The order
Sleep took Violet quickly as she was desperate for it, her body and mind craving the rest that had eluded her for so long. The tension of the past few days—the uncertainty of the war, the whispers in the halls of Hogwarts, the cold stares from those who feared her proximity to the Dark Lord—seemed to dissolve into the stillness of sleep. She had no dreams that night. No nightmares clawing at her consciousness, no shadows creeping through her mind. It was the most peaceful sleep she had gotten in a long while. A deep, dark void, a place where her thoughts couldn't reach her, where the weight of everything—her fears, her guilt, her secrets—didn't matter.
She could have slept forever, lost in that darkness, but the clock didn't pause for her. At 11, the stillness of her slumber was broken, her eyes fluttering open against the quiet room. The faint grey light of early morning filtered through the heavy curtains, but it felt wrong. She should have been able to rest, to escape the gnawing questions swirling around her mind. But instead, she sat up in bed, blinking into the dimness, as if she were being pulled back into the waking world by an unseen force.
Dumbledore's words echoed in her head: "Pack your things, Miss Alas. I need you for something important."
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, the chill of the stone floor seeping through her nightdress. Her hands trembled as she gathered clothes, throwing them into a suitcase with an urgency she didn't fully understand. What could he want with her? Where was he taking her? Was it for protection—or something darker? She hadn't been given much information, only that it was urgent and that she should be ready to leave at a moment's notice.
Violet packed nearly everything she owned, unsure of how long she would be gone. She didn't want to risk leaving anything behind—anything that might end up being useful in whatever twisted scenario Dumbledore had in mind. She kept imagining Eve's face, but Eve wasn't here. Eve was with her family, hidden away, tucked out of sight from the world that was growing darker and more dangerous by the day. Her father worked at the Ministry, and anyone with ties to the Ministry was increasingly becoming a target for the Death Eaters. It made perfect sense for Eve to be hidden, but Violet couldn't shake the fear that something—someone—was watching them.
As she finished packing, her gaze fell on a crumpled newspaper beside her bed. Violet's stomach twisted as she picked it up. The headlines were always the same now—More Deaths in Wizarding World. She scanned the list of names with trembling fingers, each one like a ghost to her, each one an echo of the fear spreading throughout the magical community. She let out a slow, shaky breath as she read the familiar names—people she had known, people she had grown up with, people who had trusted her. She prayed she wouldn't see Eve's name, hoping it was still safely tucked away with her family, but her hope shattered as she read the final name on the list. Trawers, E. — Ministry Worker. Body Found. It was Eve's family, but it was Eve's last name.
Violet's breath caught in her throat. Eve had been safe, hadn't she? Eve had been hidden. But there it was, in black and white—the unmistakable sign that no one, not even those hidden, were safe from Tom Riddle's wrath.
Violet's stomach twisted as panic crept up her spine. She had to focus. She had to keep her wits about her, even as the weight of that name pressed down on her chest. If Tom—if he—was involved in any of this, he could not know where Eve was. He could not find her. The secrets Violet kept were as dangerous as any weapon. She was the secret keeper now, the one person who knew where Eve was hiding, the one who could lead him to her.
She forced herself to stop, to breathe. You cannot let him find her, she reminded herself fiercely, her eyes closing as a wave of fear washed over her. She couldn't afford to make mistakes. She had to keep her shields strong—stronger than ever before. But could her shields hold against someone like him?
She had no answers, no guarantees.
Noon came. The castle hummed with the sounds of students going to and fro, but Violet felt like an intruder in a world she no longer understood. She slipped out of the dormitory, the heavy cloak she had thrown on a dark shadow against the stone walls. She moved carefully, aware of every step, every noise, every movement. She had to make it to the Astronomy Tower without running into Tom.
Her heart thundered in her chest as she moved through the empty halls, her footsteps echoing off the ancient stones. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so alone.
As far as she could remember, Tom was supposed to be in class, and it was a small blessing that she hadn't encountered him yet. But she could almost feel his presence, like a dark cloud hovering just behind her, watching, waiting for the right moment. She couldn't afford to be caught off guard.
And then, just as she reached the Astronomy Tower, she saw him—the tall, imposing figure standing by the door.
Her breath caught in her throat. Tom.
He turned, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes locked. His gaze was cold, calculated, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"Miss Alas," he said, his voice smooth, almost bored, as if he had been expecting her. He didn't smile, but there was something in his eyes—something predatory, something dangerous.
Violet's mouth went dry, and she struggled to find her voice. But before she could speak, she heard a familiar voice call her name.
"Ah, Miss Alas, there you are."
Dumbledore.
He stepped from the shadows, his kind eyes soft as he looked at her. "Come, my dear. There's no need to be afraid. I'm taking you somewhere safe."
Safe. The word felt hollow in her chest.
Her heart was still pounding, her body trembling as if in warning. But Dumbledore reached for her hand, and despite every instinct telling her to run, she placed her trembling fingers into his. The moment she touched his hand, she felt the pull—like gravity, like being torn from one reality and thrust into another.
And then, in an instant, they were gone.
In the blink of an eye, the Astronomy Tower, Tom's cold gaze, the dark castle walls—they all faded, leaving nothing but the cold, empty feeling of dread. Where was she going? What was Dumbledore planning? Was she truly safe? Or was this just another step deeper into the labyrinth that Tom Riddle had constructed, a maze with no way out?
***
Violet stood frozen in front of the tall, imposing black door, a sense of dread creeping up her spine. The air around her felt thick, the shadows stretching in odd directions as if the house itself was alive, watching her every move. She turned to speak, to ask Dumbledore what was going on, but there was no answer. The headmaster had disappeared. She was alone.
The houses around her were unfamiliar—tall, dark, and built of red bricks, each one looking like it had been weathered by decades, if not centuries, of history. The streets were eerily quiet, save for the occasional distant sound of a carriage clattering over cobblestones. It felt like she had stepped into a forgotten corner of London, a place where secrets lingered in every shadow, where even the walls seemed to whisper.
Violet took a deep breath, steadying herself, then knocked on the door. The moment her knuckles touched the wood, it swung open, revealing a man with a serious expression. He looked to be about Dumbledore's age, his face lined with years of experience. Without saying a word, he called over his shoulder, "She has arrived."
The door creaked further open as he stepped aside to let her in, his eyes appraising her in a way that made her feel both out of place and strangely important. He reached out, grabbing her suitcase with a quiet efficiency. "Let me help you with that," he said curtly, his voice carrying an undertone of something darker, more calculated.
Violet hesitated in the dim doorway, the overwhelming sense of being an intruder pressing on her chest. She was just about to step further into the shadowed interior when a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.
"Molly?"
She gasped, her eyes locking onto the face she never thought she'd see again. Molly, standing in the dim light, a wide smile on her face despite the tension that hung in the air. Without hesitation, Violet rushed forward, pulling Molly into a tight hug. She hadn't seen her friend since December, hadn't had the chance to check if she was even safe. Molly had been one of the many who hadn't returned to Hogwarts after the break.
"Hey, I'm glad you made it," Molly said, pulling back slightly. Her eyes, though kind, held a flicker of worry as she looked Violet over. "Come on, let me introduce you to everyone."
Molly led her toward a room at the back of the house, a large space dimly lit by the glow of a hearth fire. The scent of old wood and faintly burning herbs hung in the air. Violet's eyes adjusted to the dim light as she stepped inside, taking in the sight of the people gathered around the table.
Arthur Weasley sat at the end, his auburn hair slightly disheveled. Beside him were Fredrick and Gideon, Molly's brothers, their faces set in serious expressions, but their eyes kind, even though their lives were already marked by the war. At the far end of the table was Rubeus Hagrid, his massive frame hunched slightly as he leaned in to listen to something Arthur had said. His rough-hewn features were softened by a gentle expression, but Violet could still tell he was no stranger to the darker side of life.
Hagrid looked up at her, offering a wide, toothy smile. "Violet, good to see you. Been a while, eh?"
She nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips in response. But it was clear that the atmosphere in the room was thick with tension. These weren't just friendly faces; these were soldiers in a war she wasn't sure she was ready to face.
As Molly introduced her, the room quieted, all eyes turning to Violet. She shifted uneasily under the weight of their stares, feeling out of place, as if she were the only one in the room who didn't belong. Molly led her to a chair, pulling it out between two boys—both of whom looked like they were barely older than her. Violet sat down, feeling their eyes on her.
"Hi," she managed to say, her voice small, unsure. She had never been comfortable in the spotlight, and she certainly wasn't now.
"Hi, I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt," one of them said, offering her a firm handshake. He was dark-skinned with a strong, noble air about him, his features sharp and serious but with a warmth that came through in his eyes. He was about two years older than her, and Violet felt an instant connection—a sense of familiarity, despite their brief interaction.
The other boy, sitting on her right, didn't shake her hand immediately. Instead, he gave her a look that was both confident and calculating. "Alastor Moody," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. His sandy hair was ruffled, his facial expression unwavering, and Violet couldn't help but notice the faint scar that marred his face.
"Nice to meet you," Violet said, her words barely above a whisper. She was trying to hold herself together, but the weight of everything was suffocating her.
Just then, the man from before reappeared, striding into the room with a sense of authority. He didn't waste time on pleasantries. His eyes locked on Violet, his voice harsh as he spoke, "So the missy is finally here, and I hope you explain to her everything she doesn't understand, because I won't. I'm here to finish the discussion from yesterday."
Violet flinched as he spoke, the venom in his tone unmistakable. He was clearly not here to make her feel welcome.
"We realized the connections in the murders," he continued, his eyes cold, "his targets are those with lower blood status, those who work for or have connections with the Ministry, and all who support Muggle-born equality. Each murder is a message. The last one was Eddie Mobius, and on the wall next to his body was written in blood, 'Join me or end up like Eddie.'" He spat the words out, almost as if the very mention of the Dark Lord disgusted him. "He wants an audience. And now we're supposed to be doing something to stop him and his followers, but instead, we're here babysitting his girlfriend."
The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to Violet, their gazes like daggers. Her blood ran cold as she tried to process his words. Everyone already knew—knew her connection to Tom. Knew about the Dark Lord she had loved.
"What can you tell us about your boyfriend's plans?" the man snarled, his voice filled with hatred.
Violet opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Her throat was tight, her mind a blank. She had no answers for them. She hadn't known Tom's plans. He hadn't told her. She hadn't even realized he was him, the one they were all so terrified of.
"I... I don't know his plan," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling. "I didn't know he was... him."
The man scoffed, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. "I know you didn't. But what is he like? What are his weaknesses?"
Violet squeezed her eyes shut, trying to recall anything about him—anything that might help. She thought about his mannerisms, his quiet smiles, his occasional moments of vulnerability, but nothing came to her. She couldn't think of any weakness. Tom had never opened up to her like that, never shared his true self. And now, as she sat in front of these strangers, she realized that she didn't really know him at all.
Everyone waited for her answer, but she had nothing to give.
"Alright," Molly intervened gently, stepping in front of Violet. "She's just arrived. Let her rest."
The man shot them both an angry glare but said nothing more. Violet felt Molly's warm hand on her arm as she led her out of the room.
"It's okay," Molly whispered as they made their way up the old, creaky stairs. "Ignore him. He's just like that. It's nothing personal."
As they reached the second floor, Molly opened a door to a small room. It wasn't much, but it was a place to breathe. Molly sat down on the bed, offering Violet a small, reassuring smile.
"This is called the Order of the Phoenix," she said, her voice quiet but serious. "Dumbledore set it up a few weeks ago as the murders began to increase. We're here to fight Voldemort and his followers. We're helping the Ministry as best we can."
Violet winced at the name, Voldemort. She couldn't reconcile it. He wasn't Voldemort. He was Tom, her Tom. She couldn't understand why everyone was expecting her to know something about his plans when she knew nothing.
"So... this is all of us?" Violet asked, her voice faint.
Molly nodded, her expression somber. "No. There are a few more of us, but not many. Dumbledore offered us a place to hide, and we agreed to help stop this."
Violet felt the weight of everything pressing on her chest, but she didn't know what to say. She wanted to be strong, to fight back against this war that had consumed everything she cared about. But she wasn't sure if she even knew how.
"I'll leave you to settle in," Molly said softly, standing up. "If you need anything, Arthur and I are next door."
Violet nodded, but as soon as Molly left, she collapsed onto the bed, her emotions spilling over. She held the pendant around her neck, Tom's last gift to her, and felt the warmth of her tears as they stained her cheeks. The necklace, a symbol of their love, now felt like an anchor dragging her down into the depths of despair.
This isn't real, she thought. It's a nightmare. When I wake up, I'll be in his arms again. Tom will be here. This will all just be a bad dream.
But deep down, she knew better.