide, sparkling eyes to show everyone.

"This one's mine!"

"Open it, darling," Andromeda encouraged, her voice full of gentle laughter.

Rose tore into the paper, careful but determined, and let out a squeal of delight as a soft, enchanted plush unicorn tumbled into her lap, its mane shimmering with a faint magical glow.

"It's beautiful!" she breathed, hugging it tightly.

Violet smiled, feeling a lump form in her throat as she watched the joy radiate from Rose. She leaned her head against Nymphadora's shoulder, the simple, perfect moment searing itself into her heart.

Presents would be opened slowly, cherished, not rushed—a morning stitched together with laughter, love, and the quiet, unbreakable bonds of family.

Rose's laughter filled the living room, a sound so bright and pure it seemed to make even the crackling fire lean closer to listen.

After the unicorn, she moved eagerly onto the next presents, each one greeted with wide eyes and delighted gasps. Her small hands tore through colorful paper with reverence, as if each package was a treasure chest waiting to be discovered.

She unwrapped a book next—or what she thought was a book—and let out a little gasp of wonder. Bound in soft red leather, the Magical Journal shimmered faintly as she held it. The privacy runes stitched into the cover glowed softly when her fingers brushed across them.

"It's for you only, sweetheart," Violet said, voice thick with affection. "It'll glow a little under the moonlight. And when you write in it—thoughts, sketches, anything—it’ll listen. If you're ever scared or sad, it'll remind you how brave and loved you are."

Rose hugged the journal to her chest, her eyes shining. She didn’t know yet that the affirming messages inside were in Violet's own handwriting, carefully enchanted to appear when most needed.

The next gift made her squeal again: a boxed set of "The Magical Animal Adventures" series, each spine brightly colored and lovingly preserved.

"I loved these when I was your age," Dora said, tapping one finger against a volume. "And I might have... added a few little notes in the margins. Helpful hints. Funny bits."

Rose looked up at her, awe in her expression, and then carefully cradled the books against her knee like they were precious artifacts.

Next came a Training Broom—child-sized and charmed for safety—making Rose nearly levitate herself with excitement. She bounced on her knees, laughing in disbelief.

"You'll have to practice with me," Nymphadora teased, ruffling her hair.

Then came a Lego castle set, the box nearly as big as Rose herself. She hugged it fiercely, already babbling about the rooms she was going to build and the stories she was going to tell with it.

After that, Violet gently handed her a soft bundle wrapped in silver paper. Rose peeled it open to find a blanket, custom-knitted by Andromeda. Rich blues and silvers wove together like a night sky, and when Rose pulled it around her shoulders, she let out a little gasp—it was enchanted to feel like a warm, protective hug.

One corner was stitched with tiny embroidered symbols: a star, a raven, a wolf. Symbols of home, magic, and the fierce protectors who loved her.

And finally, tucked carefully at the bottom of the pile, was a slightly heavier package. Rose opened it with reverence, revealing a "Family Photo Album."

The first page showed Violet, Nymphadora, and Rose on a picnic blanket under a sunny sky, laughing with their heads close together. The next had her riding piggyback on Dora's back, and another of Violet teaching her how to paint stars with magic in the air.

Little notes were scrawled in the margins—Dora’s looping, mischievous handwriting and Violet's careful, affectionate script.

Maisie and Leila appeared too—Rose’s first friends, their arms linked together in a sunlit garden.

At the back, blank pages waited patiently for future memories yet to be made.

Rose's hands shook slightly as she traced over the pictures, and when she finally looked up, her cheeks were flushed with emotion.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with feeling.

Violet leaned forward, wrapping her in a fierce hug. "Always, little star. Always."

After Rose had finished unwrapping the last of her gifts, she curled up on the floor amidst her treasures, Anand and Eira settling around her protectively while Macha lounged across her lap, purring. Badb perched herself above on the back of the sofa, preening, and Hedwig nestled calmly near Violet, surveying the scene with her wise, steady gaze. Rose was utterly content, turning over the pages of her new magical animal book while Violet and Dora turned toward the smaller pile set aside for each other, the excitement lingering in the air like the scent of cinnamon and pine.

Violet felt a small, surprised flutter in her chest when she saw a couple of the presents were labeled "From Santa." She laughed softly, the sound spilling out before she could contain it, shaking her head in quiet amusement. She could almost hear Ted and Andromeda chuckling to themselves while wrapping these. Dora, catching the laughter, turned her head and watched Violet with open affection, her heart tightening at the sight of that rare, unguarded happiness.

Nymphadora nudged a small parcel toward Violet with a grin. "You first," she said, almost bouncing where she sat.

Violet hesitated, a little shy, but picked it up carefully, fingers steady despite her nerves. She peeled back the wrapping to reveal a soft wool jumper in a deep grey-blue, almost the color of a winter twilight. The moment her fingers brushed the material, she knew it was enchanted—perfectly warm without feeling heavy, carrying a faint, familiar scent that instantly made her think of Dora, of comfort, of home.

"Try it on," Dora encouraged, almost breathless with anticipation.

Violet slipped it over her head, the fabric molding to her form like a second skin. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the calming warmth of it settle around her, grounding her, wrapping her in something more than just cloth.

"It's wonderful," Violet said, voice thick with emotion. She meant more than the warmth—she meant the thought, the care, the love stitched into every fiber, the way Dora saw her needs without Violet ever having to ask.

Next, she unwrapped a small box and found a necklace inside. A simple silver chain with a feather pendant, delicate and gleaming. Violet turned it over and saw a tiny inscription on the back: "Brave." Her breath caught, and she had to swallow hard.

Dora shifted nervously, her hands twisting in her lap. "I... I thought you might like it."

"I love it," Violet whispered fiercely, already fastening it around her neck with slightly trembling fingers.

There were still more: a pair of new fingerless gloves, enchanted to warm themselves slightly against the cold, stitched subtly with protective runes. Dora’s careful observation, the way she noticed the thinning fabric of Violet's old pair without ever saying anything aloud, spoke louder than any words.

Finally, Violet opened the last package: a Stargazing Kit, a star chart enchanted to shift with the seasons bundled together with a soft, thick blanket. Dora had thought of everything Violet needed—the quiet, the stars, the peace.

"For when you need quiet," Dora said, voice gentle, almost reverent.

Violet blinked rapidly, feeling dangerously close to crying, overwhelmed by how much thought Dora had poured into every single gift.

"Your turn," Violet managed to say, clearing her throat and nudging Dora toward her own pile.

Dora eagerly pulled her presents closer, her hands fumbling slightly in her excitement. She started with the smallest, finding a custom wand holster inside—sleek, handmade leather, enchanted for quick draw and extra protection. She ran her fingers reverently over the runes stitched with Violet's careful hand, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Vi..."

"So you’re safe," Violet said simply, voice so low and raw it made Dora’s chest ache.

Next came a thicker, heavier package: a handwritten book. Dora opened it with trembling fingers to find pages upon pages of meticulously written spells, battle tactics, annotations, and Violet’s reasoning behind certain spell chains—an entire warbook, cleaned and rewritten just for her, for them to share.

On the first page, in Violet's steady but slightly shy hand, it read:

"You said you want to walk beside me. I want that too. This is everything I know."

Dora pressed her hand flat against the page for a moment, as if absorbing the weight of it, blinking hard against the sudden sting of tears.

Finally, she opened the last gift—a pair of linked magical journals. One for each of them, bound in deep midnight blue, the covers warm and inviting. A soft charm connected them, no matter the distance between.

Violet fidgeted nervously, unable to look directly at her. "I... I thought, maybe... we could use them. For when you’re away. If you want."

Dora flipped open her journal and quickly scribbled a single word: "Hi."

The second journal, still resting in Violet's lap, glowed faintly. Violet opened it, seeing Dora's familiar handwriting bloom across the page like magic, and a real, soft smile unfurled across her face.

"I want," Dora said firmly, reaching for Violet's hand and squeezing it tightly. "Always."

They sat there for a long moment, surrounded by the crackling fire, Rose's delighted giggles as she showed Anand her new treasures, the occasional croon of Hedwig, and the comforting warmth of a home built with love. Both feeling a little overwhelmed, a little shy, and a whole lot lucky to have found each other.

And more than anything else, they felt—utterly, completely—loved.

As Violet and Dora finished unwrapping their last presents, laughter and warmth lingering between them, Andromeda caught Rose's attention with a gentle tilt of her head and a subtle gesture toward the tree. Ted winked encouragingly at her, nodding toward the small, still-unopened parcel nestled beside her treasures.

Rose hesitated for a heartbeat, clutching the little package to her chest. She glanced at Violet and Dora, who noticed the movement and turned with slight confusion on their faces. Their brows furrowed in matching expressions just as Rose stood, cradling the gift carefully, and crossed the room toward them.

Her hands shook a little as she held it out.

"This one’s for you," Rose whispered, her voice wobbling with nerves.

Violet smiled softly, reaching out to steady the package, but it was Dora who caught the label first—written in Rose's careful, wobbly handwriting:

"To Mum and Mama."

Violet’s breath caught, and Dora's heart clenched so tightly it hurt. Tears sprang to their eyes almost instantly, their hands trembling as they accepted the precious gift.

Rose, seeing their reaction, immediately began to fidget anxiously, her shoulders hunching in on themselves. Doubt clouded her bright little face—worry that maybe she had been wrong, that maybe she had pushed too far.

Before that spiral could take her, Dora was already moving. She swept Rose into a fierce hug, pulling her securely between her and Violet, wrapping her completely in their warmth.

"I would love to be your mama," Dora whispered into Rose's hair, her voice breaking with emotion.

Violet pressed her hand against Rose’s back, grounding her, pressing a soft kiss into her curls.

Rose let out a shaky, relieved little sob and hugged them both tightly, burying her face in Dora’s jumper.

When they finally pulled apart, Violet carefully unwrapped the little parcel.

Inside were two treasures.

The first was a photograph—a magical one, taken by Andromeda. It showed the three of them outside in the snow: Violet spinning Rose around in her arms, both laughing freely, while Dora threw a playful handful of snow at them. Anand was captured mid-bound in the background, kicking up clouds of white, and high above, Badb and Hedwig wheeled in the frosted sky. Off to the side, perched with regal dignity, were Eira and Macha, watching the chaos with amusement. The picture shimmered softly in the light, the movements looping again and again—a snapshot of pure, unfiltered joy.

The second was a drawing, clearly done by Rose herself at school. Brightly colored, proudly messy, it showed a little house with smoke curling from the chimney, a big tree beside it, and three smiling figures—Rose, Violet, and Dora—all holding hands. Hedwig and Badb were drawn as swooping shapes in the sky, with Eira and Macha curled up together nearby, and Anand’s oversized form bounding happily around them.

The labels were painstakingly scrawled:

Me, Mum, Mama, Anand, Hedwig, Badb, Eira, Macha.

Violet traced the drawing with shaking fingers, her throat too tight to speak.

Dora wiped at her eyes, laughing a little, utterly overwhelmed. "It’s beautiful, Rosie. Absolutely perfect."

"The best present," Violet whispered hoarsely, pulling Rose into another hug, feeling the fierce, boundless love thrumming between them.

Ted and Andromeda watched quietly from the couch, Andromeda dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, Ted squeezing her hand tightly.

The fire crackled gently beside them, and outside, the snow continued to fall, wrapping the world in white. But here, in this small, brilliant corner of the world, everything was warm and bright and whole.

The rest of Christmas Day unfolded in a haze of warmth and contentment. The soft murmur of conversation, the clink of small toys being assembled, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the house with a magic all its own, weaving a cocoon of love around them.

Dora found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping Rose piece together one of her smaller Lego sets—a whimsical little treehouse. Rose decided to save the grand castle set for later, wanting to savor the excitement. Andromeda and Ted had given her a few more small kits as well, and soon the floor was a colorful landscape of tiny magical villages and gleaming figures. Dora's fingers moved carefully, but her heart was completely in it, smiling every time Rose leaned against her with a shy, delighted "Mama," testing the word on her tongue.

Each time Rose said it, Dora’s heart cracked open a little wider. Violet, watching from the couch with a book in her lap, kept glancing up to drink in the sight of them—her family, blooming right in front of her.

Dinner that evening was a comfortable, familiar affair, filled with the cozy chaos of leftovers, clinking silverware, and the hum of easy conversation. Everything about it felt effortless, rooted deep in belonging.

Later, after tucking a sleepy, giggling Rose into bed—Anand curled protectively at her feet, Eira snuggled against her side, Macha perched on the headboard, and Hedwig and Badb keeping watch from the windowsill—Violet and Dora moved quietly through their nighttime routine.

There was a tender familiarity to it—the brushing of teeth, the exchanging of small smiles, the soft nudging of shoulders in the cramped bathroom. But tonight, there was something new too: an unspoken tension, thick with hope and vulnerability, humming in the small space between them.

Violet lingered after putting away her toothbrush, her hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of her borrowed flannel top. Her heart hammered in her chest, the day’s emotions catching up to her. Slowly, she turned to Dora, her body trembling slightly, and raised one trembling hand to cup Dora’s cheek.

Dora froze, her breath hitching, feeling the gentleness in Violet’s touch, the raw, open emotion shining in her deep green eyes. She reached up without thinking, covering Violet’s hand with her own, grounding her.

"You don't have to force yourself, Vi," Dora whispered, voice rough with the weight of everything she felt—the fierce tenderness, the awe.

Violet shook her head, a small, determined smile curling the corners of her lips. Her thumb brushed delicately across Dora’s cheekbone as she answered, her voice trembling but certain. "I'm not forcing anything. I've... I've been wanting to for a while."

They stood there for a moment, suspended in fragile, beautiful silence, breathing each other in—the shared history, the fear, the trust, the hope.

Slowly, Violet leaned in. Their lips met in a kiss that was soft, reverent, and trembling with emotion. It was a kiss filled with all the things they hadn’t dared to say aloud yet— I love you. I choose you. You are my home.

The world seemed to narrow to that single point of connection, the rest of the house—the snow outside, the lingering magic of Christmas—fading into a distant hum.

It was Violet's first kiss. It was Dora's first kiss.

They parted only when they needed to breathe, their foreheads resting together, sharing the same air, the same heartbeat. Violet’s hand slid into Dora’s hair, holding her close, while Dora’s arms wrapped protectively around Violet’s waist.

Violet’s voice broke the silence, thick with emotion. "Merry Christmas, Dora."

Dora laughed, the sound broken and beautiful, and pulled her impossibly closer. "Merry Christmas, Vi."

They climbed into bed, their bodies instinctively seeking each other, legs tangling, arms entwining beneath the heavy quilt. Violet tucked her head into the curve of Dora’s neck, breathing in her warmth, while Dora cradled her as if she was something precious and irreplaceable.

Sleep claimed them slowly, wrapped in a love that was fierce, tender, and achingly real. For the first time in their lives, they fell asleep wrapped in the sure, unshakable knowledge that they were truly, finally home.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

XII

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

The days that followed Christmas settled into a rhythm of quiet, golden joy, the kind that wrapped itself around the house like the lingering scent of cinnamon, pine, and woodsmoke. Outside, the world lay still under a thick blanket of snow, muffling every sound, while inside, the home thrummed with a warmth and life that seeped into every corner, every creaking floorboard and fluttering curtain.

Violet found herself smiling more easily now, the kind of soft, unguarded smile she had once thought forever beyond her. It lived in the way Rose giggled, sprawled across the living room floor as she built towering Lego castles, Anand and Macha snuggled lazily beside her. It was in the sight of Hedwig and Badb perched like vigilant sentinels atop the bookshelves, their feathers glinting in the firelight, and in the gentle flutter of Eira’s tiny wings as she dreamed curled in the crook of Rose’s arm.

But most profoundly, it lived in the way Dora looked at her—like Violet was something precious and sacred, something to be treasured, not fixed. Even before the kiss they shared on Christmas night, Dora had been affectionate with her, emotionally intimate in ways that Violet had never experienced before. Dora would pull Violet gently into her side while they sat on the couch, her hand finding Violet’s without hesitation. She would hold Violet close as they stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, resting her chin lightly on Violet's head, filling the space around them with silent, unshakable comfort.

Since the kiss, that intimacy had only deepened. Dora became even more openly affectionate, weaving tiny threads of touch and presence between them throughout the day. A brush of their shoulders in the hallway became a lingering squeeze. Fingers slipping into Violet's under the table when they sat close turned into gentle, absentminded caresses along her wrist. Arms winding around her waist from behind became Dora pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, whispering something soft and wordless into her hair.

Yet Dora was always careful, infinitely patient. Before every kiss pressed to Violet's lips, she would pause, searching Violet's eyes with a tenderness that made her chest ache. A silent question. A choice.

And each time, Violet, still learning to trust herself, would offer the smallest of nods, or breathe a trembling "yes," her heart blooming wider with every gentle, reverent kiss.

Neither of them had ever been in a relationship before—not like this, not with this kind of soul-deep vulnerability. They stumbled together through the uncharted territory, clumsy but full of aching tenderness. Dora’s patience became a balm to Violet’s battered spirit, her steady, unwavering presence a lighthouse guiding her through the storms of doubt and fear.

Violet was still healing—from the endless years of war, from grief, from the bone-deep loneliness that had once convinced her she was too broken to ever be loved. Some days, the shadows crept in without warning, and Violet would retreat into herself, tangled in old wounds she couldn't yet name.

But Dora never faltered. She never demanded. She simply stayed—sometimes pressing a kiss to Violet's hair, sometimes just holding her hand, sometimes just sitting in silence beside her, their connection a quiet promise that Violet didn't have to be alone with the ghosts anymore.

The house became more than a home; it became a living testament to their love, carrying the soft imprint of every whispered word, every shared smile, every tentative step forward. It wasn't grand or perfect. It was real—messy, hopeful, fiercely tender.

And though Violet still stumbled, still wrestled with the tidal waves of emotions she barely knew how to name, there was no mistaking the truth etched into the walls, into the very air they breathed together:

She was loved.

She was wanted.

She was safe.

And little by little, like snow melting under the first touch of spring, Violet began to believe—truly believe—that she could have this. This life. This family. This love.

And she would not lose herself.

She would find herself.

In them. In Dora.

In a future she had never dared to dream of before.

~

The snow still blanketed the world well into the early days of the new year, softening the sharp edges of the landscape and filling the air with a quiet, almost reverent stillness. It was in this hushed, magical world that Dora decided it was time.

They had spent days wrapped up in the warmth of family—comfortable, easy days filled with laughter, games, and moments stolen in the quiet between. They’d had family days out, afternoons spent wandering snowy parks with Rose bundled between them, and evenings spent curled together by the fire. But tonight, Dora wanted something different. Something that was just for them.

A proper date.

Dora wanted to give Violet a night that felt special—to show her that she was cherished not just in the quiet moments, but celebrated, adored.

They dressed carefully, a kind of nervous excitement buzzing in the air between them.

Violet chose a pair of fitted black trousers, mid-calf boots polished until they gleamed, and a soft, deep blue shirt that brought out the vivid green of her eyes. Over it, she pulled on one of her well-loved leather jackets, the worn leather molded perfectly to her form, the picture of effortless, understated strength. Dora couldn't take her eyes off her.

For her part, Dora wore dark trousers and a clean, well-fitted flannel shirt in deep forest green, the sleeves rolled to her forearms. Instead of her usual scuffed boots, she chose a pair of smart, polished shoes, simple but nice—an outfit that felt like herself, but polished for Violet.

When Violet stepped into the living room, buttoning the last button of her jacket, Dora’s breath caught for a moment. She looked beautiful—not because of the clothes, but because of the quiet confidence starting to bloom behind her eyes.

Violet shifted slightly under Dora’s gaze, a hint of nervousness flashing across her face. "Is it... alright?"

Dora crossed the room in two strides, taking Violet’s hands gently in hers.

"Vi," she said, voice soft but sure, "you’re stunning."

A flush crept up Violet’s neck, but she squeezed Dora's hands in return, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips.

Ted and Andromeda waved them off with fond smiles and promises to look after Rose for the evening. Violet hesitated at the door for just a heartbeat, glancing back to where Rose was building a fortress out of pillows with Anand's eager assistance.

Dora leaned in, brushing a feather-light kiss to Violet’s temple. "She’ll be fine. This is our night."

Violet nodded, letting herself lean into Dora's side for a moment longer before they stepped out into the crisp, starlit evening.

The world outside was dazzling—snow glittering under the streetlamps, their breath puffing in the cold air as they made their way down the drive. Dora laced their fingers together as they walked, a simple, steady touch that made Violet’s heart thrum in her chest.

Dora led them through the snow-dusted streets, their breath forming little clouds in the chilly night air, hands intertwined between them, a gentle anchor against the vast, still night. The world around them felt quieter than usual, wrapped in the lingering magic of the new year. The streets were mostly empty, and the glow of the streetlamps reflected off the pristine blanket of snow, making everything seem touched by stardust.

Hand in hand, they wandered until they reached a small, warmly lit Muggle restaurant tucked away between two shops, its windows fogged slightly from the heat inside. A cozy oasis in the winter evening, the soft murmur of conversation and clink of cutlery was faintly audible even from outside.

Violet hesitated for a moment at the door, nerves prickling under her skin, but Dora squeezed her hand and offered that soft, reassuring smile that had become her anchor—the one that always seemed to calm the storm inside her chest.

"It's just us tonight," Dora murmured, her voice low and intimate. She wanted to say more—wanted so badly to whisper the word "love" aloud, to let it hang between them like a benediction—but she held it back, not wanting to pressure Violet, not wanting to rush a moment that was already perfect in its own right. Instead, she simply squeezed Violet's hand tighter, the unspoken emotion pulsing between them like a promise, steady and sure.

The warmth of those words and the feeling behind them spread through Violet like firewhisky, chasing away the lingering nervousness. She squeezed back, stepping inside with Dora.

Inside, the restaurant was cozy and inviting, filled with the gentle hum of quiet conversation and the comforting smells of roasting meats, fresh bread, and something sweet baking. The air was warm and rich, a stark contrast to the brisk cold outside. The decor was simple—wooden tables, flickering candles, soft music playing low in the background—a place where masks could fall away and people could simply be.

The hostess led them to a small table by a frosted window, tucked away just enough to give them a sense of privacy. The table was adorned with a flickering candle, its golden glow casting soft, dancing shadows that made Violet’s features look almost ethereal. Dora found herself mesmerized by her all over again, wondering if she would ever get used to the way Violet looked when she let herself be truly seen.

They ordered without much fuss—comfort food that suited the evening perfectly: roasted chicken with rosemary, buttery mashed potatoes, a hearty vegetable stew rich with flavor and warmth. It wasn’t the meal that mattered—though the food was delicious in its own right—it was the way they leaned across the table toward each other, hands seeking each other without thought, eyes locking in the soft wonder of being together.

They talked about nothing and everything—childhood memories, old books, silly dreams and impossible ideas they would never share with anyone else. They spoke of quiet hopes for the future, of building something safe and strong together. Sometimes they simply sat in silence, the soft buzz of the restaurant around them, their hands linked on the table, their smiles speaking all the words their hearts could not yet voice.

Every so often, Dora would reach out, brushing her fingers along the back of Violet’s hand, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear with infinite tenderness. Each touch sent a ripple of warmth through Violet’s chest, a steady reminder that this—this fragile, beautiful thing growing between them—was real, and hers to nurture.

Violet found herself laughing more freely than she could remember, a sound that made Dora’s chest tighten with a deep, aching kind of happiness. And Dora, for all her usual playfulness, carried a softness about her tonight—an awe she couldn’t quite hide, like she still half-expected the dream to slip through her fingers if she blinked too hard.

By the time dessert arrived—a shared slice of rich chocolate cake—they were leaning close enough that the candlelight caught in Violet’s lashes, turning her eyes to shining emeralds. Violet rested her hand atop Dora’s, her body language open, vulnerable, and at ease in a way that would have stunned anyone who had only ever known the battle-hardened girl from before.

They ate the cake slowly, savoring it not for the sweetness alone, but for the easy laughter and the soft, bashful glances that passed between them. For the way Dora would brush crumbs from Violet’s lip with a thumb, her touch feather-light and reverent.

Under the soft candlelight, with the snow gently falling outside the window and the warmth of their quiet joy filling every space between them, it was easy to believe—even without saying the words aloud—that for tonight, and maybe for many nights to come, the world was made just for them.

Two women who hadn’t quite said "I love you" yet.

Two women who already felt it in every glance, every touch, every breath shared between them.

Together.

Exactly where they belonged.

After dinner, neither of them were in any hurry to go home.

The night stretched out before them, soft and silent, the snow falling in gentle flurries around their heads. The streets were mostly empty, and the world felt wrapped in a hush, as though holding its breath just for them. The golden pools of light from the streetlamps flickered against the snow, painting their path in soft, muted colors. Everything about the world felt suspended, as if granting them a moment outside of time.

They walked slowly, side by side, arms around each other in a loose, comfortable embrace. Violet tucked herself against Dora's side, feeling the steady beat of her heart through the layers of fabric. Dora rested her cheek lightly against Violet's temple as they moved, occasionally dropping a soft kiss into her hair. Snowflakes clung to their jackets and hair, sparkling in the lamplight like tiny stars caught in their hair.

It wasn't about getting anywhere. It was about being here—moving together, existing together, breathing together—in this precious, fleeting moment. Every soft step forward was another stitch in the life they were quietly, determinedly building.

Their breath mingled visibly in the cold, swirling between them, ghostly and tender. Sometimes they spoke in soft murmurs—small jokes, comments about the glittering world around them—but mostly, they simply walked, wrapped in the kind of silence that spoke louder than any words.

They wandered aimlessly until they found themselves near a small park, where a frozen pond glimmered like glass under the faint light of the streetlamps. The surface was dusted with snow, untouched and pristine, and the world around them had fallen into an even deeper stillness. The soft crunch of their boots against the path was the only sound, a steady, rhythmic accompaniment to the quiet thundering of their hearts.

Dora slowed, then stopped altogether, guiding Violet gently toward the edge of the pond. She turned to face her fully, her hands finding Violet's as naturally as breathing. Violet’s gloved fingers fit perfectly in hers, and she could feel the warmth radiating from Violet despite the chill in the air.

For a moment, they just stood there, breathing each other in, their hands clasped tightly between them. The snow drifted down in lazy, languid spirals, the world wrapped in an almost sacred hush. The moment felt perfect—fragile and breathtaking—wrapped in the quiet beauty of falling snow and unspoken words.

Dora’s thumb brushed gently over Violet’s knuckles. She could feel Violet's pulse fluttering beneath her skin, a soft, staccato rhythm that matched her own.

Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper, trembling with all the emotions she couldn't yet say aloud.

"Vi... may I kiss you?"

Violet’s heart fluttered wildly in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. She squeezed Dora’s hands tighter and nodded, her voice catching slightly as she whispered, "Yes."

Dora stepped closer, closing the small distance between them with deliberate care, her hands sliding up to cup Violet's face with a tenderness that made Violet’s breath hitch and her knees weaken. She leaned in slowly, carefully, giving Violet every chance to pull away, to change her mind.

But Violet didn't move. She tilted her face up, eyes fluttering closed, trusting, open.

When their lips met, it was like the whole world paused—like everything fell into place with a soft, inevitable click.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative and exploratory, but quickly deepened with the emotion neither of them could fully speak aloud yet. Dora poured everything she was feeling into it—all the aching affection, the wonder, the fierce, protective love she felt for the woman in her arms. Every ounce of awe, every thread of devotion, every quiet hope.

Violet responded in kind, her fingers tangling desperately in the fabric of Dora’s shirt, holding her close as if afraid that if she let go, this perfect moment might shatter. She kissed her back with a raw, trembling devotion that left no doubts, no fears, only certainty—certainty that she was loved, wanted, cherished.

Snow fell around them, catching in their hair, clinging to their lashes, dusting their shoulders in a glittering, ethereal veil. The cold didn’t touch them. The only thing that existed was the warmth they shared, the steady, unbreakable tether that bound them together with every breath, every heartbeat.

When they finally, reluctantly parted, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the cold air, eyes shining with unshed tears and quiet, uncontainable joy.

Neither spoke.

They didn’t need to.

Everything that mattered had already been said—in the language of touch, of trust, of two hearts that had found their way home against all odds.

The snow continued to fall softly around them, wrapping the world in a blanket of white. But for Violet and Dora, it felt like the entire universe had stilled to bear witness to the moment when everything changed.

And neither of them would ever forget it.

~~

Before they knew it, the golden days of the holidays had slipped away.

The house, once filled with the constant, comforting presence of family, began to empty during the days. Rose returned to school, her backpack slung proudly over her shoulders, cheeks rosy with excitement to tell her friends about her Christmas. Dora, reluctantly, had to return to work, pulling on her Auror robes once more, leaving each morning with a lingering kiss to Violet's forehead and a whispered promise to be home soon.

And so, Violet found herself alone more often.

The house felt bigger somehow without them. Quieter. But Violet didn't let herself fall into old patterns of loneliness. She filled the time with purpose, seizing the solitude as a gift rather than a burden.

In the cozy warmth of the living room or tucked away in the library, Violet began her next journey. She started researching what she would need to do to become a teacher—not just any teacher, but the kind of professor who could offer the next generation the tools to survive and thrive. She learned about the different Masteries she would need, reading into Defense, Magical Theory, and Education charters, carefully noting requirements and certifications in a battered leather notebook.

It was overwhelming at times, the sheer volume of information, but it was a different kind of challenge than war. It was a future she could build—a future where she shaped young lives, where she protected through knowledge rather than bloodshed.

And alongside that dream, Violet continued her darker, more dangerous research.

Every evening, after the sun dipped low and the stars shone cold and clear through the frosted windows, she pulled out the older, worn books, the ones with cracked spines and faded lettering. She pored over tomes of magical history and dark artifacts, piecing together clues that might lead her to the ring—another of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

The search was slow and painstaking. She cross-referenced every name, every whispered rumor, every abandoned ancestral home of the Gaunts. Notes covered her desk, maps pinned to the walls, strings of connections slowly forming a clearer picture.

She refused to be idle. She refused to let fear win.

By day, Violet worked toward a future of healing. By night, she hunted the remnants of a war that refused to die.

And even when the house felt too quiet, when the shadows felt a little too long, she would glance at the framed photographs on the mantle—Rose's laughing face, Dora's beaming smile, their little patchwork family stitched together by choice and love.

And she remembered exactly why she fought.

~

One late afternoon, as pale winter light slanted through the windows and a fire crackled in the hearth, Ted stepped into the study where Violet sat surrounded by parchment and open books. His expression was serious, thoughtful, and in his hands he held a thin folder marked with scrawled notes.

Violet looked up immediately, sensing something different in his presence. He gave her a small nod and handed over the file.

"I've been going through old family records," Ted said. "Still trying to build a case for Sirius, but it's hard with how many Ministry records from the war are either sealed or mysteriously redacted. But... I found something I thought you should see."

Violet flipped through the folder, eyes scanning quickly. Her breath hitched when she landed on the page detailing the last known residence of the Gaunt family.

A decaying shack, tucked deep in a forgotten pocket of the countryside.

She knew immediately. Her gut twisted with that instinct she had come to trust during the war—this place would lead her closer. If not to the Horcrux itself, then at least to the trail she needed.

Violet stood without hesitation, already mentally checking her gear, her fingers twitching with familiar energy. She moved toward the hallway, intent on preparing. But before she could get far, a hand gently closed around her arm.

Nymphadora.

She looked up to see Dora watching her with calm determination in her eyes.

"You’re not going alone," Dora said firmly. "I’m coming with you."

There was no hesitation, no plea—just certainty.

Violet's tense shoulders relaxed. She smiled, slow and fond, and stepped closer to cup Dora's cheek in her gloved hand.

"I was hoping you would," she whispered, before leaning in to kiss her. It was soft but deep, a grounding tether between them.

They pulled back, foreheads touching, breaths mingling.

Together.

Minutes later, they were in the back room gearing up. Their movements were practiced, quiet. They donned practical clothing, fitted and flexible—black trousers, long-sleeved thermal shirts, and sturdy boots with runes etched subtly into the soles. Over their clothes, they fastened dragon-hide leather cloaks, enchanted for resistance and durability, the heavy material familiar and comforting.

Violet slid her wand into the holster strapped to her thigh and checked the small dagger sheathed at her hip. Dora mirrored her, her own wand resting snug against her forearm in a charm-fastened sleeve.

There was a moment of stillness between them once they were ready. They looked at each other—two women, scarred and strong, dressed for battle but fighting for something more than vengeance.

Fighting for the future.

Dora reached out and took Violet's hand.

"Let’s do this. Together."

Violet nodded, eyes steady. "Together."

And then, without another word, they stepped out into the crisp February air, the last of the winter chill clinging to the breeze. The snow had melted into patches of wet earth and dew-laced grass, and the bare trees whispered overhead as they made their way forward—ready to chase the darkness once more, not as soldiers lost in war, but as protectors of what they loved most.

~

They Apparated to the coordinates Ted had found, landing with soft cracks at the edge of a long-forgotten path. The air here felt heavy, still, untouched for years. February winds stirred the brittle remains of last autumn's leaves, brushing past their cloaks and scattering across moss-covered stones.

Before them stood the remnants of what had once been the Gaunt family home.

It was more ruin than structure now—a sagging shack nearly swallowed by the encroaching forest. Ivy clung desperately to the rotting wood, and a few warped, grime-covered boards remained where windows might have once been. The place radiated something foul, something old. It was not actively Dark in the way Violet had expected, but the air hummed with lingering malice, like a forgotten curse still waiting to be sprung.

They drew their wands in unison.

Moving in step, Violet and Dora advanced toward the garden. Their eyes swept across the surroundings, every sense sharpened. But there was nothing. No wards, no traps, not even a simple alarm enchantment in the overgrown garden.

It was only the shack itself that resisted.

The moment they neared the doorway, Violet felt the sting of dormant magic crackling faintly against her skin. She raised her free hand, pressing her palm forward cautiously, her fingers meeting the shimmer of a ward that flared briefly into visibility. Pale green, almost sickly.

"It's protected," she murmured. "But not well. Not by our standards."

Dora watched her closely, eyes alert. "Why does it feel... crude?"

Violet tilted her head slightly, focusing. The protections layered over the structure weren’t elegant or subtle. They were brutish, held together more by sheer force than finesse.

"Arrogance," she said, almost to herself. "They were written in Parseltongue. Most people wouldn’t even recognize the structure, let alone how to dismantle it. They never expected anyone else could." Her tone turned cold. "He never expected to be hunted."

She stepped closer, moving her wand in small, precise motions. Quietly, she began to unweave the enchantments, whispering the necessary counterphrases in Parseltongue. The words left her mouth like oil, unnatural but fluent, a grim reminder of the blood that tethered her to this war.

The wards began to flicker and unravel, thread by thread.

Dora stood behind her, wand raised, ready for anything. She said nothing, but her presence was a steadying force at Violet’s back, a grounding reassurance in the dark.

As the final layer peeled away, a low pulse rippled through the air, and the shack groaned as if exhaling after decades of holding its breath.

The way inside was open.

Violet didn’t move just yet. She exhaled slowly and glanced at Dora, meeting her eyes.

"Ready?"

Dora nodded, voice low but firm. "With you."

Together, they stepped toward the door.

The door creaked open on rusted hinges, revealing the interior of the Gaunt shack.

Dust hung in the air like a veil, disturbed only by their presence. The floorboards groaned under their boots, brittle and warped from years of neglect. Cobwebs laced the corners of the room, clinging to broken beams and sagging rafters. What little furniture remained had long since rotted away—a collapsed table, the frame of a chair, the outline of a hearth blackened with soot but long cold.

No one had lived here in decades.

They moved carefully, scanning the room for anything magical, anything out of place. The air carried a faint hum, but it was subtle, buried beneath layers of decay and time.

It was Dora who found it.

"Vi," she called softly, crouching near one corner of the room.

Violet crossed to her quickly, and together they looked down at a floorboard slightly misaligned with the rest. Dora ran her wand along the edge, and a faint shimmer appeared—another layer of crude protection, similar to the ones outside.

With practiced ease, Dora whispered a counter-hex and flicked her wand, and the defenses dissolved with a soft hiss. She pried up the floorboard, revealing a hollow space beneath. Resting there was a small wooden box, dark with age but intact.

"There's something inside," Dora murmured, already reaching for it.

"Wait!" Violet snapped, her hand closing firmly around Dora's wrist.

Dora looked up, surprised, but Violet's expression was deadly serious.

"In my world, this ring was cursed," Violet said. "Touching it nearly killed someone."

Dora nodded, withdrawing her hand immediately.

Violet crouched beside the box, wand in hand. She scanned it carefully, probing its magic. The protections were different now—not brute-force defenses, but something hidden, something woven deep into the object itself. It was subtle, buried like a snake in tall grass.

She took her time, unpicking the spellwork layer by layer, her brow furrowed in concentration. After several long minutes, she finally exhaled.

"Got it. The curse is inside the ring. The box was just hiding it."

With delicate precision, Violet lifted her wand and whispered a levitation charm. The lid creaked open, and from within, the ring rose slowly into the air. It was a simple gold band set with a black stone, but it radiated an unnatural chill.

Violet kept it suspended. She reached into her cloak, withdrew the enchanted basilisk-dagger, and held it out to Dora.

"I want you to destroy it."

Dora blinked, surprised, but her expression softened. She took the dagger with both hands, nodding. "Okay."

Violet held the ring steady, hovering it above the wooden floorboards.

With one smooth, powerful motion, Dora raised the dagger and brought it down.

The blade pierced the ring cleanly, and the reaction was immediate.

A piercing, unearthly scream split the air, shaking the very walls of the shack. Shadows burst from the ring like a wave of smoke, writhing in agony before vanishing with a final, shrill wail.

And then, silence.

The ring, cracked and scorched, lay still.

But as the last trace of dark magic dissipated, the gemstone embedded in the band suddenly detached, falling gently onto the floor.

Violet stared at it.

Even before she picked it up, she knew.

The Resurrection Stone. This world's version of it.

Her bond with Macha thrummed in her chest, a pulse of recognition and power. The stone glowed faintly, humming with ancient magic. Violet reached down and picked it up, closing her fingers around it.

She could feel Macha's awareness echo in her mind, calm and strong.

Without a word, she tucked the Stone into her cloak.

"That's one more gone," Dora said softly.

Violet looked up at her and nodded. "And one step closer."

They stood together in the ruin, the shadows finally still.

~

The return home was quiet, but charged with unspoken emotion.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting the landscape in deepening twilight. Dusky purples melted into warm orange at the edges of the sky, the last remnants of day giving way to the hush of evening. Violet and Dora Apparated just beyond the familiar wards of the house, the familiar sensation of magic settling around them as their boots landed on the gravel path.

They stood still for a moment, the lingering tension and adrenaline from the day buzzing beneath their skin. The wind whispered through the trees, and their breaths fogged slightly in the cooling air as they turned toward the house.

Their walk to the front door was silent, but not heavy. It was the quiet of two people who had seen something dark together, and had walked through it side by side. Their fingers brushed once, twice, before Dora gently laced her hand with Violet's. A silent comfort. A grounding tether.

The moment they stepped into the house, into warmth and familiarity, something in Violet shifted.

The fight was behind them. The danger, for now, had passed. Another Horcrux was gone—another piece of Voldemort's fractured soul destroyed. One more shackle broken from a war that had haunted her dreams and scorched her past.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Violet let her gear slide from her shoulders onto the entry table. Her wand was still in her hand, her grip tight, knuckles pale. Her other hand was already reaching out, drawn by a surge of something fierce and overwhelming.

She turned toward Dora and stepped forward in the same motion, wrapping her arms around her tightly.

Dora let out a soft, surprised breath, but there was no hesitation. Her arms encircled Violet immediately, pulling her in close, anchoring her there. Violet buried her face against Dora's neck, breathing deeply—the scent of her cloak, of wind and earth and the subtle lavender notes of her hair. Safe. Real.

Then she pulled back just enough to meet Dora’s eyes.

What Violet saw there unraveled her. There was concern, yes. There was tenderness. But there was also pride, and joy, and a shimmering intensity of emotion that mirrored her own.

There was fire in her own gaze too. Relief. Triumph. Hunger. The fierce pulse of want and something deeper, something that hadn’t yet been named but was growing stronger every day.

Violet surged forward and kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was a kiss forged in the crucible of battle and longing, of pent-up fear and love and defiance. She kissed Dora like she needed her, like she was the only steady thing in a world that had been falling apart for far too long.

Her hands curled into Dora's shirt, and her body pressed in, clinging and desperate. Dora let out a soft, startled noise against her lips before kissing her back just as fiercely. Her hands found Violet’s face, her hair, her waist, holding her like she didn’t want to let go. Like she never would.

The kiss deepened, slow and intense. They breathed each other in, moving together with instinct and unspoken understanding. The house faded away. The war faded away. There was only the heat of mouths meeting, the rush of shared breath, the sound of heartbeats thundering in their ears.

Violet kissed her with everything she had. With every scar, every battle, every moment she’d survived for this. For Dora.

And Dora gave everything back.

This was celebration. This was freedom.

This was Violet finally, finally allowing herself to feel. To want. To let herself be held.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed as they tried to steady themselves in the aftermath.

Violet let out a shaky laugh, the sound thick with emotion.

"One more gone," she whispered. "One step closer."

Dora opened her eyes, her voice soft and certain as her fingers brushed through Violet’s hair. "And you're not doing it alone. Not ever."

Violet's eyes shimmered with unspoken words. She nodded slowly, a small, fierce smile curling at the edges of her lips.

"Together. Always."

And in that quiet space, in the safety of home, they held each other. The battle was not over. But neither of them would face the darkness alone again.

~
The fire in their bedroom had burned down to soft, glowing embers, casting a warm, flickering orange light across the walls. The shadows danced slowly, stretching and retreating as if breathing along with the room itself. The comfort of the hearth, the faint scent of lavender and worn paper, wrapped the room in a kind of hush, cocooning them in the gentle stillness of the night.

The day’s tension had left a lingering ache in Violet’s muscles—not just from the physicality of the fight but the emotional weight of it. The kind of weariness that sank deep into bone, that no spell could quite soothe. She sat on the edge of the bed in her sleep shorts, brushing out her hair in slow, meditative motions, her eyes distant, thoughtful.

Dora emerged from the bathroom moments later, her damp hair curling slightly from the steam. She wore one of her soft flannel shirts, slightly oversized, her sleeves rolled casually to the elbows. Her expression softened as she saw Violet there, quiet and vulnerable in the firelight.

"Vi," she said, her voice low, intimate, as she crossed the room. She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly across Violet's shoulder. "You've been carrying so much tension lately... would you let me give you a massage?"

Violet turned to look at her, startled, her green eyes wide. There was a faint blush rising on her cheeks, but her eyes held a glimmer of gratitude. "You don’t have to—"

"I want to," Dora said gently, sitting beside her on the bed. She tucked a strand of Violet's hair behind her ear, her fingertips trailing against her jaw in a tender gesture. "You’ve done so much. Let me take care of you tonight."

Violet hesitated, heart fluttering in her chest. There was something deeply vulnerable in this—in letting herself be touched, soothed, cared for. But Dora had never hurt her, never rushed her. Only waited, always asking, always listening.

She gave a small, shy nod. "Alright."

Dora smiled, the kind of smile that made Violet feel seen.

Violet stood slowly, heart thudding, and pulled her sleep top over her head. The firelight traced the elegant curve of her spine, the quiet strength in her shoulders, the subtle motion of breath rising and falling. She laid the shirt gently beside the pillow and climbed onto the bed, settling onto her front with a soft sigh. Her arms folded beneath her head, her dark hair spread across the pillow in inky waves.

Dora retrieved a small crystal vial from the drawer of the nightstand. It contained massage oil gently infused with clove, lavender, and a hint of something warmer—amber or sandalwood. She poured a few drops into her palm and rubbed her hands together, the enchantments within the oil activating with her warmth.

She climbed onto the bed beside Violet, straddling her hips with practiced ease but not resting her full weight, her presence hovering, careful.

She leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss between Violet’s shoulder blades. "Tell me if anything's too much, okay?"

"I will," Violet murmured, her voice low, slightly muffled by the pillow.

Dora began slowly, her hands gliding over Violet’s shoulders. The enchanted oil spread with a gentle shimmer beneath her touch, carrying warmth into Violet's skin. She worked in slow, even circles, pressing her thumbs into the tight knots around Violet's shoulder blades, coaxing the tension away layer by layer.

Violet exhaled softly, the sound half a sigh, her body responding to Dora's touch with trust and relief. She melted into the mattress little by little, her breath slowing as the tightness eased.

Dora's hands moved deliberately, reverently, following the line of Violet's spine down to the small of her back. Her thumbs traced the contours of muscle and bone with tender precision, pausing now and then to check in with quiet, murmured words. Each time, Violet gave a small nod, a whispered "yes," her voice loosening with each response.

Her touch wasn’t just soothing. It was intimate, loving. A silent conversation passed between them with every glide of fingers and every responding shiver of muscle.

Desire stirred, but it wasn’t sharp. It was slow and patient, simmering like a hidden flame. It filled the space between them like warmth from the fire—not demanding, but undeniable. A promise made not in urgency but in trust, in the deepening bond between them.

Dora leaned over and whispered, "Still okay?"

"Yeah," Violet breathed. "I like it. I like... this."

Dora kissed her shoulder softly before continuing, her hands moving lower, carefully tracing the top of her hips and the lines of her lower back. She let her palms rest for a moment just above Violet’s waistband, grounding them both. Then she resumed, drawing slow paths back upward, repeating until Violet was utterly pliant beneath her.

By the time Dora reached the base of her spine again, Violet had nearly melted into the bed. Her limbs heavy with comfort, her breath a steady, gentle rhythm.

Dora leaned down and pressed a kiss just above the waistband of her sleep shorts, letting her lips linger.

"Thank you," Violet whispered, her voice thick with emotion, filled with something that trembled just beneath the surface.

Dora smiled against her skin, her voice barely more than a breath. "Always."

She traced her fingers gently up Violet’s back once more, not massaging now, just touching, holding, anchoring. They stayed like that for a long while—Dora stretched out beside her, one hand resting across her back, the other brushing her hair away from her face.

There was no rush.

No pressure.

Just warmth, affection, and the slow, deliberate building of trust.

Eventually, Dora helped Violet roll onto her side and pulled the blankets up around them both. She tucked Violet against her chest, cradling her, pressing soft kisses to her temple and whispering nothing in particular.

Violet curled into her, body still humming from the touch and the affection. She hadn’t known it could feel like this—gentle and strong, steady and slow, like the world could pause just for them.

They fell asleep like that, tangled together in a bed of warmth and love, held close by more than arms.

And in the quiet dark, their bond grew deeper still, nurtured in whispers, in touches, in the space between breath and heartbeat where words were no longer needed.

~~

The morning sun filtered through the windows of Rose’s school, casting soft golden rays across the decorated corridors. Paper garlands and enchanted bunting floated gently in the air, each strip displaying cheerful illustrations drawn by the students—stick figure families, pets, and glittery hearts that glittered with light.

It was Family Day.

Parents and guardians filled the classrooms and assembly hall, greeted by excited children tugging them by the hands and chattering away. The smell of fresh pastries and warm cocoa wafted from the school kitchen, mixing with the occasional scent of parchment and ink. Laughter echoed down the halls, mingling with the rustle of coats and the cheerful squeals of children spotting their parents in the crowd.

Rose stood quietly near her classroom door, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. She was dressed in her favourite navy dress, a small silver star pinned near her collar. Her black shoes were polished to a shine, and her hair had been done up in two neat braids that morning by Dora, who'd kissed her forehead and promised she'd be there soon. Beside her stood Maisie, bouncing on her toes in excitement, her ever-changing hair shifting to a vibrant blue streak as she scanned the room. Leila stood on Rose's other side, calm and thoughtful, her quiet presence grounding.

From the growing crowd, Violet and Dora appeared.

Violet wore a dark green sweater and black trousers, her cloak left at home for once, her hair loosely braided back with a small clasp shaped like a raven at the end. She held herself with quiet confidence, her eyes scanning the room until they found Rose. Dora wore a patterned shirt and soft jeans, her hair a playful sweep of colour today—a deep violet streaking through warm brown, her eyes bright with anticipation and affection.

They didn’t push forward. They waited near the wall, letting Rose have the moment on her terms, giving her the space to act when she was ready. That had always been how they treated her—with patience, never pressure.

Rose saw them and immediately brightened, her face lighting up in a smile. But then, in the same breath, she hesitated.

Her shoulders tightened. Her eyes dropped to the floor.

She liked her friends knowing about Violet and Dora, about how safe she felt with them. But suddenly, here in front of the whole school, with other children’s parents whispering or staring or maybe asking questions, doubt crept in and curled tightly in her chest.

What if someone laughed?

What if someone said she didn’t really have a family?

Maisie noticed instantly. She nudged Rose gently with her elbow and said firmly, "They look awesome."

Leila reached out and took her hand, her voice quiet but steady. "And they love you so much."

Rose swallowed hard, her throat tight. She looked up.

Violet smiled at her from across the room. Just a gentle curve of lips, but it was filled with warmth, patience, and endless reassurance. Her eyes said I see you. Dora gave her a tiny thumbs-up and a wink, grinning with open affection, like this was the bravest thing in the world—and she knew Rose could do it.

With a breath, Rose straightened her shoulders.

She grabbed Maisie and Leila’s hands, their support steady on either side of her, and marched across the room.

The space between them and her parents felt enormous at first, every step echoing louder than it should. But with each step, her heart grew steadier. As they approached, Rose let go of her friends' hands, turned to the small group of classmates and curious adults nearby, her voice trembling just a little, and said clearly:

"That’s my Mama and Mum."

The words hung in the air for a heartbeat.

Then Maisie chimed in, loud and proud, “They’re brilliant. Especially when they make waffles.”

Rose beamed, the light returning to her eyes.

Dora crouched and opened her arms, pulling Rose into a warm, fierce hug and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You were amazing," she whispered.

Violet stepped closer, her hand gently cupping the back of Rose’s head. Her voice was soft, but it carried something deep and solid beneath it. "I’m so proud of you."

Rose leaned into her, and for the first time that day, she felt truly steady again.

The teacher called for families to begin the group activities—art stations, storytelling, and games set up around the hall. But before moving on, Rose turned and looked back at Maisie and Leila.

She smiled wide, no hesitation this time. "Come on. Let’s show them the jellybean race."

The three girls laughed as they ran toward the enchanted activity tables, Violet and Dora following close behind.

And in that moment, with her friends beside her and her family behind her, Rose stood taller than she ever had—not because she was trying to be brave anymore.

But because she already was.

~

The kitchen was filled with the warm, inviting scent of garlic, rosemary, and freshly baked bread. Outside, the sun was slipping beneath the horizon, casting long golden rays across the windows, painting everything in soft amber light. The little home felt like it was glowing, alive with domestic energy and a sense of quiet contentment.

Rose sat at the kitchen table, her tongue poking out in concentration as she diligently smeared a frankly ridiculous amount of butter onto the garlic bread she was helping to make. Bits of minced parsley and garlic clung to her fingers, and she hummed quietly to herself as she arranged the slices on a baking tray in neat, overlapping rows.

Ted and Andromeda were out for the evening, attending a Ministry dinner. That left the house to Violet, Dora, and Rose—a rare, quiet night for the three of them, and one they had all looked forward to.

Dora stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, cheerfully chopping vegetables for the sauce. A light dusting of flour streaked across her patterned shirt, a bit smudged on her cheek as well. She moved with relaxed ease, hips swaying slightly to a rhythm only she seemed to hear. Across the counter, Violet was tending the simmering tomato and basil sauce with focused care. Her dark hair was tied back loosely with a ribbon, but several strands had escaped and now framed her face in wild, curling wisps. One of Dora's aprons was tied around her waist, cinched with a bit too much enthusiasm, and she looked entirely absorbed in her task.

From the sitting room, music began to drift through the open door. The wireless had been playing softly all evening, but now the tone shifted to something slower, smoother—a jazzy, crooning melody that curled through the air like the scent of cloves. The notes seemed to wrap around the kitchen like a warm breeze, and Dora paused mid-chop, her smile growing.

She looked up and caught Violet's eye.

"Come here," Dora said, voice soft and playful. She stepped around the counter and extended a flour-dusted hand.

Violet blinked at her, one brow arching. "Dora, we’re literally in the middle of cooking."

"Exactly," Dora replied, grin unfaltering. "And I can’t think of a better time to dance."

Violet hesitated, but the warmth in Dora’s eyes melted her resistance. With a small, shy smile and a rising flush in her cheeks, she set the spoon aside, wiped her hands, and slipped her fingers into Dora’s outstretched hand.

Dora pulled her in gently, leading her into the open space between the counters. Their bare feet padded softly across the cool tile as they fell into a slow, easy sway, their bodies close, foreheads nearly touching.

Dora’s hands came to rest at Violet’s hips, while Violet’s arms curled around Dora’s shoulders. Their movements were tentative at first, as if testing the rhythm of this new intimacy, but soon they were gliding together like they’d done it a hundred times. The golden light bathed them, flickering slightly as the music swelled. The air smelled of magic and dinner and love.

The tension Violet always carried in her shoulders began to ease, her eyes fluttering half-closed. Dora's thumb traced a slow, affectionate arc along the curve of her waist.

"You’re covered in flour," Violet murmured, voice low.

"So are you," Dora replied, ducking her head to nuzzle against Violet’s cheek.

Violet laughed, soft and breathy. "We’re going to ruin dinner."

"Then let’s make up for it with dessert," Dora teased.

They spun in place, the world beyond the kitchen fading. Violet leaned her forehead against Dora's for a long moment, the corners of her mouth curling in a soft, contented smile. They were suspended in a perfect, quiet joy.

Then Dora tilted her head and kissed her.

The kiss was unhurried, drawn out like the evening itself. Warm and slow and grounding, like stepping into a familiar room after a long absence. Violet responded with a quiet hum, her hands sliding into Dora’s hair, drawing her in closer. They swayed like that, mouths brushing in time to the music, the room spinning lazily around them.

Until something hissed.

They both froze.

"The sauce," Violet gasped, eyes widening.

"Oh no," Dora groaned, turning with a flurry of flour and haste as she bolted toward the stove.

The pot was boiling over, red sauce bubbling with indignation as it hissed onto the burner. Dora scrambled for her wand, casting a quick cooling charm to bring it down.

Behind them, Rose let out a bright, delighted giggle from her spot at the table. "You forgot the pasta, Mama!"

Dora looked back over her shoulder with a sheepish grin. "We got distracted."

Violet wiped her thumb across Dora’s flour-dusted cheek, still laughing. "Definitely worth it."

"Completely worth it," Dora agreed, her smile returning as she stirred the now-saved sauce.

The music kept playing, Rose returned to buttering her garlic bread with even more enthusiasm, and Violet leaned back against the counter, her heart light and her cheeks still flushed.

Dinner wasn’t perfect.

But the night absolutely was.

~

The quiet of the house settled around them as the evening wound down. Rose had long since been tucked into bed, curled beneath her blanket with a book half-finished on her nightstand and Eira snuggled beside her. The dishes were done, the kitchen tidied, and the last remnants of laughter from dinner still echoed faintly in the corners of the house.

In their room, the fire crackled low in the hearth, casting shadows that danced along the walls. The soft glow of lamplight bathed everything in a warm, honeyed hue. Violet stood near the dresser, fingers absently unbuttoning her shirt, already barefoot, her hair down and tousled from the long day.

Dora stepped out of the bathroom, drying her hands on a towel, her eyes landing on Violet across the room—and something shifted.

There was no conversation, no warning—just the hum of magic and want that pulsed like a live wire between them. Dora crossed the space in three swift, determined strides, and before Violet could fully register what was happening, she found herself gently pressed back against the wall.

Dora's hands came up to brace on either side of Violet's head, her body radiating heat, not quite touching, but so near Violet could feel every breath. The air between them was thick with promise.

Then Dora kissed her.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was hungry, charged with the kind of need that came from waiting too long and wanting too much. It was a kiss full of emotion, unspoken devotion, and aching desire. Violet gasped softly against her mouth, her breath catching as her fingers flew to Dora’s waist and gripped tight.

"Dora," she breathed, her voice trembling, her name falling from Violet's lips like a plea and a confession all in one.

Dora answered with another kiss, deeper, firmer, her body easing forward to press Violet against the wall. There was no aggression, only grounding control—a gentle dominance that asked without words and offered safety in return.

Violet shuddered.

Not in fear—never fear. But in surprise, and the overwhelming flood of want. A flush bloomed across her skin as desire unfurled low in her stomach, spreading through her chest, her limbs, leaving her dizzy and breathless. Her knees weakened, but Dora held her steady.

She gave in.

Not because she was overpowered. But because she trusted . Because in Dora’s presence, surrender felt like strength, not weakness. Because Dora held her with reverence, not possession. Because being wanted so deeply, so completely, made Violet feel safe enough to let go.

Safe enough to let Dora lead.

She melted into the kiss, letting her head fall back against the wall, letting her body arch into Dora’s, her hands splaying against her back. Their mouths moved in perfect rhythm—urgent, searching, learning. Violet whimpered softly, overwhelmed but not afraid, caught in a storm that felt like coming home.

Dora's hands shifted, one sliding to cradle Violet's jaw, thumb stroking along her cheek, anchoring her in tenderness. Her other hand drifted to Violet's hip, fingers curling with quiet need.

The fire crackled behind them, its warmth rivaled only by the heat building between their bodies.

In that breathless, timeless moment, Violet allowed herself to feel everything. The desire. The trust. The freedom in giving herself over to someone who would never harm her.

Because in Dora's arms, Violet didn’t have to guard her heart. Didn’t have to hide behind strength or silence.

She could just be .

She could be vulnerable.

She could be hers .

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

XIII

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

The scent of early spring crept in through the open windows, carried by a breeze that stirred the curtains and set dust motes dancing in golden sunlight. Outside, the garden had begun to wake from its long winter slumber. Pale green shoots pushed through thawed earth, crocuses and snowdrops peeked from under the hedges, and the air held the soft, stirring promise of warmth, of renewal. The kind of change that came not with a storm, but with slow, patient blooming.

Inside, the house buzzed with quiet, purposeful motion. Andromeda, ever efficient and full of gentle determination, had declared it the perfect day for a proper spring cleaning—magical and mundane alike. Rooms were being aired out with spell-swept breezes, cupboards reorganised by humming storage charms, and closets opened wide to reveal forgotten corners of their lives. Even Ted had been spotted levitating boxes with a sheepish smile, grumbling good-naturedly about dust and ancient clutter.

Violet stood in front of a trunk tucked away in the corner of her room. It had been there since she arrived, untouched and silent, its weight more emotional than physical. A quiet sentinel of a life she hadn’t yet dared to sort through. Every time she looked at it, something in her hesitated.

"You don’t have to," Dora had said gently weeks ago when Violet’s eyes had lingered on it for too long. Her voice was soft, no pressure, just a hand offered.

But something in the air today urged Violet forward. Maybe it was the spring light, the sound of birdsong beyond the window, or the feeling of motion that had settled into the house like a heartbeat. So she knelt.

The latch creaked open with a soft groan, and inside, time had been waiting.

She pulled out old robes, frayed at the hem, still bearing the stains and scent of battle. They smelled like ash and adrenaline, like memories she tried not to think about. Folded parchment letters followed, brittle with age, the ink faded but the words still seared into her memory. Some were written to her; others she had written and never sent. Among them was a cracked photograph of her and the old Order—laughing, caught in motion, faces now long gone or changed forever. The smiles were bright and unknowing. They hadn’t yet seen the war the way she had.

At the bottom, wrapped in a padded cloth, lay the snapped remnants of her original wand—holly and phoenix feather, the wood dulled with age and sorrow, the core long inert. One end was jagged, broken violently, the other smoothed by years of use. Violet stared down at the pieces, her chest tight, something coiling in her throat.

She held them reverently, cradling them in both hands as if afraid they would dissolve. Her breath caught. She remembered the sound it had made when it broke.

Behind her, Dora crouched down without a word, her hand coming to rest gently on Violet’s shoulder. She didn’t speak until Violet did.

"That wand saw so much of your life," Dora said quietly, her voice wrapped in care.

"Too much," Violet whispered. "It protected me. It took lives. It... it broke with everything else."

Dora didn’t answer right away. She stayed beside her, steady, anchoring.

"I think," Violet said after a moment, her voice trembling, "I'm scared that if I let go of these things... I might forget. Forget who I was. Forget them ."

Dora’s hand slid down her arm, fingers warm, and gently laced with hers. "Letting go isn’t forgetting, Vi. It’s choosing what to carry forward. What to carry close."

Violet turned toward her, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "But what if I lose something important? Something I don’t even realise I still need?"

"Then hold onto the pieces that matter," Dora said softly. "The ones that still make you you . Not the ones that only remind you how much it hurt."

They sat there in silence for a while, surrounded by the weight of memory and the gentle murmur of the world moving on just outside the window. Slowly, Violet nodded.

Together, they sorted through the trunk. Violet kept the broken wand, placing it in a small carved box, one Dora had quietly conjured, and she warded it gently with care. She burned one of the letters—a goodbye never sent, the flames flickering with closure. The robes she folded and set aside to donate, her fingers lingering on the fabric one last time. The photograph, she framed and placed on her nightstand, its laughter still preserved in motion.

When she closed the trunk, it felt lighter.

So did she.

Later, she and Dora sat on the bed, the quiet hum of the house around them. Dora leaned into her, arms wrapped gently around Violet's middle, her head resting on her shoulder. Violet let herself lean back, let herself be held.

"Thank you," she murmured, eyes closed.

Dora pressed a kiss to her temple. "You’re building something new now, Vi. And you don’t have to carry every shadow of the past to do it."

Outside, the garden continued to bloom. A single blossom opened fully, kissed by sun and wind.

~

The garden was in full spring bloom, awash with the soft hum of bees and the rustling of leaves in a mild breeze. Rose, Maisie, and Leila played near the orchard trees, their laughter ringing through the air as they chased enchanted paper butterflies and dodged a floating charm that painted streaks of colour in the air. Violet and Dora sat on the back steps, half-watching, half-enjoying the warmth of the day, their hands brushing every now and then in quiet affection. The scent of blooming lilac lingered in the air, and every so often, Eira swooped low to chase the butterflies too, adding to the chorus of springtime joy.

It was the kind of day that felt like magic in its own right.

Until the magic shifted.

Rose had just finished laughing at something Maisie said, her eyes bright and joyful, when the shift came. It wasn’t a spell—not consciously. Her magic, like most children her age, hadn’t yet matured enough to be controlled. But it *responded*. To joy. To fear. To pain. And something—perhaps the way her laugh twisted into a sudden gasp when she tripped, or the sharp pang of frustration at not catching the butterfly—sparked it.

There was a sudden surge, raw and wild, like a current bursting from a dam. Emotion flooded her tiny frame, and with it, the magic surged outward.

The sky above them darkened in an instant. Clouds, unnatural and thick, rolled in overhead, swirling fast. Sparks of electricity crackled faintly between them, and the orchard trees groaned under an invisible pressure. The ground rumbled faintly, and garden chairs began to tremble, then lift into the air. Even the air felt heavier, like it held its breath.

The laughter stopped.

Maisie took a step back. Leila froze, eyes wide with fear.

Rose stood in the centre of it all, eyes wide with horror, her hands clenched at her sides. Magic poured from her in pulses—untamed, heavy, thick with feeling. Her hair lifted slightly in the rising wind, and tears spilled freely down her cheeks. A flowerbed nearby exploded in a shower of petals, the colours blurred by the whirlwind.

"Make it stop!" Rose cried, her voice cracking. "I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to!"

Violet was already moving.

Calm, steady, her expression open and grounded, she walked straight into the storm. The wind tugged at her clothes, her hair, but she never faltered. Her voice cut through the chaos, even and low.

"Rose. Sweetheart. Look at me."

Rose shook her head, panic overwhelming her. "I can’t stop it, Mum! I—I think I broke something. I think I’m too much!"

Violet stepped closer, unafraid of the magic rippling in the air. She knelt slowly, making herself smaller, gentle, so she wouldn’t feel like another thing to fear.

"You’re not too much," Violet said softly. "You’re just *full* right now. That’s all."

The wind snapped Violet’s hair into her face, but she didn’t move.

She held out her hands. "Can I show you something?"

Rose hiccupped, eyes wild and wet. But she nodded.

Violet took her daughter’s small hands and gently guided them to the inside of her left wrist. She drew Rose’s fingers across faint, pale scars—nearly invisible now, but still there if you knew where to look. Then she turned her hand and let Rose trace the deeper marks running along her forearm, some hidden beneath the tattoos Violet had inked later, not to erase the pain, but to reclaim her skin. She pulled back her sleeve a little further, revealing the side of her bicep and shoulder, where thin silvery scars branched like lightning from an old curse wound. Quietly, she shifted just enough for Rose to see one that curled beneath the neckline of her shirt, a scar Violet rarely showed anyone.

"These," Violet said quietly, her voice low and steady, "are from when I couldn’t control my magic either. When it felt too big, too loud. When I thought I had to carry everything alone. Some are from battle, yes. But some... some are from the days when I didn’t know how to ask for help. When I thought feeling too much made me weak. When my magic and my mind both hurt me."

She paused and looked Rose in the eyes, her expression soft but serious.

"I was scared of hurting people. I thought I was broken. But I wasn’t. And neither are you."

Rose stared at her, the tears still coming, but her breathing had slowed. Her magic hadn’t stopped, but it wavered, as if uncertain—reaching toward Violet's steadiness like a flower toward light.

"But it was so big," she whispered. "Like I couldn’t breathe. Like it wanted out."

Violet nodded slowly. "Magic and emotions are tied together. When we feel big things, the magic does too. That doesn’t make you bad. It makes you *powerful*. And powerful people need to learn how to *listen* to their magic. We can do that together."

Rose blinked rapidly, her hands trembling in Violet’s. "But... I scared Maisie. I scared Leila. What if I hurt someone next time?"

Violet gently tucked a strand of Rose’s hair behind her ear. "Then we’ll keep learning. We’ll practice. And you’ll get stronger. You already *are* stronger—because you stopped. Because you’re listening now."

Above them, the storm clouds slowed. The crackling faded. The chairs gently lowered back to the patio. The petals from the exploded flowerbed began to drift to the ground like soft, colourful snow.

"But what if it happens again?"

"Then I’ll be right here," Violet said. "We’ll breathe together, and we’ll listen. Just like this."

She took a slow breath. In. Out. And Rose mirrored her, still trembling.

They breathed together again. In. Out. Again. Again.

Violet guided her through the grounding techniques she’d once clung to in the ruins of a war. She used her voice to anchor Rose, her warmth to pull her back from the edge. Slowly, she watched as Rose began to steady, her shoulders loosening, her hands opening. The magic eased back into the earth like a tide returning to sea.

Maisie and Leila, still watching from a distance, exchanged a look and took a hesitant step closer. Maisie offered a small smile, while Leila reached out as if to say, "We’re still here. We’re not afraid."

When they stood again, Rose fell into Violet’s arms, her small frame shaking with the release of it all. Violet wrapped her arms around her and held her tightly, like the most precious thing in the world.

"You are not too much," Violet murmured into her hair. "You are just right. And you are never alone."

From a few steps away, Dora stood watching, her heart full, her eyes soft with pride and quiet awe. She caught Rose’s gaze for a moment and nodded, silently reaffirming the love that surrounded her.

And behind them, the garden bloomed quietly on, green and whole and growing. The sun slipped out from behind the last of the clouds, and the storm passed as if it had never been, leaving behind only light and calm.

~

That night, after the storm of magic and emotion had passed and the house was once again filled with warmth and laughter, the evening drew in soft and slow. Rose had gone to bed with Eira curled against her side, her breathing even and calm. The day had ended with stories, whispered reassurances, and gentle reminders that her magic was something to grow into, not fear.

Down the hall, the lights were dim, the scent of honeyed chamomile drifting in from the open windows. Dora stood by the bathroom door in a soft robe, her hair loose and falling around her shoulders, her eyes warm with affection and invitation.

"Come join me," she said, her voice a murmur threaded with softness. "You’ve done so much today, Vi. You deserve to breathe."

Violet hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding. There was something sacred in the way Dora looked at her—something that saw past the walls Violet still carried. She followed Dora inside to find the bath already drawn—deep, luxurious, the water lightly steaming. Enchanted bubbles shimmered gold and pale peach, scented with bergamot and wild honey, curling gently along the surface and catching the candlelight like starlight in water.

They undressed slowly, not shy but quietly reverent. Eyes met and lingered, brushing over each other's forms with fond familiarity and something more, something deeper. Both had seen each other vulnerable before, but this was different. This was a moment chosen, a breath taken together.

Violet slid into the water first, sighing as the warmth embraced her. It was like stepping into calm. Dora followed, her body sinking opposite Violet’s, stretching out with a contented groan. For a while, they simply let the bath soothe their bones. Shoulders loosened. Joints eased. The tension of the day unwound beneath the surface.

Then Dora flicked water at Violet.

Violet blinked, eyes narrowing playfully. "You didn’t."

Dora grinned. "I did," she said, flicking another splash with a twinkle in her eye.

Violet retaliated with a graceful sweep of her hand, sending water arcing between them. Laughter bubbled out, pure and unguarded, echoing off the tile. For a few minutes, they weren’t soldiers or survivors. They weren’t navigating grief or rebuilding. They were just two women in love, tangled in bubbles and joy.

The splashing gradually softened into silence. Dora shifted closer until their knees brushed beneath the water, then further until Violet could feel the warmth of her thigh against her own. She reached for a cloth and gently lathered it with soap, her movements tender, deliberate. She leaned forward, her chest brushing Violet’s arm as she reached around to wash her back.

Violet exhaled slowly, her body stilling beneath Dora’s touch. Every movement was reverent, grounding, filled with something deeper than simple affection. It wasn’t about washing. It was about connection.

Violet turned, slowly, and took the cloth in return. Her fingers traced the slope of Dora’s shoulders, the line of her spine, soft and reverent. She didn’t rush. Her hands moved like she was memorising the feel of her. Dora closed her eyes, her breath catching with every slow pass of Violet’s touch.

The cloth slipped into the water, forgotten, as they drifted closer. Dora’s hands came to rest on Violet’s hips beneath the water, thumbs stroking in slow, small circles. Violet’s fingers moved to Dora’s jaw, brushing her hair back, their gazes locking with a heat that simmered just under the surface.

"You’re amazing," Dora whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Violet leaned in, her lips parting, her heart thudding loud in her chest. When their mouths met, it was soft—achingly soft—but charged with restrained desire. Their lips brushed, again, a little longer this time. Not yet a kiss, not fully. But it lingered. Their breaths mingled. Their bodies pressed closer, chests barely touching, arms curling loosely around waists.

They didn’t rush it. They didn’t need to.

The water shimmered around them. The heat of it seeped into their skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth curling between them.

When the kiss finally broke, it was only because they had to breathe. Foreheads rested together, eyes closed, the space between them filled with something powerful and tender. A knowing. A choosing. A love that asked nothing but offered everything.

Wrapped in warmth, in bubbles and candlelight, they stayed there—entwined not in urgency, but in quiet promise. Desire hummed beneath their skin, but they held it gently, savouring the closeness.

Together. Whole. Home.

After their shared bath, the warmth still clinging to their skin like an echo, Violet and Dora stepped softly into their bedroom. The lights were low, casting a soft, golden glow from the bedside lamp. Shadows danced slowly across the walls, and the air was thick with the lingering scent of bergamot, honey, and something else—something heady and intimate that pulsed between them like an unspoken promise.

Violet stood near the bed, a towel wrapped around her hips, her damp curls clinging to her neck. Her chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm as she reached for her sleep top—then paused. Her hand hovered over the fabric for a long breath before she let it fall away. She dropped the towel with a quiet rustle, revealing her bare skin to the soft light and to Dora's gaze.

Dora, already at the bed, stopped. She had been about to pull her own top on but instead set it aside with a shy, knowing smile. She let her robe fall from her shoulders and stepped forward, bare-chested, just like Violet. But it wasn’t just about matching her; it was about trust. Vulnerability. Desire.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

Violet climbed into bed slowly, the cool sheets drawing a shiver up her spine. When Dora slipped in beside her, they paused for a heartbeat—naked from the waist up, facing each other, closer than they had ever been. This wasn’t the playful intimacy of a shared bath. This was a vulnerable invitation, a step further into something sacred.

Violet reached first, her fingers brushing over Dora’s ribs, trembling slightly but guided by trust. Dora responded in kind, her hand moving to the small of Violet’s back, drawing her close until their skin touched fully, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. The sensation was electric, but it wasn’t just touch—it was the way Violet sighed, almost in relief, when Dora held her firmly.

They exhaled in tandem, a shared breath of anticipation and release.

Violet pressed her face into Dora’s neck, kissing softly along her collarbone. Dora gasped, a soft, breathy sound that spilled into the quiet like silk. Her fingers threaded into Violet’s hair, and this time, she gently tugged, guiding Violet to look at her. The moment of tension, the pull of command—Violet’s breath caught, her eyes darkening with something more.

She loved this.

Loved the way Dora could take control when Violet needed to let go.

"Let me," Dora murmured.

Violet nodded, her lips parting, her body leaning in. She felt her weight shifting, yielding to Dora as her partner moved, guiding her onto her back with the ease of trust. Violet surrendered to the touch—to Dora’s hands on her waist, to her lips brushing slowly across her sternum, to the heat blooming beneath every kiss.

Their legs tangled, the friction of bare skin making their nerves spark with aching want. Dora moved above her, slow and deliberate, their bodies aligning. Violet arched beneath her touch, trembling not from fear but from the overwhelming rightness of it all. Her hands grasped at Dora’s hips, grounding herself in the pressure, the closeness, the safety of giving in.

"You’re beautiful," Dora whispered, her voice low and reverent. Her hands slid up Violet’s sides, thumbs brushing just beneath her breasts. Violet let out a breathy moan, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Don’t stop," she whispered, voice raw.

Dora didn’t. She moved like she knew exactly how Violet needed to be touched—not just with desire, but with purpose. Her fingers stroked patterns of heat across Violet’s skin, and each one seemed to unlock something Violet had held back. Her body softened under the attention, but her heart opened wider.

Their lips met again, deeper now. Hungry. Dora took the lead, kissing Violet like she had every right to, like she knew Violet wanted her to. And Violet responded eagerly, her moans spilling into Dora’s mouth, her hands roaming with newfound confidence.

She didn’t need to be in control here. Not with Dora. Not when surrender felt like freedom.

Eventually, they stilled. Breathless. Bodies pressed tight. Dora kissed Violet’s temple, and Violet let out a shaky exhale, curling into her embrace.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Dora smiled against her skin. "For what?"

"For knowing when to hold me... and when to take over."

Wrapped around each other beneath the blankets, they let the night stretch long. Violet’s hand settled over Dora’s heart, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her palm. Dora’s hand stayed low on Violet’s back, possessive, protective, grounding.

It wasn’t everything.

But it was everything that mattered.

And in the warmth of each other's arms, with desire met by trust, Violet let go of the last pieces of fear she had clung to.

She was wanted.

She was safe.

She was loved.

And that night, nothing else existed but the quiet promise of more to come.

~

In the days that followed that night, everything shifted—not in loud, dramatic declarations, but in the subtle, undeniable ways love reshapes the rhythm of everyday life. It settled into the quiet glances, the gentle touches, the way they moved together like two bodies in orbit, drawn close by invisible threads that pulled them tighter, closer, safer.

Violet and Dora existed in a new intimacy now, one shaped by trust, healing, and a deepening desire they no longer shied away from. The closeness they had shared that night had not driven them apart with awkwardness or fear—it had wrapped around them like a blanket, softening the edges of their world. Everything felt more vivid. More grounded. More real.

Dora was even more affectionate than before, and Violet not only allowed it—she sought it. She no longer flinched when Dora’s fingers brushed hers unexpectedly or when hands slid around her waist from behind while she brewed tea. Instead, she leaned into it, leaned into Dora. Her body responded instinctively, easing into every embrace, returning every kiss with a warmth she hadn’t known she was capable of. She smiled more freely. She laughed more often. The heaviness she once carried seemed to lift a little more each time Dora reached for her.

Dora, in turn, was magnetic in her devotion. She couldn’t seem to help touching Violet—in the softest, most adoring ways. A hand at the curve of her back as they passed each other in the hallway. A thumb stroking her jaw before guiding her into a kiss that always left them breathless. Sometimes she’d catch Violet standing still, distracted or thoughtful, and Dora would press her gently against the nearest wall with a smile full of mischief and something fiercer, kissing her until Violet sighed into her, yielding and hungry.

It was never more than either of them wanted. Never more than Violet could handle. But it was enough to leave them both with hearts racing, lips tingling, and fingers curling tightly into the fabric of each other’s clothes.

They hadn’t gone further. Not yet. Not past that night of shared skin and quiet promise. But neither of them needed to rush. What they were building mattered. There was a confidence growing between them, one stitched into every silent kiss and slow breath. In the way Violet let her hand rest low on Dora’s hip when they sat together. In how Dora traced idle circles on Violet’s stomach beneath her shirt when they curled up together on the couch. Half-dressed, entirely trusting.

When Rose was nearby, they were careful. Their affection became something softer, more subtle. Dora would steal a kiss when Violet passed her a teacup or rest her head on her shoulder during quiet afternoons. Violet would squeeze her hand beneath the dinner table or lean into her side while reading to Rose. It was gentle. Respectful. But still so full of love that even Rose, in her young perceptiveness, would sometimes smile knowingly.

But when they were alone—when the house had gone quiet and the lights were low, when there were no little footsteps or curious eyes—they let the tether between them pull tighter, hotter. Dora would pull Violet into her lap on the couch, her fingers tangling in Violet’s curls, her other hand firm around Violet’s waist, grounding her. Their mouths met with increasing urgency, again and again, the kisses deep and unrestrained, their breathing growing ragged as they lost themselves in the slow burn of it.

Violet would straddle Dora with an aching slowness, thighs bracketing her hips, hands sinking into Dora’s hair as she kissed her with fierce need. Each shift of their bodies pressed heat to heat, and when Dora guided her by the hips, pulling her closer with steady hands, Violet would shudder, her legs trembling, desire licking like fire just beneath her skin. The only sounds were breathless gasps, murmured names, and the electric hush of skin brushing skin.

It was fire held in check. Hunger tempered by reverence. A need that simmered just beneath the surface, restrained only by their shared care and their unspoken promise to take it slow.

Dora remained ever-attentive. Her hands never strayed without consent, but when Violet gave even the smallest nod, Dora took over—gently, possessively. She would grip Violet’s thighs, guide her movements, deepen the kisses until Violet was pliant in her arms. Her kisses could go from reverent to desperate in the space of a breath, and Violet would melt into her, trusting her with a kind of abandon she’d never given anyone.

And Violet? Violet gave herself in a way that surprised even her. She wasn’t just responding—she was offering. She arched into Dora’s touch, whimpered into her kisses, and let herself be guided, held, claimed. There was no fear in her submission—only release. She took pride in how Dora looked at her, in how her body responded so completely to every stroke of Dora’s tongue, every command whispered against her lips.

Her laughter was louder. Her sighs more content. Her body relaxed more easily now, even in sleep, especially when wrapped around Dora. Her skin carried the memory of fingertips and mouths that traced love and longing across every inch they dared to touch.

Their bond deepened with every breath they shared, every whispered yes, every evening spent tangled together in soft shadows. They were writing their own language—one of heat and tenderness, of murmured affection and slow discovery. In every shared look, every stolen moment, every touch that promised more, they found a world that belonged only to them.

It was tenderness laced with desire. It was longing edged with fire. It was need wrapped in trust.

And it was only the beginning of everything they were still becoming.

It was tenderness. It was longing. It was need, wrapped in trust.

And it was just the beginning of everything they were still becoming.

~

It was a quiet Thursday when the thought first took root.

Dora was on a long shift with the Department, and Rose was at school. The house was still and sunlit, the kind of peaceful that Violet rarely trusted. It made her restless. She tried to read, tried to tinker with her notes on magical theory, but the silence kept tugging at her thoughts until finally, she gave in to it.

With a steaming mug of tea in her hands, Violet found herself at the kitchen table with parchment spread before her. Not spellwork. Not research. A list. A question.

Home?

Not this one, not just Ted and Andy’s.

Their home. Hers. Dora’s. Rose’s.

She hadn’t realised until now how much the idea had lingered, buried beneath the comfort of their borrowed sanctuary. They were safe here, loved here—but it wasn’t theirs . And more than that, the thought of building something from the ground up—of putting down roots—terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.

When Ted found her there an hour later, half a dozen floor plans scattered around her and a soft crease between her brows, he didn’t say anything at first. Just poured himself a cup of tea and sat beside her.

"Thinking about houses?" he asked gently.

Violet nodded. "I don’t know what I’m doing."

"You don’t have to," he said. "But I think you’re doing something important just by letting yourself think about it."

She looked at him then, something raw in her expression. "I’ve never had a home that was really mine. I’ve lived in hideouts and ruins and borrowed places. I’ve lived in war."

Ted placed his hand over hers. "You deserve more than borrowed."

Andromeda joined them not long after, peering at the pages with sharp eyes and quiet approval. "You know you’re always welcome here," she reminded Violet, a hand resting lightly on her shoulder. "But if you and Dora are ready for something that’s just yours... we’ll help you however we can."

That night, after Rose was asleep and the house had grown quiet again, Dora sat by the window in their room, cradling Violet in her lap. The moonlight spilled in through the glass, silvering the floorboards and casting soft shadows across their entwined forms. Dora's arms were wrapped around Violet's waist, holding her close, her chin resting lightly on Violet's shoulder.

Violet held a framed photo in her hands—the one of Rose beaming, her arms thrown around both of them. She traced the edge of the frame with her thumb, her heartbeat loud in her ears.

Dora didn’t speak. She just held her.

Violet leaned back into her, feeling the warmth of Dora's bare arms, the slow and steady rhythm of her breathing. It grounded her, helped her find words for the ache stirring deep inside.

She thought about how easily Rose called her "Mum" now, without hesitation. The way she ran into her arms after school. The way she reached for her in the night when frightened. The way she looked up to her with trust and love.

"Do you think…" Violet began softly, voice barely above a whisper, "Do you think it would be right to ask? To make it official?"

Dora stirred slightly behind her, arms tightening just a little in support and understanding.

"You mean adopt her?" Dora asked gently.

Violet nodded, her voice catching. "I love her so much, Dora. She already feels like mine. But... is it selfish to want to make it real? To ask her to be mine not just in heart but in name?"

Dora pressed a kiss to Violet’s shoulder. "It’s not selfish, Vi. It’s beautiful. And it’s brave."

The idea still scared her—not the commitment, not the responsibility, but what it represented. A kind of belonging Violet had never let herself imagine. A family that was hers. A future.

But maybe that was the point.

Maybe it was time to believe in roots.

Maybe it was time to believe in home.

~

The real Mother's Day passed by with a quiet tension in the house. At school, the other children had spoken with bright eyes and excited chatter about their mums—what they were drawing, baking, planning. Rose had listened, nodding along, but inside, her stomach twisted into knots. When her teacher handed out construction paper and glitter, she hesitated. Who would she give a card to? Violet wasn’t her birth mum. Dora wasn’t her mother on paper. And still... they were everything that word meant.

She sat frozen for most of the class, staring at the blank card in front of her. Her chest felt tight, like if she put down the wrong name it would make everything unravel. If she said nothing at all, would it mean she didn’t love them enough?

Maisie had noticed first. Her brows furrowed, sharp as ever, and she scooted her chair closer. Leila, gentler, reached for Rose’s hand and squeezed it.

"You don’t have to do what they do," Maisie said with a shrug, though her voice was gentler than usual. "You could make your own day. Something better."

Leila nodded. "It still counts. It matters more, even."

Their words rooted deep in Rose’s chest.

So the next weekend, with spring blooming outside and the world feeling just a little softer, Rose made her own Mother’s Day. Not because the calendar told her to—but because her heart did.

She and her friends spent all week planning in secret. Maisie helped gather supplies, bold and fearless as she "borrowed" extra paper from the art cupboard. Leila helped design the cards, her handwriting small and elegant. They whispered in corners of the house, drew behind closed doors, and hid little projects under Rose’s bed. Ted and Andromeda helped when they could—offering knowing smiles, pretending not to notice glue trails across the table or the sparkles clinging to Rose’s sleeves.

On Sunday morning, Rose woke with a flutter in her chest and a nervous energy that filled her limbs. Eira chirped softly from her perch, nuzzling against her cheek before flapping to her shoulder. Rose crept into the kitchen, where the tray already waited: tea she’d brewed herself (stronger than it should’ve been), toast that was just slightly burned, and two carefully wrapped gifts with handmade cards placed proudly on top.

Her hands trembled slightly as she carried the tray down the hall. She paused outside the bedroom door, suddenly unsure again. What if it was too much? What if they didn’t want to be called that—Mum, Mama? What if she’d misunderstood?

Then she looked at Eira, who gave her a soft coo, and she remembered Maisie’s words: "You could make your own day."

She knocked gently.

“Happy Mum-and-Mama Day!” she called out, her voice cracking just slightly.

There were sleepy murmurs from inside. Then footsteps. A creak of hinges. The door opened to reveal Violet, wearing one of Dora’s flannel shirts, and Dora blinking away the last remnants of sleep. They stared for a second at the tray, the gifts, the tiny girl standing there with ink-stained fingers and hope shining in her eyes.

"You didn’t get one last week," Rose said, voice trembling now, trying so hard to be brave. "So... I made a better one."

Violet and Dora didn’t speak right away. Dora’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes going wide with emotion, while Violet reached out instinctively, steadying the tray and guiding Rose into the room.

They brought the tray back to bed, setting it gently on the blankets. Rose handed them each a card. Handmade, uneven, and vibrant with colour.

Violet opened hers first. The front was a simple heart with stars around it. Inside, in slightly wobbly but determined writing, were the words:

“To My Mum, who taught me to fight and read.”

Dora’s had messy paint splashes and glitter. Inside:

“To My Mama, who makes me laugh and makes me brave.”

Violet’s breath caught, her hand rising to cover her mouth. Her eyes shimmered, but she held the tears back—barely. Her other hand reached for Dora’s, squeezing tightly.

Dora didn’t even try to stop her tears. They spilled over as she pulled Rose into her arms and held her close, pressing kisses to the top of her head, whispering over and over, "Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you."

Violet leaned in, joining the embrace, arms wrapping around both of them as she kissed Rose’s hair. "We love you," she whispered, her voice rough with emotion. "So much."

Rose sniffled, laughing a little through her nerves. "I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if I could... call you that. But it’s how I feel."

"Then it’s right," Dora whispered. "It’s perfect."

Eira fluttered to the windowsill, watching as the three of them curled together in the bed. The gifts were simple—painted rocks, a bracelet made of string and mismatched beads, a star-shaped charm with uneven edges. But to Violet and Dora, they were more precious than gold.

That morning, wrapped in warmth and love and sleepy sunlight, with toast crumbs on the sheets and tear-streaked cheeks, something in Rose’s heart clicked into place.

She didn’t need to question anymore.

She had two mothers.

And they had her.

~

The day was bright and clear, a soft spring breeze curling through the trees as Violet and Dora strolled down a quiet lane not far from the Tonks’ family home. The air smelled faintly of fresh earth and blooming lilacs, a promise of new beginnings lingering with every step. The world felt warmer lately, brighter in ways that had nothing to do with the weather. And today felt like another step forward into something real. Something theirs.

The house sat tucked behind a low stone wall, ivy curling over its edges, and a modest garden bursting with early blooms. Vibrant enchanted blossoms swayed gently even though there was barely a breeze, their petals humming faintly in the morning light like they were singing a soft welcome. It wasn’t grand or imposing like some of the old magical estates Violet had once seen—monuments built more for status than comfort. No, this house was simple, charming—a home rather than a fortress. A place meant for laughter and quiet evenings, for warmth and belonging.

Dora reached out, her fingers twining through Violet’s as they stood before the gate. "Ready?" she asked softly, her thumb brushing over Violet’s knuckles.

Violet took a slow breath, glancing up at the quaint little house. "I think so," she whispered, her heart pounding louder than it had any right to.

Inside, the house welcomed them with a warmth that felt almost alive. The wards layered over it were old but lovingly maintained, their magic humming like a soft heartbeat through the walls. Violet could sense the protections immediately—subtle charms to keep unwelcome guests away, enchantments woven into the stone for warmth and safety, and a soft golden ward that buzzed gently against her magic. There was no sense of defense or aggression in the spells—only protection, the kind that wrapped around you like a hug on a cold night.

The ground floor was open and airy, sunlight streaming in through wide windows that overlooked the garden. The sitting room held a cozy hearth, its stonework etched with faint protective runes, and the kitchen was bright and welcoming. Dora immediately lit up as she walked through it, pointing to the corner where she’d set up a breakfast nook and teasing about how Violet would be required to eat breakfast regularly now. Violet rolled her eyes at that but couldn’t help smiling at the image of lazy mornings spent there, tangled in soft robes with tea steaming on the table.

At the back of the house was the potion lab. Tucked neatly away but easily accessible, it had sturdy shelves lining the walls and enchanted ventilation already in place. It wasn’t large, but it had everything one would need to start—or restart—a life’s work. Dora leaned against the doorframe, watching as Violet explored the space, her fingers trailing along the stone countertops.

"It’s simple," Dora said quietly, "but I can already see you in here. Creating things. Building something new."

The first floor held three bedrooms—just enough for the life they had now, and maybe one day, for the life they might want. Dora wandered from room to room, running her fingers along doorframes, glancing out the windows at the view of the forest beyond. She stopped in the largest room and turned back toward Violet with a playful gleam in her eyes.

"Plenty of space for us," she teased. "And if we ever decide to expand our little family..." Her eyes sparkled as she let the suggestion hang between them, her lips curving into that knowing, mischievous smile.

Violet flushed, glancing away with a shy smile of her own, her cheeks pink. "Let’s just get through one thing at a time," she murmured, though her mind couldn’t help but wander to that future. One where their house was filled with even more laughter, where Rose’s voice was joined by another child’s giggles. It was a terrifying thought. And a beautiful one.

The attic was a hidden gem. Already charmed against dust and pests, it had a wide circular window that flooded the space with light and offered a breathtaking view of the rolling hills beyond. Dora immediately suggested turning it into a reading nook or a quiet retreat for late nights. Violet ran her hands over the window ledge, imagining herself curled up there with a cup of tea and a good book, Eira perched nearby, and Rose snuggled into her side.

The basement was cool and solid, the stone walls reinforced with ancient protective runes. Dora pointed out that it would be perfect for potion storage or even a private practice space for magic. Violet ran her fingers over the runes etched into the stone and felt a sense of history there, a sense of strength.

They explored in companionable silence for a while longer, occasionally stopping in the doorways of rooms, imagining what their life could look like here. Dora teased Violet about how she’d inevitably claim the comfiest chair by the hearth and how she’d probably fall asleep there with a book on her chest. Violet, in turn, teased Dora about filling the kitchen shelves with far too many different types of tea and the ridiculous number of flannel shirts she owned.

When they stood together again by the hearth, the late afternoon light pouring in through the windows, Dora turned to Violet with that soft, teasing smile that never failed to make her heart flutter. "So? Think you could see yourself calling this home?"

Violet turned slowly, her eyes sweeping across the worn wooden banister, the slightly uneven stone hearth, the faint creak in the floorboards that spoke of a house lived in, loved. It wasn’t perfect. And that was exactly why it felt possible.

For the first time in a very long while, the word home didn’t feel like a distant, unreachable thing. It didn’t feel dangerous to hope for. It felt real. Achievable. Waiting for them to step into it.

She reached for Dora’s hand, their fingers lacing together.

"Yeah," Violet whispered, her voice steady this time. "I think I could."

And for the first time, she truly believed it.

~

The final bell of the school year rang out like a song of freedom. Rose bolted out of the school gates with Maisie and Leila close behind, her face bright and full of a joy Violet had rarely seen so pure. No fear. No careful glances over her shoulder. Just the promise of a summer that belonged entirely to her.

That very weekend, they packed up for a trip to the coast. Not a hidden cove or a remote stretch of land for secrecy’s sake, but a proper beach, full of sunlight and soft sand. Dora had insisted on it—on giving Rose the kind of carefree summer memories that every child deserved. Violet agreed, though it was strange at first to prepare for a trip without calculating escape routes or wards to hide them.

The moment they arrived, Rose kicked off her shoes and ran barefoot across the sand, her laughter carried on the sea breeze. Eira flew in excited loops overhead, while Anand and Macha padded alongside, their eyes bright, tails flicking with relaxed contentment. Hedwig and Badb circled high above, their shadows crossing over the glittering waves.

Violet stood still for a moment, soaking it all in—the salty air, the rhythmic crash of waves, the sight of Dora twirling Rose around in the surf, both of them laughing so hard they could barely stand. A tightness in her chest loosened she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

They spent the day building sandcastles the old-fashioned way, their hands coated in warm, grainy sand, and their laughter echoing over the waves. Dora showed Rose how to pack the sand tightly to build sturdy towers, while Violet carefully shaped the arched bridges and winding pathways. Rose’s fingers dug eagerly through the sand, searching for the perfect seashells to decorate the castle walls. They worked together until the tide crept close, threatening their creation. Before the sea could reclaim it, Dora called out for a picture.

With Eira perched cheerfully on Rose’s shoulder, and the other familiars lounging in the sand nearby, Violet set up the camera. She rushed back just in time, sliding next to Dora as they all crouched in front of the sandcastle, grinning and leaning into each other. Rose sat between them, beaming with messy cheeks and windswept hair, her arms wrapped around both her mums. The camera clicked, capturing the moment: a little castle, a small family, and a perfect day.

Later, that photo would be added to the family album, tucked between pages of birthdays and bedtime stories, a memory sealed with sun and laughter.

Afterward, Dora taught Rose how to skip stones across the waves, each flat stone dancing briefly across the surface before disappearing beneath the gentle surf. Violet watched them from the shore, her heart full and peaceful.

Later, they gathered under a large sunshade for a picnic, their familiars sprawled lazily in the sand nearby. Rose devoured the fresh fruit and sandwiches like she hadn’t eaten in days, grinning wide with every sticky bite. When she grew tired, she curled up between Violet and Dora, her head resting on Violet’s lap, content and safe.

As the sun set, painting the sky in brilliant shades of gold and pink, they sat together in the cooling sand. Violet leaned into Dora’s side, their fingers intertwined, watching as Rose chased the last waves, her silhouette framed by the glowing horizon.

It was the first time Violet truly believed that the dark days were behind them—that this, right here, was the life they had fought for. And it was beautiful.

~

Summer rolled gently on, each day painted with moments of warmth, laughter, and the steady rhythm of a life Violet had once believed impossible. The shadows of the past seemed a little less heavy beneath the golden sunlight, and even the nights felt easier, filled with the comforting presence of family. For the first time in years, Violet could breathe without the weight of old fears crushing her chest, and every smile from Rose felt like a small victory against the darkness they’d all fought so hard to leave behind.

They spent afternoons picnicking in the meadows, lying in soft grass under lazy clouds, their familiars basking in the sun nearby. Evenings became their time for storytelling, curled up in the garden under the stars with cups of warm tea, the air filled with the scent of lavender and the distant sound of crickets. On lazy mornings, none of them wanted to leave the comfort of tangled blankets and shared warmth. Dora would hum softly while brewing tea, moving about the kitchen with practiced ease, and Rose would fall asleep again against Violet’s shoulder during quiet, peaceful nights. The simplicity of it all made Violet’s heart ache in the most beautiful way, a constant reminder of everything they’d fought to create.

Yet, amidst all this peace, a quiet decision lingered in the air. The house. Their house. The idea of a space that belonged solely to them was both thrilling and terrifying, a future Violet had dared only to dream of.

Violet and Dora didn’t want to surprise Rose with a sudden move—after everything, she deserved to feel part of the choice, to have a say in where they planted their roots. So one bright afternoon, with the scent of summer clinging to the air, they gathered Rose up and took her to see the house.

As they walked up the garden path, vibrant flowers blooming along the low stone walls, Violet felt Rose’s small hand tighten slightly in hers. She looked down and saw uncertainty swimming in her daughter’s eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

"It’s not that I don’t like it..." Rose mumbled, her voice small as she kicked lightly at a pebble. "I just… I like it at Gran and Granddad’s. It feels… safe. Like a home. I’ve never really had one before."

Violet crouched in front of her, brushing a loose curl from Rose’s face and tucking it gently behind her ear. "You’re not losing that, sweetheart. And you’ll always have them. But this—this could be just for us. A place to grow, to build our own memories. Somewhere that’s ours. Would you like to at least take a look inside? No pressure, I promise."

Rose glanced at the house again, her hesitation clear, but there was curiosity too. A tiny spark of wonder that hadn’t quite dimmed. Dora reached out her hand with a soft, encouraging smile. "Come on, Rosie. You haven’t even seen the secret attic yet."

That piqued Rose’s curiosity. She hesitated only a moment longer before slipping her small hand into Dora’s and following them inside. Her wide eyes took in the bright, sunlit rooms and the way the house seemed to hum gently with quiet, welcoming magic. Every corner felt full of possibilities, and as they moved from room to room, Dora pointed out where the reading nook could be by the wide bay window, where they could curl up on rainy afternoons. Violet knelt down with Rose by the kitchen window and showed her where a little herb garden could flourish, the air always smelling faintly of mint and rosemary.

But it was the attic that finally broke through Rose’s hesitation completely. As they climbed the creaking stairs and pushed open the old wooden hatch, warm light poured through the circular window, illuminating the dust motes in the air like tiny stars. Rose gasped as she stepped inside, spinning slowly as she took in the cozy space, her imagination already filling it with possibilities.

"This could be my room?" she whispered, almost in awe, her fingers trailing over the old beams of the roof.

"If you’d like it to be," Dora said gently, kneeling beside her. "Or a place just for you to read and draw. Whatever makes you happiest."

Rose turned, her small face breaking into a bright, hopeful smile that made Violet’s chest ache with love. "I think… I think I’d like that. A lot."

They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring every corner of the house again, this time with Rose leading the way, her worries forgotten as she imagined where her toys might go, where she could hang her drawings, where Eira might perch to watch her read.

Later that evening, as they walked back to the Tonks’ home beneath a sky painted with shades of peach and lavender, Rose held Violet’s hand a little looser, her steps lighter, her voice brighter as she chatted about what her new room could look like. And when they reached the front garden, she turned to Violet and Dora, her expression hopeful and excited.

"Can we go back there again tomorrow?" she asked, bouncing slightly on her toes.

Violet exchanged a soft, knowing glance with Dora, her heart full in a way that left her breathless.

"Of course," Violet said, kneeling down to kiss Rose’s forehead. "As many times as you’d like. And when you’re ready, we’ll call it home."

~

A few days later, the house that had lived in their dreams became reality. The paperwork was signed with steady hands and quiet smiles, the wards updated with protections layered gently over the foundation, and the keys jingled softly in Violet’s pocket as they stepped over the threshold for the first time—this time as a family truly calling it home.

The sunlight streamed through the wide windows, golden and warm, as if the house itself welcomed them in. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, catching the light like tiny stars. The scent of fresh wood polish and blooming jasmine from the garden filled the air, mingling with the faint hum of old, comfortable magic. Violet and Dora stood together in what was now their bedroom, a spacious, airy room with tall windows that framed the view of the wildflower-dotted meadow beyond. An attached bathroom stretched off to the side, its clawfoot tub and large, tiled shower already promising lazy mornings and quiet nights of comfort.

Dora wrapped her arms around Violet from behind, resting her chin lightly on Violet’s shoulder as they took in the space. Her fingers traced slow, lazy circles over Violet’s forearms.

"Think we’ll be able to fill it with good memories?" Dora whispered, her voice low and full of quiet hope.

Violet leaned back into her embrace, her head resting against Dora’s cheek. "We already are," she murmured, her heart full and content.

Meanwhile, Rose was a blur of energy and excitement, racing down the hallways with Eira perched proudly on her shoulder like a tiny, regal sentinel. Her delighted laughter echoed through the house as she darted from room to room, inspecting every corner with the curiosity only a child could have. Though she’d initially dreamed of claiming the attic as her bedroom, she settled on a cozy, sun-drenched room just down the hall from her mums. The attic, she declared with the wisdom of someone much older, would make the perfect adventure hideout or art studio when she was ready.

Macha and Anand prowled through the house with purpose, their sleek forms low and their sharp eyes taking in every detail. They moved like silent guardians, weaving through doorways, brushing past walls, inspecting every corner as if testing the house’s worthiness. Their tails flicked with quiet approval whenever they passed through the sunlit spaces. Outside, Hedwig and Badb circled high above, their powerful wings cutting graceful arcs through the blue sky as they inspected the gardens from above, occasionally swooping low to perch on the stone wall and observe their domain with sharp, knowing eyes.

Andromeda and Ted arrived soon after, their arms full despite most of the belongings having been efficiently shrunk down for easy transport through the Floo network. Ted wore a knowing smile as he carried a box labeled "Kitchen Essentials," while Andromeda took immediate control of organizing their moving efforts. With just two trips, everything they owned found its way into the new house. And then, the real work—the joyful work—began: turning the house into a home.

They started with Rose’s room. Dora had insisted it be the first space to feel finished, and Violet agreed. Together, they unpacked Rose’s things with care, setting out her familiar plushies and treasured trinkets. The walls came alive with vibrant colors thanks to enchanted paints that shimmered and danced as they dried. Playful magical creatures appeared along the walls—glowing butterflies perched delicately on painted tree branches, little fox kits peeked from beneath drawn bushes, and luminous stars traced constellations across the ceiling that would softly glow at night.

Above a small desk positioned beneath the window, they hung a collection of framed photos: Rose laughing with Maisie and Leila, a family portrait from the beach trip, all of them standing proudly in front of their sandcastle, and another photo of Rose sitting between Violet and Dora, her arms wrapped tightly around both of them, their faces aglow with happiness.

Her bed was made up with soft, colorful blankets that Dora had personally picked out, and her plushies were carefully arranged along the pillows into a perfect, cozy nest. An owl stand stood proudly near the desk for Eira to perch on when she wasn’t riding around on Rose’s shoulder, and another smaller stand was attached to the bed’s headboard for when Eira grew older and might prefer to stay close while Rose slept.

They spent hours adding little details—embroidered pillows, soft rugs, tiny enchanted lanterns shaped like stars and moons that flickered gently with warm light. Rose spun in circles in the center of the room, her eyes wide with wonder as she tried to take it all in.

As the afternoon sun dipped low, painting the walls with a soft, golden glow, the house echoed with warmth and laughter. Outside, the garden was alive with the familiars exploring their new home, their graceful movements blending with the sounds of birdsong and the gentle rustling of the breeze. Inside, the air thrummed with quiet magic and the joyful energy of a family finally, completely together.

Violet found herself standing in the doorway of Rose’s new room, her heart so full it ached. She watched as Rose danced in the middle of the room, her hands outstretched to catch the enchanted butterflies that fluttered above her head, her laughter bright and boundless.

Dora slipped her arm around Violet’s waist and rested her head against her shoulder, a contented sigh leaving her lips. "Feels like we’re really home now, doesn’t it?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Violet swallowed against the tightness in her throat, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She wrapped her arm around Dora and pulled her close, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice trembling with happiness. "It really does."

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

XIV

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

The summer air was warm and sweet, thick with the scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed stone. It was the kind of day where everything felt a little lighter, a little more possible, as if the universe itself had taken a deep breath and decided to be kind. The sound of birdsong filtered through the bustling streets as Violet and Dora wandered the cobbled alleys of the magical marketplace, their hands loosely entwined as they ducked between shops. The old wariness that had once dictated Violet’s every step seemed distant today, almost forgotten beneath the soft hum of happiness. It had been years since she had allowed herself to enjoy a day like this—without fear, without purpose beyond simple joy. And for once, she wasn’t planning for battle or survival. Today was about something far more precious.

Rose’s first real birthday.

Her ninth birthday—the first she had ever truly celebrated, without fear, without hiding, without the heavy weight of loss shadowing her young shoulders. Violet and Dora were determined to make it perfect. No half-measures. No simple gestures. They wanted her to have the kind of day she would remember forever, the kind of day that felt like a promise that life could be beautiful.

Rose was spending the day with Maisie and Leila, completely unaware of the whirlwind of preparations happening behind the scenes. The three girls were off having their own little adventures, exploring the woods near Maisie’s home and picnicking in sun-dappled clearings. It gave Violet and Dora the freedom to explore every corner of the marketplace, looking for just the right gifts, decorations, and little magical touches that would turn a simple celebration into something straight out of a fairytale.

They stopped at a stall filled with enchanted paper animals that folded themselves into intricate shapes and fluttered gently in the air. Tiny dragons perched on the edges of display shelves, their wings flickering with delicate colors. Butterflies made of iridescent paper flitted above the awning, catching the sunlight. Dora grinned as she lifted a tiny phoenix, its paper wings glowing faintly like it held its own tiny flame.

"Think Rose would like these for her room or as table decorations?" Dora asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Violet smiled, her fingers brushing over a delicate paper unicorn that pranced across the table. The enchantments were subtle but beautiful. "She’ll love them," she murmured. "Especially the phoenix. You know how she talks about wanting to be brave like them."

They purchased a small collection—phoenixes, unicorns, butterflies, and tiny paper wolves that howled soundlessly at the ceiling. As they wandered deeper into the marketplace, they stopped to examine stalls selling enchanted lanterns shaped like stars and moons, garlands that would shimmer softly under starlight, and sweets that burst with fruity magic when bitten into.

But even as they shopped for Rose, Dora had another plan quietly unfolding. Violet’s own birthday was approaching—closer than Violet seemed to realize or even care about. She hadn’t mentioned it, hadn’t dropped even the smallest hint. Violet had spent so many years pushing aside her own wants and joys that it hadn’t even occurred to her that she deserved a day just as magical. She focused so entirely on Rose’s happiness, as if her own needs didn’t even belong in the same space.

Dora wasn’t about to let that slide.

As they moved between shops, Dora made mental notes of the small things Violet admired and then gently set aside with that quiet, self-denying grace of hers. A soft leather-bound journal with delicate runes pressed into the cover—perfect for the kind of personal reflections Violet rarely allowed herself. A silver charm shaped like a raven, the metal worked so finely that the feathers looked soft to the touch. A beautifully made shawl in deep violet, nearly the exact shade of her eyes, with silver threads woven through to catch the light. Dora even slipped into a side stall at one point to inquire about a custom tea blend—something calming but rich, something just for Violet.

Every time Violet reached for something and then let her hand fall away, Dora quietly circled back and added it to her growing list of surprises. Because today might have been about Rose. But Dora was going to make sure, when the day came, that Violet would know—without a single doubt—that she was loved, celebrated, and cherished just as deeply.

As they sat down later at a café overlooking the square, sipping cool drinks beneath a shaded pergola wrapped in blooming vines, Dora found herself studying Violet’s profile as she gazed out over the bustling market. There was a soft, peaceful smile on her lips, but behind her eyes, Dora could see the faint trace of someone still learning how to live without the weight of survival pressing on her every thought.

"You’re doing it again," Dora said gently.

Violet turned her head. "Doing what?"

"Forgetting you’re allowed to be happy," Dora teased, reaching over to brush her fingers lightly over Violet’s knuckles. "You’re allowed to celebrate too, Vi. You’re allowed to have a day that’s just for you."

Violet ducked her head, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. "It’s just… it’s easier to focus on Rose. She deserves so much."

"And so do you," Dora whispered, leaning closer, her lips brushing just below Violet’s ear. "And I’m going to prove it to you."

Violet closed her eyes for a moment, letting the promise settle in her heart. For the first time in a long time, she let herself believe it could be true.

~

The house was quiet that evening, the comforting hush that came after a day well spent. Outside, a gentle summer rain pattered against the windows, the soft sound lulling the house into a peaceful stillness. Violet sat on the living room floor, her back against the couch, a warm mug of tea cradled between her hands. The fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room.

Rose padded into the room on quiet feet, her favorite soft blanket trailing behind her like a tiny cape. Eira perched lightly on her shoulder, nuzzling her cheek. Violet smiled at the sight, patting the space beside her. Rose settled down against her side, curling up close, her blanket tucked around her knees.

They sat like that for a while, the silence comfortable. Then, in a small, hesitant voice, Rose spoke.

"Mum…?"

Violet glanced down, brushing her fingers gently through Rose’s curls. "Yes, sweetheart?"

Rose hesitated, her fingers tugging at the edge of her blanket. "Did you… um… did you ever have happy birthdays?"

The question caught Violet off guard. Her heart gave a painful little squeeze, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure how to answer. She looked into the fire, her mind drifting back over the years—too many of them marked by loneliness, by war, by survival. Birthdays had come and gone, often forgotten or simply endured.

She let out a soft breath and pressed a kiss to Rose’s hair. "Not really," she admitted quietly. "There were a few quiet days… a kind word here or there. But I’ve never really… celebrated. Not the way you should."

Rose looked up at her, eyes wide and shining with quiet sadness. "But you should have had them. Happy ones. With cake and presents and people who love you."

Violet’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard, blinking back the emotion that threatened to rise. "It’s alright, Rosie. Things were… different then. But now, I have you and Mama. That’s worth more than all the birthdays I missed."

Rose nodded slowly, but a thoughtful look settled on her face. She leaned against Violet’s side, her small hand slipping into hers, but her mind was already turning over a new plan.

Make Mum’s birthday special.

She added it quietly to the growing list of secret plans she’d tucked away in her heart.

That night, as Violet carried Rose to bed and tucked her in, she didn’t know that Rose’s thoughts were already filled with ideas—plans for the biggest surprise of all. And for the first time, it wasn’t just about her own birthday.

It was about making sure her Mum had the kind of day she’d never forget.

~

The next morning, the house was filled with the soft hum of summer, warm sunlight pouring through the windows and the distant sound of birdsong drifting through the open garden doors. Violet had gone out to run errands, leaving Dora in the kitchen enjoying a quiet cup of tea when she heard the unmistakable sound of small feet padding quickly across the wooden floor.

Rose appeared in the doorway, her expression serious in that way only a determined child could manage. Eira sat regally on her shoulder, tiny wings tucked neatly in place.

"Mama?" Rose said quietly, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers.

Dora set down her tea and leaned forward with a knowing smile. "This looks serious, little star. What’s on your mind?"

Rose stepped closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I need your help. We have to make Mum’s birthday really special. She told me she’s never had a happy one before."

Dora’s heart clenched at that but she kept her smile gentle, reaching out to brush a curl from Rose’s face. "That’s a wonderful idea, Rosie. And you’re just the person to make it happen."

Rose beamed at that but quickly adopted her serious expression again. "But we have to keep it secret. Mum can’t know anything!"

Dora chuckled softly. "Ah, Operation Birthday Surprise. First rule of keeping secrets—always look completely innocent." She exaggerated a wide-eyed, innocent expression that made Rose giggle behind her hands.

"Like this?" Rose asked, widening her eyes dramatically and clasping her hands behind her back.

"Perfect. You’re a natural at this," Dora teased, ruffling Rose’s hair. "Now, we’ve got about a week to plan, and the best surprises take careful preparation. What did you have in mind so far?"

Rose tapped her chin thoughtfully, her little brow furrowed. "I want to bake her a cake myself! And maybe we can make her some presents too? Like something she can keep forever."

Dora nodded approvingly. "That sounds like a wonderful start. But remember, we’ve got time, so we don’t have to rush it. How about we start by deciding what kind of cake to bake? Then, over the next few days, we can practice and work on the presents."

Rose’s eyes lit up with excitement. "Practice cakes? That sounds amazing!" She giggled, already bouncing on her toes. "Can we start today? Just to try?"

Dora laughed and stood, offering her hand. "Alright, Chef Rosie, let’s make a plan for the perfect cake. But remember—this is just a test run, so we don’t have to get too messy today."

Of course, despite the best of intentions, what started as a simple practice session turned into what Dora would later fondly call ‘Preliminary Kitchen Chaos.’ Rose, determined to do as much as she could herself, attacked the ingredients with her usual enthusiasm. Flour quickly found its way onto every surface—including both of them—and somehow ended up dusting Eira’s tiny feathers again despite the owl’s best efforts to stay clear.

Rose cracked the eggs with wild energy, sending bits of shell flying before Dora gently stepped in to show her how to do it properly. Butter and sugar went flying, and when it came time to stir, Rose insisted on mixing by hand, resulting in a vigorous effort that splattered batter everywhere.

Dora laughed through it all, kneeling beside Rose to guide her hands without taking away her independence. This was Rose’s gift, after all, and Dora knew how important it was for her to feel like she was making this happen herself.

By the time the practice cake was in the oven, the kitchen looked like it had survived a magical flour storm. Dora wrapped Rose in a warm hug, brushing a bit of flour from her nose.

"You, Rosie Potter, are a brilliant little chef and a very dangerous one," she teased, laughing. "But you’re going to make your Mum so happy."

Rose glowed with pride, her cheeks pink and her curls dusted in flour. "We’re going to make it the best birthday ever! And I’m going to practice every day until it’s perfect!"

Dora kissed the top of her head and smiled. "That’s the spirit, little star. Now, let’s clean this up before Mum comes home and starts asking questions about all the flour."

~~

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting gentle golden streaks across the bedroom walls. The air was still, calm, holding the hush of early hours before the world truly woke. Nestled beneath the covers, Violet stirred slowly, her senses waking before her eyes did.

Warmth surrounded her—Dora’s arms wrapped around her waist, one leg tangled lazily over hers. The slow, even rhythm of Dora’s breathing brushed against the back of her neck, comforting and grounding. Violet let herself stay there for a long moment, safe and still in the quiet sanctuary of their bed.

She nuzzled gently back into the curve of Dora’s body, her eyes fluttering open just enough to see the soft light filling the room. A sleepy murmur followed as Dora tightened her hold slightly and pressed a lazy kiss to Violet’s shoulder.

"Happy birthday, Vi," she whispered, voice rough with sleep but full of warmth.

Violet smiled, closing her eyes again and letting the words sink in. There was something about hearing them like this—before the day had properly begun, with no expectations or noise—that made it feel real. Safe. Cherished.

"Mmm… Thank you," she whispered back, her voice low and hoarse from sleep. Her hand found Dora’s and laced their fingers together under the blanket. "You remembered."

"Of course I did," Dora murmured, burying her face in Violet’s hair. "You think I’d forget my favorite person’s birthday? Not a chance."

They stayed like that for a while longer, tangled in blankets and each other, sharing the soft hush of a morning that belonged only to them. Outside the door, the house was still quiet—Rose and the familiars hadn’t stirred yet. The world gave them that precious stillness, a gentle moment to simply be.

Violet turned slowly in Dora’s arms to face her, brushing a kiss to the corner of her lips. "Happy birthday to Rose, too."

Dora smiled sleepily. "She’s going to have the best day. And so are you."

For once, Violet let herself believe it.

Dressed and quietly energized, Violet and Dora descended the stairs together, the early light casting soft golden hues across the newly decorated living room. The scent of lavender and something sweet hung faintly in the air. Streamers of pale blue and silver trailed along the walls, tiny enchanted butterflies pinned in mid-hover beside floating ribbons that shimmered when the light hit just right.

They moved together in rhythm—comfortable, wordless—making the final preparations for Rose’s birthday. It wasn’t a grand party, just Rose, Maisie, and Leila, but that didn’t make it any less magical. In fact, it made it all the more intimate and meaningful. Every detail was tailored for joy.

Violet checked the table twice, adjusting a vase of sunflowers Rose had picked herself earlier in the week, while Dora quietly double-checked the gifts tucked away behind the armchair. What Violet didn’t know, though, was that hidden among the streamers and softly glowing decorations were a few surprises not for Rose, but for her.

The cake she and Rose had practiced and perfected together sat safely hidden in the cooling drawer, covered with a charm to keep it fresh and sweet until the time was right. It had been a labor of love, and Dora had been delighted by the sheer pride in Rose’s eyes the day before when she declared it perfect for Mum.

And then there was the gift Dora had saved for this quiet moment before the day began in earnest. She found Violet adjusting a candle near the windowsill, the early light catching the edges of her hair and casting a glow across her shoulders. For a moment, Dora simply watched her, heart full.

"Vi?" she said gently, and Violet turned, her expression soft and curious.

Dora stepped closer and reached into her pocket, withdrawing a small velvet pouch. "Before everything starts, I wanted to give you this. Just a little something."

Violet blinked, surprised. "I thought we agreed today was about Rose."

"It is," Dora said with a crooked smile, "but it’s about you, too. You matter too. And I thought you might like something you could carry with you."

She pressed the pouch into Violet’s hands.

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, its design simple and elegant, fine enough that it felt light against the skin. Violet turned it over in her palm, her thumb catching on the engraving hidden on the inner band.

My light in the dark.

Her breath hitched.

"It’s enchanted," Dora said softly, watching her closely. "It’ll stay warm when you wear it. But if you ever start to feel overwhelmed or anxious, it will grow warmer—just enough to remind you that you’re not alone. That I’m here."

Violet looked up at her, eyes shining.

"Andromeda helped me work out the theory. I wanted it to feel like something gentle. Like a hand you can always hold, even if I’m not there."

Violet slipped it on, the silver cool against her skin before it warmed instantly, as if it recognized her. She held up her wrist, the bracelet gleaming faintly in the morning light.

"It’s beautiful," she whispered, stepping into Dora’s arms. "You always know exactly what I need."

Dora wrapped her arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You deserve beautiful things. And a little magic just for you."

They stood like that for a few moments longer, wrapped in each other as the house filled slowly with the quiet promise of a joyful day.

Upstairs, a small yawn sounded from behind Rose’s door.

"Looks like the guest of honor is waking up," Dora whispered with a smile.

Violet smiled back, her fingers brushing over the bracelet once more. She felt warm—not just from the charm, but from the love that wrapped around her like another kind of magic entirely.

The sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs signaled the arrival of the guest of honor. Violet and Dora turned just in time to see Rose bounding down the steps two at a time, her curls bouncing wildly around her face. Eira swooped down behind her, wings outstretched in a graceful glide, and Macha and Anand followed in her wake with regal yet energetic trots, their eyes bright with morning mischief.

Rose burst into the living room with a wide, beaming smile, eyes lighting up as she took in the soft decorations, the way the sunlight kissed the floating butterflies and streamers. She didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate—she ran straight into Violet’s arms.

Violet caught her effortlessly, lifting her into a tight, warm hug. She buried her face into Rose’s hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Happy birthday, my little star," she whispered, her voice thick with affection.

Rose giggled, squeezing Violet around the neck. "Thank you, Mum!"

Dora was right there beside them, ruffling Rose’s curls before pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Nine years old today," she said with mock gravity. "You know that makes you ancient, right?"

Rose rolled her eyes, laughing. "You’re the ancient ones," she teased, but then her eyes turned soft as she turned back toward Violet.

"Happy birthday, Mum," she added sweetly, her voice a little quieter. "I didn’t forget."

Violet’s heart clenched in the best way. She smiled, brushing a lock of hair from Rose’s face. "You remembered?"

Rose nodded. "Of course I did. Today’s special for both of us."

Behind them, Eira chirped softly from her perch, while Macha and Anand circled around the trio, curling up at their feet. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath—a still, perfect hush of family, love, and beginnings.

Dora slipped an arm around both of them and gave a gentle squeeze. "Let’s make today unforgettable."

And with that, the birthday truly began.

The morning continued in the coziest way possible.

After the hugs and birthday wishes, the little family made their way into the kitchen where sunlight streamed in through the wide windows, warming the pale stone countertops and casting golden light over everything it touched. The scent of cinnamon and warm butter already lingered in the air.

Dora stood confidently at the stove, sleeves rolled up and her wand tucked behind one ear, flipping pancakes with a flourish. Her expression was one of exaggerated seriousness, as if she were brewing the most delicate potion instead of breakfast.

"Sit," she told Violet with a mock-stern look when she tried to get up and help. "Birthday girls don’t cook. Especially not mine."

Violet raised her hands in surrender, a smirk tugging at her lips as she settled back into her chair. Rose giggled beside her, swinging her legs under the table.

"She means it," Rose said sagely, leaning toward Violet like she was sharing a great secret. Then, quieter, more thoughtful: "Sometimes I still forget I don’t have to cook. Not much anymore... but it sneaks up on me."

Violet's smile softened. She reached out, gently tugging Rose into her lap and wrapping her arms around her. Rose curled against her chest, the blanket still draped around her shoulders. Violet pressed a kiss to the top of her head and held her close.

"You never have to do that again, sweetheart," she whispered. "Not unless it’s for fun. You’re safe now. Always."

Rose nodded, burying her face into Violet’s shoulder, and for a quiet moment, they just held each other as the kitchen filled with warmth and the smell of pancakes and love.

Dora shot them both a playful look over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright, enough of the mushy moment or I’m going to start crying into the pancakes. You’re lucky I didn’t put you both in birthday hats already. I still might."

Rose gasped, grinning. "There are hats?!"

"Maybe," Dora said, flipping another pancake onto a growing stack. "But only if you eat all your fruit. Birthday rule."

Eira chirped from her perch on the windowsill, clearly intrigued by the smell of breakfast. Macha and Anand were already curled up beneath the table, their tails flicking lazily as they basked in the morning peace.

Violet rested her chin in her hand, watching Dora move with ease through the kitchen, her heart full and warm. There was something so deeply intimate about being cared for like this. No great declarations, no grand gestures—just this simple, loving act of making breakfast.

She reached across the table to squeeze Rose’s hand gently. Rose looked up and beamed, her cheeks still flushed from excitement.

"Best birthday ever," she whispered.

Violet smiled, her eyes misting just slightly. "It really is."

After breakfast, the kitchen still humming with warmth and the scent of cinnamon, they gathered in the living room where the morning light pooled softly across the rug. The familiars found their cozy spots: Macha sprawled across a sunlit patch of floor, Anand curling neatly near the hearth, and Eira perched proudly on the back of the couch, watching like a tiny guardian. Overhead, the sound of wings signaled the return of Hedwig and Badb from their morning flight, the two great birds circling once before gliding through the open window and landing with quiet grace—Hedwig on the tall bookshelf and Badb atop the curtain rod, both surveying the scene below like sentinels returning to roost with their family.

Presents had been tucked in a neat pile beside the armchair, wrapped in colourful papers with sparkling ribbons—Dora’s doing, no doubt, judging by the chaotic cheer of the packaging. Violet took her place on the couch with Rose nestled between her and Dora, both of them grinning with quiet excitement.

"Alright," Dora said, nudging Rose’s side with her elbow. "Birthday girl number one—your turn."

Rose didn’t hesitate. Her eyes sparkled as she reached for the first gift, carefully peeling the paper back with a mix of eagerness and reverence. What followed was a flurry of joy:

A pair of new plushies—one a winged wolf with shimmering fur and the other a soft dragon with glowing stitched eyes—elicited a delighted squeal. Violet and Dora exchanged a smile at her reaction.

Next came a set of new Lego kits, one themed like a tiny magical library with books that actually glowed when slotted in place, and the other a beach scene with shells and boats and little lights.

Books came next—a new series about a girl who could talk to mythical creatures and solve magical mysteries, chosen carefully with a note in the front cover in Dora’s neat handwriting: "To my favourite adventurer. May you always ask questions and follow the strange footprints."

There were some new clothes as well—soft jumpers in Rose’s favourite colours, a pair of enchanted socks that never mismatched themselves, and a hoodie with a little embroidered owl nestled in the corner of the pocket. Each item was met with excited thanks and Rose holding it up for inspection, Eira occasionally chirping in what sounded very much like approval.

Violet sat back quietly, her arm around Rose’s shoulder, soaking in every smile, every wide-eyed moment of happiness. She felt full, not just from breakfast, but from something deeper—a contentment so vast it almost hurt. This was more than she had ever imagined she’d have.

She hadn’t expected anything for herself, hadn’t thought past the joy of watching Rose unwrap the morning. And in truth, she didn’t need anything. What she had right now was everything.

Family. Love. Laughter.

And that, to her, was the best gift of all.

With Rose’s presents opened and excitement still buzzing through the room, she settled happily between Violet and Dora, one of her new plushies tucked under one arm and her other hand still exploring the shimmering wing of her new dragon toy.

Violet was content to simply hold her, filled with warmth and quiet joy. But Dora wasn’t finished just yet.

"Alright," Dora said with a mischievous grin, standing up and heading over to a cabinet by the fireplace. "Time for part two."

Violet blinked, confused. "Part two of what?"

"Don’t think you were going to get away without a few presents of your own, birthday girl," Dora called over her shoulder, pulling out a small collection of wrapped gifts and a carefully folded card. She turned back with her arms full and a smile softening her eyes. "From all of us."

Violet looked stunned as Dora brought them over. "I didn’t... I didn’t expect—"

"We know," Dora said gently, sitting beside her again. "That’s why we did."

She handed her the card first—clearly handmade, edges slightly uneven, covered in tiny, glittery stars and a careful drawing of Violet, Dora, and Rose, all holding hands with Eira flying above them. Inside, the message was written in Rose’s neatest handwriting:

To Mum, Happy Birthday! Thank you for being my safe place. I love you. Love, Rose.

Violet’s breath caught, and she had to blink a few times before she could speak. Rose leaned in and nudged her gently. "You didn’t think we’d forget you, did you?"

The first gift came from Rose and Dora—a plush snowy owl, soft and elegant, with pale, glitter-dusted wings and kind golden eyes. Violet held it to her chest as Hedwig gave an approving chirp from her perch.

"We saw it and Rose said, ‘That one’s Mum,’" Dora said with a smile. "Hedwig agrees."

Then came the rest—gifts from Dora, Andromeda, and Ted, each one wrapped with care and thought.

There were books—some practical, some playful. A collection on magical pedagogy, another on Muggle primary teaching methods, and a few leisure reads Dora knew Violet would get lost in. There were themed notebooks and quills, and a set of colour-coded bookmarks that Rose had chosen.

Andromeda and Ted’s gift earned a soft laugh from Violet—a more advanced LEGO set, one of a detailed greenhouse with moving parts and tiny glowing plants. Dora grinned at her reaction. "I saw how much fun you had helping Rose. Figured you deserved your own."

Violet stared at the pile, then at her family, stunned and overwhelmed by the sheer care threaded through every ribbon and note.

"I don’t know what to say," she whispered, voice thick.

"You don’t have to," Dora murmured, wrapping her arm around her. "Just know you’re loved. Deeply."

Violet rested her head on Dora’s shoulder, still holding the snowy owl plush close. "I really am, aren’t I?"

"Absolutely," Dora said. Rose nodded emphatically.

In that moment, Violet believed it with her whole heart.

Later that afternoon, the quiet hum of the new home stirred with fresh excitement as Maisie and Leila arrived. Their eyes went wide the moment they stepped through the gate, taking in the cozy, enchantment-kissed cottage nestled among trees and wildflowers. It was their first time seeing the new house—until now, their visits with Rose had always been at Andromeda and Ted’s more traditional home. The warmth of the place was immediate, like a heartbeat in the walls, alive and inviting.

Maisie immediately let out a whistle, her face lighting up. "Rose, this place is wicked. You’ve got a proper fairy-tale house."

Leila, ever more soft-spoken, took a slower step forward, her gaze drifting to the blooming garden and the softly enchanted butterflies dancing around a nearby bush. "It feels... happy. Like a house that’s alive. Like it knows it’s yours."

Rose beamed with pride and excitement, grabbing both of their hands in her own. Her cheeks were flushed with the thrill of showing off something that was hers—something safe, something full of magic and laughter. "Come on! I’ll show you the backyard—it’s massive, and the grass is soft enough to do rolls down the little hill! You’ve got to see it before it gets too hot!"

Within moments, the three of them were off, shoes half-forgotten by the door as they darted through the open back doors. Eira flitted behind them with excited little chirps, her wings flashing in the sunlight. The faint sound of shrieking laughter drifted back into the house, carried on the breeze, blending with the rustling trees and the song of birds.

Nothing formal had been planned for the afternoon—just space to play, to explore, to be free. And that was what made it perfect. They chased each other over soft grass, made up games on the spot, tried to see who could cartwheel better and failed spectacularly with giggles. Macha and Anand occasionally padded through the garden, moving like sentinels between the flowerbeds and the low stone wall, keeping a watchful eye on their human charges.

Inside, Violet stood at the kitchen window, her fingers wrapped around a cooling mug of tea. She watched with a soft smile as Rose tumbled down the hill and Maisie and Leila followed. Dora leaned against the counter beside her, sipping lemonade and watching Violet more than the yard.

"Think they’ll come back covered in grass stains?" Dora asked with a smirk.

"Without a doubt," Violet replied, her eyes twinkling. "Rose already tried to do a flip and landed like a crumpled scroll."

"Very acrobatic," Dora said approvingly. "Terrible form."

They shared a quiet laugh, the kind that needed no explanation.

Not long after, the fireplace flared emerald green in the living room, the Floo network swirling with a soft rush of wind and sparkles. Andromeda and Ted stepped out in a practiced sweep of motion, brushing soot from their robes with ease. Andromeda’s arms were full of a small wrapped parcel and a tin of freshly baked lemon biscuits.

"Happy birthday!" Andromeda called out warmly as she spotted Violet first, stepping forward with open arms and drawing her into a hug without hesitation. The scent of mint and flour clung to her robes.

"And to Rose as well, though I imagine catching her now will require a broomstick."

"You might be right," Violet said, hugging her tightly and gesturing toward the backyard with a fond smile. "She’s out there rolling down the hill with Maisie and Leila. I think Eira’s keeping score."

Ted followed, giving Violet a bright smile and a firm but affectionate squeeze to her shoulder. "You look good, Vi. Happy. It suits you."

Violet flushed faintly at the compliment but smiled back. "It feels... right," she admitted softly.

Dora stepped in with a warm grin, embracing her parents in turn and gently tugging them toward the kitchen. "Tea’s fresh, and we’ve got cake later—though Rose might insist it’s technically hers."

They laughed, all of them settling easily into the rhythm of a family that had been built, not inherited. For a moment, the adults stood together, sharing stories, sipping drinks, their voices weaving through the house like thread through fabric.

Outside, the children’s laughter carried on the wind, vibrant and alive. The familiars dozed in patches of sunlight or meandered through flowerbeds. The house—once just bricks and spells—now pulsed with something greater.

Joy. Belonging. Love.

It wasn’t just a home. It was theirs .

The sun had dipped lower in the sky, golden light stretching through the open back doors and painting the floorboards in warm amber as the sounds of the day’s play slowly faded. The garden, still humming with the energy of summer, was quieter now, birdsong soft in the trees as the shadows lengthened.

The girls came back inside in a whirl of laughter and breathless giggles, their cheeks flushed and their voices high with leftover excitement. Their hair was tousled from rolling through the grass, and their knees and elbows were delightfully stained green and brown from the many times they had tumbled down the hill. Mud clung to the hems of their shirts, and grass stuck to their socks, but none of them seemed to mind.

Rose led the way, her steps wobbling slightly with the satisfying tiredness that came from an afternoon spent in endless motion. Maisie followed, brushing dirt off her sleeves with a theatrical sigh and a grin that gave away how much fun she'd had. Leila, quieter as always, trailed just behind, her smile gentle and filled with the quiet kind of joy that lingered long after laughter faded.

In the living room, waiting on the side table beside the couch, were two brightly wrapped presents—the ones Maisie and Leila had brought with them. Their colourful paper shimmered faintly in the afternoon light, and the ribbon ends curled cheerfully. Rose’s eyes lit up the moment she spotted them.

"Can I open them now?" she asked, glancing toward the kitchen, her voice breathless and hopeful.

"Absolutely," Dora called from the kitchen where she and Violet were finishing the birthday cake, carefully adjusting the candles. The soft flickering glow of candlelight reflected off the frosting. "But no disappearing into a fort before we sing, alright?"

Maisie let out a loud cackle from where she’d flopped onto the rug. "No promises!"

Rose dropped to her knees in front of the presents, hands already reaching with a mixture of reverence and giddy excitement. She peeled back the paper of the first gift carefully, revealing a canvas tote with sturdy handles. Inside, nestled like tools of a seasoned adventurer, were bedsheet clips, clamps, fabric strips, lengths of twine, and a neatly rolled set of battery-powered string lights. On top of it all was a folded piece of fabric, patterned with constellations and moons, and stitched at the center with a soft, whimsical flag that read in careful lettering: "Base Camp Rose."

Her breath caught. "Is this... a fort kit?"

"Yep!" Maisie grinned proudly. "Every adventurer needs a base. This is yours now. You can build it anywhere—even in the kitchen. And if the floor turns to lava, well, you’re already ready."

Rose laughed so brightly it echoed through the room, then launched herself into a fierce hug that knocked Maisie backward with a startled oof.

"This is the best! I’m going to build the biggest fort and Eira can sit on the flagpole!"

Leila’s gift came next, and Rose approached it with quieter wonder. She peeled back the wrapping to reveal a large hardcover book, its soft cloth cover deep forest green. The front was beautifully illustrated with creatures both real and magical—foxes with golden fur, winged deer, glowing insects, and water serpents curling through river reeds. The pages shimmered faintly at the edges.

An Illustrated Animal Encyclopedia.

She opened the front cover and found a note in careful handwriting:

“This one made me think of you because you love learning about magical creatures too. From Leila.”

Rose’s fingers brushed the paper reverently. She flipped through the pages slowly, wide-eyed, taking in the detailed drawings and thoughtful facts. She clutched the book to her chest.

"Thank you, Leila," she whispered, her voice quieter now, full of emotion. "I love it. I’m going to read every page."

Leila’s smile was small but proud. "I thought it could help when you want quiet time. Or when we can’t all be together."

From the kitchen, Violet watched with a full heart, setting the cake carefully on the counter. Dora adjusted the last candle, her eyes flicking between the cake and the living room where the girls sat in a tangle of friendship and warmth. The house buzzed gently around them, full of love.

Dora lit the final candle, its flame joining the others in a soft flickering glow. "Ready for cake?" she called.

Rose’s head popped up, her eyes going wide once more. "Yes!"

Violet carried the cake into the living room with practiced care, the candles casting dancing lights across the frosting and reflecting in the eyes of everyone gathered. The girls scrambled to sit in front of it, Rose in the center, glowing with happiness and energy despite the tiredness in her limbs.

Dora crouched down beside her, grinning. "Make a wish, starling."

Rose looked from the cake to the people around her—Maisie, Leila, Violet, Dora, even Eira perched on the back of the couch. Macha and Anand curled lazily near the fireplace, Hedwig and Badb watching from their perches. The room felt full in every way.

She closed her eyes.

And made a wish—for more days just like this. More laughter. More hugs. More magic and safety and joy.

Then she blew out the candles in one long breath, the flames flickering out into wisps of smoke and a chorus of cheers and laughter.

After Rose had blown out her candles in a single breath and clapped her hands in delight, Dora gently lifted the cake and began to slice it with Rose still half-hugging her side. Rose insisted on "helping" with the cutting, her small hands wrapped around Dora’s as they guided the knife together, resulting in slightly uneven slices but full of charm. The cake itself was fluffy and sweet, the kind Dora always made for celebrations, and the simple act of sharing it felt like weaving threads of magic through laughter.

Plates were passed around with smiles and soft chatter as everyone settled in, their fingers brushing icing from lips and balancing napkins in their laps. The familiars lounged lazily nearby: Macha curled at Violet's feet, Anand stretched out beside the hearth, and Eira perched contentedly on the back of the couch, blinking slowly in the warmth of the room. Badb and Hedwig watched from their high vantage points, ever dignified, yet visibly relaxed. Rose sat nestled next to Violet, cheeks puffed with her first bite and eyes gleaming with sugar-fueled joy, her socked feet kicking gently beneath the table.

But as Dora turned to grab a napkin from the counter, Rose suddenly tugged on her sleeve with urgency. Her voice dropped to a stage whisper that barely contained her excitement. "Now, Mama! You said now!"

Dora blinked in mock confusion, then widened her eyes as if suddenly remembering. "Oh! That’s right! I nearly forgot something—hang on. Don’t eat all the cake without me," she teased, with a wink toward Violet, before disappearing into the kitchen.

Violet tilted her head, eyebrows raised in amusement. She had grown used to the conspiratorial glances between her girls over the last few months—used to surprises that warmed the heart and softened the hardest edges of her past. She leaned back slightly, sipping from her mug, waiting.

A moment later, Dora reappeared—this time holding another cake.

It was smaller than the first and clearly handmade with care more than expertise. The icing was uneven, thick in some spots and thin in others, with swirls that had been lovingly but haphazardly applied. Bright rainbow sprinkles had been thrown across the top like a handful of stardust, some clinging to the sides, some scattered on the plate below. Sugary stars dotted the surface, slightly off-center and sliding just a little in the warm air. Near the edge, in careful but wobbly letters written in pink icing, were the words: Happy Birthday Mum —the heart at the end slightly smudged where a fingertip had tried to fix it.

Violet’s breath caught in her throat.

She stared at it, vision blurring for a moment, and the entire room seemed to fall away. In that instant, it wasn’t about the cake itself—it was everything it represented. The love and thought that had gone into it, the memory of small hands pressing sprinkles too hard into the icing, the quiet teamwork and stolen glances shared in the kitchen without her knowing.

It was up there with the lopsided cake Hagrid had given her on her eleventh birthday—the first birthday cake she could ever remember receiving. That one had been slightly squashed in his coat but perfect in its imperfection. Then there was the cake Sirius had made for her during the war—a half-burnt chocolate attempt that crumbled at the edges, decorated with starlight charms and cinnamon, and served in a candlelit bunker. Those cakes had stayed with her.

None of them had been perfect.

And that was what made them priceless.

This one joined them—not because of how it looked, but because of who made it.

Her fingers lifted to her mouth for a heartbeat before she smiled, blinking quickly to clear the emotion swelling in her chest. "Did you two make this for me?"

Rose nodded quickly, her entire body bouncing with pride. "Me and Mama did it yesterday! I wanted to make you a cake like the one you made for me. I did the icing and the sprinkles and Mama helped with the oven part."

Dora gave Violet a soft, fond smile, one full of unspoken affection. "It was all her idea. I just followed her instructions. She’s quite the taskmaster when it comes to cake decoration."

Violet let out a soft, tearful laugh. She stood without thinking and crossed the room, wrapping both of them in a tight hug that pulled them in close against her chest, her arms around their shoulders, the cake safe in Dora’s hands.

"It’s beautiful," she whispered. "Absolutely beautiful. Thank you."

They held one another there, surrounded by the golden glow of late afternoon light and the scent of frosting and vanilla, while the quiet hum of the house settled around them like a protective charm.

In that moment, Violet felt more loved than she ever had before. And she let herself believe she truly belonged to this family they had built—imperfect, stitched together by survival and hope, and perfect in every way that mattered.

The moment lingered like a warm breath of magic, and then with a playful nudge from Dora, Violet stepped forward again, cheeks still flushed, and leaned over the lovingly made cake. The candles flickered in soft golden hues, casting dancing shadows across her face. For just a second, she paused—taking in the room, the people who filled it, the warmth in her chest—and then she closed her eyes and blew.

The flames went out in a single breath.

Applause erupted from the room, soft but joyful. It wasn’t loud, not boisterous, but it was filled with love.

Violet gave a mock-curtsy as Dora handed her the knife. "I suppose I should do the honours, then."

She cut the first slice carefully, a bit of icing toppling as she transferred it to a plate, and then continued, the soft rhythm of slicing and sharing resuming as everyone helped distribute pieces of both cakes. The room filled with the soft clink of forks on plates, the rustle of wrapping paper still lingering in corners, and the subtle, ever-present hum of contentment.

Rose shifted down onto the floor with Maisie and Leila, the three of them tucked around the small coffee table, legs crisscrossed and socks mismatched. Dora had turned on the TV for a film—a light-hearted animation with magical creatures and heroic girls—and the soft flicker of colour played across their faces as they ate their cake and leaned shoulder to shoulder, giggling over the story.

Eira had relocated to the floor beside them, watching the screen with keen interest, while Macha rested nearby, ears twitching occasionally at the bursts of laughter. Anand was curled up behind the couch, dozing peacefully.

Violet and Dora claimed their spot on the couch, tucking in close. Dora pulled a soft throw blanket over their laps and curled one arm around Violet’s shoulders, fingers gently tracing along her upper arm.

Violet sighed into the comfort, resting her head against Dora’s. "This is nice."

"It really is," Dora murmured back. "I don’t think we could’ve planned it better."

Across the room, Andromeda and Ted sat side by side in the armchairs, quietly enjoying their own slices of cake. Andromeda sipped a warm drink, her eyes tracking Rose and her friends with quiet pride, while Ted leaned back contentedly, one ankle resting over his knee, watching the family before him with a smile that reached his eyes.

The house felt full—not just of people, but of something deeper. Belonging. Peace. Joy.

It was the kind of evening that settled into the heart like a story worth keeping.

One slice of cake at a time.

As the final credits of the movie rolled and the remains of cake were reduced to crumbs and frosting smears on napkins, the cozy hum of the house began to shift into the soft, golden energy of early evening. The sun outside cast warm stripes through the curtains, and the once-buzzing energy mellowed into contentment. The living room was a mess of plates, cushions, half-finished drinks, and laughter-dulled voices.

Andromeda and Ted stood from their chairs with a kind of ease that came from long, joyful afternoons well spent. Ted ruffled Rose’s hair as she bounced over to hug him tightly, arms flung around his waist.

"Happy birthday, my Rose-bud," he said with warmth. "You’ve grown even brighter this year."

Andromeda bent to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, brushing a curl behind her ear. "Happy birthday, my darling star. And thank you for letting us be part of such a special day."

Violet and Dora embraced them both near the fireplace, exchanging quiet words of gratitude. There was no rush in the moment—just the softness of people who had become family. A swirl of green fire swept them away through the Floo, leaving only a faint scent of ash and peppermint in their wake.

The house settled again, quieter but no less full. Dora turned to Violet with a mischievous grin.

"Pizza run. I’ll be back in fifteen. Think you and the goblins upstairs can survive without me?"

Violet chuckled. "We’ll try not to burn the place down."

With a playful salute and a kiss to Violet’s temple, Dora grabbed her coat and headed out, leaving the front door to close softly behind her.

Upstairs, Rose, Maisie, and Leila had already shot up like fireworks, racing ahead of their own energy. Their sugar-fueled excitement hadn’t waned in the slightest, and their next mission was already underway: building the most magnificent pillow fort Rose’s room had ever seen.

The floor quickly transformed into a construction zone. The new fort kit had been emptied with a joyful sense of purpose, its contents spread across the floor in what only children could consider organized. Blankets in every color and pattern were draped over chairs and the bedframe, anchored with clips and books. Twine stretched between dressers. The string lights were already glowing faintly, looped between curtain rods and headboards.

"Okay, we need a main beam for the roof," Maisie said, wielding a broom handle like a general’s staff, eyes bright.

"That’s the base pole," Rose replied, her voice tinged with a flicker of nervousness. She picked up the constellation-patterned sheet, chewing her lip. "Maybe we could drape it like this... over the dresser and the bed?"

Leila was already there, kneeling beside her, gently holding one end of the sheet. "Yeah. I like that. That’ll make a cool archway. We can hang the flag from the bookshelf. You should decide where it goes."

Rose hesitated again, her fingers curling around the edge of the fabric. But Maisie just gave her a big, goofy grin and said, "You’re the boss, Fort Commander Rose. We’re your loyal minions."

That broke the moment. Rose giggled, cheeks pink with pride. "Okay! Let’s make this side the tower. And inside, the sleeping bags go in a circle, so we can all see each other for stories."

The three of them moved like a little team of storm sprites, laughing and clambering over each other as they worked. No one fought for control. They all leaned in to listen when one of them had an idea, adjusting here, fixing there. When Rose faltered—too used to being unsure—Leila and Maisie just kept nudging her forward gently, never overwhelming, always supportive.

Eira oversaw the operation from the dresser, her head tilted with regal interest, occasionally hooting when a chair shifted or a blanket fluttered. Macha wandered in and out, occasionally offering a helpful paw or sitting on rogue pillows. The string lights began to flicker in cozy patterns as the fort grew more complete.

Soon, the fort stood tall and proud—a glittering patchwork kingdom of blankets, twine, twinkling lights, and laughter. Inside were cushions and sleeping bags, the soft glow of fairy lights casting golden patterns on the fabric walls. They’d made little pockets to store snacks and books, and Rose had even insisted on making a corner for Eira with a tiny nest of fabric.

It wasn’t just a blanket fort.

It was a fortress of joy and trust, of shared dreams and quiet leadership. A magical space built not by perfect plans, but by hearts working together.

And Rose, for the first time, didn’t just feel like she belonged—she knew she did.

~

Night settled gently over the house, wrapping it in a quiet that was more comforting than still. The lights in Rose’s room were dimmed to a soft golden glow, the string lights inside the fort casting dancing shadows against the blanket walls. Inside the makeshift kingdom, the three girls were tucked into their sleeping bags, cheeks flushed from laughter, eyes bright despite the hour.

Dora had knelt by the fort earlier, smiling through the final burst of giggles as she passed around glasses of water and reminded them gently that it was time to sleep.

"No summoning storms, no midnight missions, and no trying to sneak into the kitchen," she said, mock-stern with a glint in her eye.

"We’ll just whisper," Rose whispered.

"Very quietly," Leila added.

Maisie grinned. "And only summon tiny storms."

Dora gave an exasperated laugh, kissed the top of Rose’s head through a fold of blanket, and left them to it, shaking her head fondly. Violet was already waiting for her in their bedroom, changed into one of her soft flannel tops and sleep shorts, brushing her hair out by the light of the lamp.

The moment Dora stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, it was like a shift in the air—quiet turning warmer, softer.

Violet turned, brushing a curl behind her ear, a small smile playing on her lips. She looked content, but tired in the way that meant she’d given everything to the day.

Dora crossed the room in two strides and wrapped her arms around her from behind, pressing her face into Violet’s neck with a quiet sigh. "You're amazing."

Violet’s smile widened as she leaned back into her, her voice soft. "We did it together."

"Still. You made her feel seen. Loved. Like she’s always belonged. That matters more than you know," Dora murmured, then paused before continuing, her voice low and sincere. "But you deserve that, too. To be seen. To be loved. To have a place to belong without question. Just like you give to Rose. You’ve given so much, Vi, and I want you to feel all of it returned. Not just tonight—always."

Violet’s breath hitched, and she turned slowly in Dora’s arms, wrapping her own around Dora’s back and letting her forehead rest against hers. The kiss that followed was slow and loving, the kind that hummed with connection and unspoken promises. They stayed close, Dora’s hands stroking softly up and down Violet’s sides.

"I wanted to do that all day," Dora whispered.

"Me too," Violet replied, her voice catching slightly.

They sank together onto the bed, curling up beneath the blankets, limbs entangled and breaths slow. Dora traced idle shapes against Violet’s back, pressing kisses to her temple, her shoulder, the place just beneath her jaw that made Violet sigh and melt further into her.

After a long, quiet pause, Violet’s voice barely rose above a whisper. "I struggle, some days," she admitted. "To believe I deserve any of this. You. Rose. This life we’ve made. Sometimes I feel like... if I let myself believe it’s real, it’ll be taken away."

Dora’s embrace only tightened. She pressed a kiss to Violet’s hair. "But it is real, Vi. And you do deserve it. Every piece of love you give—every moment you help someone else feel seen—you deserve that back tenfold."

Violet's breath trembled against her. "It’s just... hard. But when you’re here, when you hold me like this... it’s easier. Knowing you’re here. That you keep choosing me—it makes everything quieter."

"I will always choose you," Dora murmured, voice thick with love. "Even on the hard days. Especially then."

The house outside was peaceful—just the occasional muffled giggle from the fort down the hall and the soft rustle of the wind against the windows. Inside their room, it was something deeper. Not silence. Not sleep. But the soft, sacred rhythm of love held close.

And in Dora’s arms, Violet let herself relax fully, a quiet joy thrumming beneath her skin.

It was more than comfort. It was home.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

XV

~~~~ Phantom of Death ~~~~

The next morning began with the comforting quiet of a house waking slowly after a night filled with laughter and magic. The sun filtered through gauzy curtains, painting warm patterns across the kitchen floor as the smell of toast and jam drifted through the air. Breakfast was simple—bowls of fruit, toast, and mugs of tea and juice shared around the table while the three girls chattered sleepily but excitedly about their plans for the day.

After getting dressed and packing a bag with water bottles, a picnic, and a few essentials, the group was ready. Violet and Dora guided the girls outside, the morning air brisk but full of promise. They apparated to a quiet street just outside central London, the sound of the city rising faintly around them. The walk to the zoo was a short one, made longer only by the girls stopping to point out dogs, pigeons, and interesting bits of street art along the way.

It was refreshing—no spells, no magical creatures today. Just the five of them, bundled in light jackets, blending into the ordinary world.

The London Zoo came into view with its wrought iron gates and leafy entrance. The familiar buzz of families, school groups, and tourists drifted toward them as they joined the line, hands clasped and cheeks flushed.

"Okay, ladies," Dora said, crouching slightly to their level with a grin. "This is your adventure day. You get to pick where we go first."

Maisie immediately shouted, "Lions!"

"Penguins!" Leila said at the same time.

Rose giggled, tugging on Violet’s sleeve. "Can we see the owls too? I want to compare them to Hedwig and Eira."

Violet smiled, already relaxed just being near them. "Of course. We’ll see it all."

Dora looped her arm through Violet’s as they entered the gates, the noise of the crowd rising around them like a warm tide. This wasn’t about spectacle or grandeur—it was about being together, about giving Rose a day that was filled with love, wonder, and the quiet joy of simply existing in the world.

A day with no magic.

And yet, it was still full of it.

The zoo stretched out before them like a living map of the world, winding paths and hidden corners waiting to be discovered. The morning crowd was gentle—families with strollers, children pointing with delight, and the distant sound of animals blending with the rustling of trees and chatter.

They began near the African Savannah exhibit, where giraffes wandered gracefully and zebras flicked their tails, their striped flanks gleaming in the sun. The girls pressed against the safety railing, faces lit with wonder as one of the giraffes leaned closer to the viewing platform.

"They’re so tall ," Maisie whispered, wide-eyed.

"And their tongues! Look!" Leila laughed as one extended a purple-black tongue to snatch a leafy treat.

Rose leaned against Violet’s side, pointing eagerly. "Eira would hate this. Too much sun. But Macha might like it here."

They moved at a relaxed pace, winding through habitats from across the globe. The meerkats were a favourite—small and full of personality, darting from tunnels to tiny observation mounds while one always stood at attention like a sentry. The girls mimicked them, standing tall and squinting into the distance like watchful scouts.

At the rainforest aviary, the group stepped into a humid paradise of greenery and vibrant feathers. Parrots called down from high branches, and butterflies the size of Rose’s hand fluttered past.

"This is what I imagine the Amazon looks like," Leila murmured, her eyes tracking a flash of blue and gold through the leaves.

Violet watched them with quiet affection, her hand resting in Dora’s. "She’s so happy today."

"She’s never going to forget this," Dora replied, giving Violet’s fingers a gentle squeeze.

They stopped to share snacks at a shaded bench outside the tiger enclosure, where the girls sat with ice lollies, chattering about which animal was the best so far. The tiger, who had been lounging in the tall grass, stretched luxuriously and padded into view, its coat a living fire of orange and black. Even Maisie went quiet in awe.

"They’re so much bigger than I thought," she whispered. "You can feel them watching you."

They saved the reptile house for later. No one said it outright, but there was an unspoken understanding—especially between Violet and Dora—that they would wait until the crowds thinned and the sun softened before venturing inside. For now, they had the rest of the zoo to explore.

With maps in hand and no strict schedule, they let the day unfold at its own pace, laughter and curiosity guiding their steps.

It was a day not just of animals and adventure, but of belonging—each path they walked a quiet celebration of everything they had built together.

By midday, the sun was high and warm, casting soft shadows across the pathways and making the stone enclosures and wooden fences warm to the touch. The group had wandered happily from exhibit to exhibit, laughter and curious questions filling the air around them.

When they reached the penguin enclosure, with its clear glass walls and constant, cheerful noise of splashing water and waddling feet, Violet glanced at Dora with a knowing smile.

"I think it’s lunch time."

Dora nodded, already pulling the enchanted cooler bag from her satchel. "And what better place than right here, with the best-dressed animals in the zoo."

They found a picnic bench tucked just beside the enclosure, with a view of the penguins swimming and diving with joyful abandon. It was the perfect mix of shaded and sunny, and the sound of water and the occasional delighted squeal from children nearby only added to the atmosphere.

Violet and Dora laid out the spread on the wooden bench—sandwiches of all kinds, small savoury pies, slices of cheese, cut fruit, and little tubs of crisps. There were juice boxes and fizzy drinks, and Dora had even packed some chocolate-dipped biscuits for after.

The girls all slid in on one side of the bench, Rose sitting in the middle between Maisie and Leila, already chatting animatedly about the penguins’ latest dive.

"That one’s the fastest so far," Rose declared, pointing.

"That one keeps stealing the fish!" Maisie added, laughing.

"I like the little one with the funny feet," Leila said with a soft smile, sipping her orange soda.

On the opposite side, Violet and Dora sat close, their shoulders brushing, quietly watching the girls with matching contentment. Dora popped the cap off a fizzy drink and handed it to Violet, who accepted it with a smile.

"They’re having such a good time," Violet murmured.

"So are we," Dora replied, bumping her knee against Violet’s.

They ate slowly, the picnic a quiet midpoint in the day’s adventure. The girls’ giggles rang out with each new penguin splash, and crumbs from sausage rolls and sandwiches dotted their napkins. 

Violet leaned into Dora slightly, voice low. "This is the kind of day I never thought I’d have."

Dora didn’t reply immediately. She just reached out, took Violet’s hand, and squeezed.

"You deserve it. Every moment."

Their fingers stayed twined as the lunch continued, surrounded by joy, feathers, and the sparkling sound of summer.

After a lazy lunch and a short stop for ice cream cones that melted faster than they could eat them, the group followed the winding path toward the Reptile House. The sun-dappled paths gave way to shaded corridors as they approached the entrance, the distant rustling of leaves replaced by the quiet hum of circulating air. The air changed as they stepped into the cooler, dimly lit building, a hush settling over them like the weight of stone. Glass displays lined the walls, each habitat its own little world of sand, water, or foliage, lit by spotlights that made shadows dance along the polished floor.

They wandered slowly at first, watching geckos scale rock faces and turtles half-submerged in still pools. The girls were fascinated, especially by a blue-tongued skink that pressed itself right up to the glass.

"It’s like a dragon’s cousin," Maisie whispered, nose inches from the display.

"But a baby one," Leila added thoughtfully, her finger pointing to the tiny claws on its feet.

Rose giggled and nodded. "Or a dragon who decided naps were better than flying."

Violet and Dora followed at a more relaxed pace, letting the girls move ahead a little while keeping a close eye. Violet’s expression was calm, but something subtle tightened around her eyes as they drew closer to the snake enclosures—an echo of memory threading through her posture.

Dora leaned closer and whispered, "You okay?"

Violet gave a small nod, her eyes scanning the displays ahead. "Yeah. Just... memories. The bad kind."

Dora gently brushed her hand against Violet’s as they walked. "You’re not her anymore. You’re you. And you’re not alone."

That helped. Violet’s fingers squeezed Dora’s hand gently in return.

Up ahead, the girls stopped in front of a large enclosure containing a massive python, its thick coils curled lazily around a tree branch. Its body gleamed with the muted shine of healthy scales, and its dark eyes stared unblinking at the visitors gathered on the other side of the glass.

Rose leaned in, her palms pressed gently to the glass. She tilted her head, watching the snake. For a moment she was quiet, mesmerized by the slow shift of the serpent’s coils.

"Hello," she said softly.

Then, without even realizing, her voice shifted.

$Hello. Are you bored in there?$

The snake’s head twitched.

$Not bored. Watching. You are curious. Like hatchlings. Your voice is clear.$

Violet froze.

She had heard that sound before—words woven in hisses, tones only serpents would understand. It had haunted her second year, marked her in the eyes of others. She had never brought it up to Rose, not knowing if it would pass on—or if it would matter.

But now, hearing it from her daughter—so casually, so innocently —Violet’s breath caught in her throat.

Dora noticed immediately. "Vi?"

Violet didn’t answer at first. She stepped forward quickly, making her way to the glass where Rose stood, Maisie and Leila both watching the snake with wide eyes and awe.

$Do you understand me?$ the snake asked Rose.

$Yes,$ Rose replied, smiling. $I like your colors. You’re very big.$

$You are kind. I do not fear you. That one, though...$ The snake’s eyes flicked briefly toward Violet.

Violet stopped beside Rose, gently touching her shoulder. "Rose," she said softly. "You’re speaking Parseltongue."

Rose blinked and turned to her. "What’s that?"

"It’s the language of snakes," Violet explained gently. "Most people can’t understand it. Only a few witches and wizards can."

Maisie’s eyes widened. "You mean, like snake talk ? That’s so cool!"

"Seriously? You can speak to snakes?" Leila leaned in closer, wide-eyed.

Rose looked uncertain, shrinking back a little. "I didn’t mean to. It just... came out. I thought I was just whispering."

Violet knelt beside her, hands gently cupping her daughter’s face. "It’s okay, Rose. I can speak it too. It’s not bad or wrong. You’re not in trouble."

Rose’s eyes searched hers. "You can? Really?"

Violet nodded. "Really."

Maisie grinned. "This is the best birthday ever . You’ve got owl magic and snake whispering. You’re, like, half princess, half beastmaster."

Leila giggled. "No wonder animals like you so much. You’re one of them."

The tension in Rose’s shoulders eased, and a small, shy smile returned to her face. She turned back toward the python, who was now watching them all with what almost looked like curiosity.

Violet stood slowly, one hand still on Rose’s shoulder, as Dora slipped beside her, wrapping an arm gently around her waist.

"She’s not afraid. None of them are," Dora said, her voice warm.

Violet exhaled, her voice barely a whisper. "Neither am I."

And for the first time in a long time, Parseltongue didn’t feel like a curse. It didn’t feel isolating or dark.

It felt like a gift. Like a bond.

As the girls continued ahead, excitedly pointing out new displays and whispering about the snake encounter, Violet and Dora lingered behind, their pace slowing as the crowd around them thinned. The noise of the zoo faded into the background, replaced by the soft hum of air vents and the occasional flicker of glass reflections.

Violet walked quietly, hands loosely at her sides, but Dora could see the weight behind her eyes, the quiet whirl of thoughts.

"You alright, love?" Dora asked, brushing their arms together.

Violet hesitated, then nodded—but it was the kind of nod that came too quickly. "Yeah. Just... that brought a lot back."

Dora reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. "You were brilliant with her. You didn’t hesitate."

Violet let out a shaky breath. "I just remember... second year. When they found out I could speak it. How fast everything turned. People avoiding me. Whispering. Some even thought I was the Heir of Slytherin. It was like the moment they knew, everything changed."

Dora stopped and tugged gently on her hand, guiding Violet to a quieter alcove beside a display of tiny, green tree frogs. The frogs blinked slowly at them as if eavesdropping.

"That was them, Vi. Not you. And you weren’t dark or dangerous. You were scared and doing your best in a world that kept throwing shadows at you."

Violet looked down, lips pressed together. "But it felt like a mark. Like something that made me different in a way no one wanted to accept."

Dora cupped her cheek gently. "It is something different. But not bad. Not dark. Not evil. Just... different. Like you. Like Rose. It doesn’t define who you are. It never has."

Violet leaned into the touch, letting out a long breath she hadn't realised she was holding. "Seeing her... hearing her speak it so innocently. It felt like a mirror. But she wasn’t ashamed. She didn’t even know to be. And Maisie and Leila? They were amazed. Like it was magic again. Real magic."

Dora pulled her into a soft embrace. "Because to them, it is magic. And you gave her that. The safety to just be . You let her see it as a gift."

Violet closed her eyes, resting her forehead on Dora's shoulder. "And you let me see it that way too."

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in quiet, before Dora tilted her head and kissed Violet's hair. "Come on. We better catch up with the Beastmaster and her knights."

Violet chuckled, the sound soft but lighter. "Alright. Lead the way."

Hand in hand, they stepped back into the flow of visitors, shadows just a little lighter behind them.

The rest of the day at the zoo unfolded like something out of a memory Violet had never dared to imagine for herself. The kind she had glimpsed in the dreams of others or caught through frosted windows, but never lived. It was full of laughter, light steps on gravel paths, and the joyful chatter of children echoing through enclosures lined with trees and glass.

After leaving the Reptile House, Rose practically dragged Maisie and Leila toward the next set of habitats. "Let’s go see the lions!" she cried, excitement banishing all remnants of worry or uncertainty from earlier. The girls raced ahead, their trainers kicking up dust, Eira fluttering above like an enthusiastic scout.

Dora and Violet walked more slowly, their fingers interlaced, the sunlight filtering through trees casting shifting patterns over their joined hands. They passed a family of meerkats, a rowdy mob that seemed to reflect the girls’ own energy, and paused at the giraffe enclosure where one of the towering animals bent down to sniff at a zookeeper’s hand.

Violet smiled faintly, the tension in her frame slowly melting away. She felt Dora’s fingers give a gentle squeeze. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Violet murmured. "Better. It’s just... this. It still catches me off guard. Being allowed to enjoy something without looking over my shoulder."

Dora leaned her head against Violet’s shoulder. "That’s what today’s for. Giving you more memories like this. And her too."

They caught up with the girls near the penguin pool again, where Rose was trying to name each waddling bird, Maisie correcting her with increasing amusement and Leila occasionally pointing out the ones she thought looked like magical creatures in disguise.

From there, they wandered through the aviary, quiet and lush with the sounds of wings and soft birdsong. A toucan landed close to the barrier, its bright beak clicking curiously at Rose, who giggled and reached out a cautious hand.

Later, they spent nearly half an hour at the petting zoo, where all three girls sat cross-legged surrounded by fluffy goats and curious rabbits. Leila, with her calm presence, was soon a favourite of the animals, while Maisie tried to teach Rose how to gently brush a stubborn miniature pony.

Violet and Dora sat on a nearby bench, shoes dusty and hair tousled from the warm breeze. Violet leaned into Dora’s side, murmuring, "I used to think a day like this was something other people got. Not me."

Dora tilted her head to rest against Violet’s, her voice soft but certain. "You deserve all of this. The joy, the laughter, the family. And we’ll keep giving it to each other. Every single day."

As the sun began to lower toward the horizon, casting golden light across the walkways, the zoo slowly began to quiet. The girls, exhausted but still smiling, begged for one last stop—an ice cream stand they’d passed earlier. With cones in hand and sticky fingers, they sat together on a low stone wall, Rose leaning sleepily against Violet’s side, Maisie and Leila quietly chatting about their favourite animals.

Dora caught Violet’s eye and grinned. "So... best birthday ever?"

Violet looked around at the girls, at the fading sky, at Dora—her partner, her anchor—and nodded, a full and quiet warmth in her chest.

"Yeah. Yeah, it really is."

~

Before they knew it, the day had slipped away into the soft hues of early evening. The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden beams through the trees and painting long, dappled shadows along the path home. The walk back had been filled with a pleasant fatigue—the kind that followed laughter, excitement, and sunshine. Rose, Maisie, and Leila were still full of energy despite the full day at the zoo, chattering excitedly about their favorite animals, reenacting their favorite exhibits with wild gestures, and imagining magical adventures with every creature they'd seen.

As soon as they stepped through the front door, the girls kicked off their shoes and dashed up the stairs with a chorus of giggles, racing to Rose's room with Eira zipping through the air after them like a feathered shadow. Macha and Anand padded more calmly in their wake, tails flicking and noses twitching as they followed the bubbling trail of laughter and magic.

Downstairs, the house exhaled into a warm, comfortable rhythm. Violet hung up her jacket, stretching out the pleasant stiffness from the long walk and reaching up to ruffle her hair into place. Dora rolled her shoulders with a dramatic groan and leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to Violet's cheek, her arm looping briefly around her waist. "I'll get the pasta going," Dora murmured with a grin. "Think you can handle salad duty, birthday girl?"

Violet chuckled, a little warmth blooming in her chest as she nodded. "Salad, I can do."

She stepped into the kitchen and began washing her hands at the sink, then reached for the vegetables they had picked up earlier in the week. As she chopped carrots and sliced tomatoes, the familiar sounds of their little home bloomed around her—the hiss of water boiling on the stove, Dora humming a gentle tune as she stirred the sauce, the occasional creak of the floor upstairs followed by muffled peals of laughter.

It was nothing extravagant, but it was beautiful in its simplicity. Each sound, each motion, each shared glance was a kind of magic. After everything they had endured—war, loss, uncertainty—being able to come home to something like this felt quietly miraculous.

Dora leaned beside her at the counter, brushing her hip lightly against Violet’s in a wordless moment of connection. Their movements around each other were instinctive now: passing utensils, bumping shoulders, sharing soft, knowing glances that said more than words ever could. The kitchen, modest and a bit cluttered, was filled with warmth.

Dinner wouldn’t be fancy, but it would be perfect in all the ways that mattered. A simple meal, made with care and shared with love. Upstairs, they could hear Rose’s voice rising above the others, excitedly explaining the plot of the animal encyclopedia Leila had given her, her joy spilling over into every word. The comfort of that sound settled over Violet like a soft blanket, easing the last of the day’s tension from her shoulders.

She glanced over at Dora, who looked back with a soft smile. For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke—because they didn’t have to. The smile said everything: We made this. We built this life. And it’s good. It’s ours.

No wand or spell could create something so quietly magical. They didn’t need magic to know that this was home.

~~