You can run, but you can't hide
"What will you do now, Tom?" Violet's voice trembled, a mere whisper against the oppressive silence of the room. Her dark eyes burned with defiance, even as her hands shook at her sides. "Kill me? I defied you, didn't I? I defied the great and powerful Lord Voldemort. The punishment for that is death, isn't it?"
Tom's lips curled into a slow, calculated smile—a smile that didn't reach his piercing blue eyes. He stepped closer, his polished boots clicking against the stone floor with an almost predatory rhythm. He reached out, catching a strand of her dark hair between his fingers, twisting it lazily as if it were a mere trinket for his amusement.
"Cinnamon and vanilla," he murmured breathing in the smell of it, his voice as smooth as silk yet laced with an edge of something sinister. His gaze flickered down to her face, his expression softening in a way that seemed almost human—almost. "I could never kill you, Violet. Never."
The tenderness in his tone was a lie, she knew it, but it was a lie wrapped in a cruel beauty that left her breathless. Her instincts screamed at her to run, to fight, to do something, but her body betrayed her, frozen under his touch.
His fingers grazed her cheek now, the caress so delicate it might have been mistaken for affection. Then he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead—a mockery of intimacy that sent ice shooting through her veins.
A cough from the doorway shattered the moment.
"My Lord," a voice drawled, tired but eager. Violet flinched, recognizing it instantly. Barty stepped into the room, his disheveled figure a stark contrast to the aura of control Voldemort exuded. The younger man's robes were frayed, replaced in parts by a battered coat that hung loosely from his gaunt frame. Dark circles shadowed his sunken eyes, but there was a fervent gleam there that made her stomach churn.
"The passage is secure," Barty announced, bowing his head slightly. "We can strike at Hogwarts in a matter of hours."
Tom didn't look at him immediately. His gaze remained on Violet, his smirk deepening as though he found the situation endlessly amusing. "Good," he finally said, his voice sharp as a blade. "Gather the others and await my command."
Barty lingered for a moment, his eyes darting toward Violet. His lips curled into a smirk that mirrored his master's, as though this were all some twisted joke only he understood. With a nod, he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Tom returned his full attention to Violet. His smile was still there, but it had taken on a darker edge. "You see, princess, I'm winning," he said, his voice dripping with triumph. "It's only a matter of time before the Ministry falls. And when it does, I'll be unstoppable. Voldemort, Minister of Magic. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
Violet glared at him, her lip curling in disgust. "Dream on, Tom," she spat, her voice filled with venom. "Your sins will catch up to you. They always do."
His laughter echoed through the room, rich and menacing. He stepped closer, leaning down so his face was level with hers. His breath was hot against her skin as he whispered, his voice low and dangerous.
"We'll see," he said, his words brushing against her ear like a cold wind. "Muggles have a saying, you know. 'God will punish all the sinners.' But I don't fear God." He pulled back slightly, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her heart race. "Because I am Him."
The sheer arrogance of his words struck her like a physical blow. Her body tensed, her mind screaming at her to act. She felt the blade at her belt, her fingers twitching toward it.
And then, with a sudden burst of adrenaline, she lunged.
The blade sank into his stomach with a sickening sound, and his expression twisted into one of shock and pain. He stumbled back, a guttural groan escaping his lips as his wand slipped from his grasp.
Violet didn't hesitate. She snatched up his wand and spun on her heel, the sharp crack of Apparition echoing through the air as she disappeared.
Tom staggered, clutching at the wound as blood seeped through his fingers. His vision blurred for a moment, but the fire in his eyes burned brighter than ever.
"You can run, Violet," he growled, his voice a venomous promise. "But you can't hide."
***
Violet found herself standing before the Burrow, its once warm and welcoming silhouette now cloaked in an unsettling silence. A faint breeze stirred the air, carrying with it a metallic tang that made her stomach churn. She paused at the gate, an unease settling deep in her chest, yet something urged her forward.
The closer she got, the heavier her steps became, as if the earth itself was trying to anchor her in place. Her heart sank when she noticed the front door hanging ajar, its hinges swaying slightly in the breeze. There was a splatter of dark crimson staining the wood, and her breath hitched in her throat.
Her fingers trembled as she pushed the door open further, the creak echoing ominously through the house. She stepped inside, her boots squelching against the sticky floor. Blood. It was everywhere.
"Gods..." she whispered, her voice breaking.
Her gaze fell to the figure sprawled near the entrance. Gideon Prewett lay in a crumpled heap, his lifeless eyes staring at nothing. A jagged wound crossed his chest, and the crimson that pooled beneath him was still fresh. Violet's knees buckled, but she forced herself to move.
"Gideon..." she murmured, her voice trembling as she stepped over his body. She couldn't afford to stop—not now.
She made her way further into the house, her breaths shallow, her pulse thundering in her ears. Fabian was next. His body was slumped against the wall, his wand still clutched in his hand as though he'd gone down fighting. Violet bit down hard on her lip, the metallic taste of blood mingling with her rising nausea.
"Keep it together," she whispered to herself, though her voice wavered. Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to let them fall.
In the hallway, she stumbled over another body—a Death Eater this time. His mask was askew, revealing a young, familiar face. She recognized him instantly. He had been one of Julius's friends, a boy she'd seen at gatherings, laughing and boasting about the Dark Lord's favor. Now, his vacant eyes stared into the abyss.
Violet swallowed hard and pressed on, her gut twisting with every step. The living room was worse—a scene ripped from a nightmare.
Moody lay sprawled on the floor, his face barely visible beneath the blood and grime. His robes were torn and drenched in red, his breathing shallow and labored.
"Alastor!" Violet cried, rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees, grabbing her wand with shaky hands. "Stay with me, please."
His good eye flickered open, the other lost beneath a makeshift bandage that was already soaked through. "Violet..." he rasped, his voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.
"I'm here," she said, her voice trembling as she began casting healing charms. The wounds were deep, too deep. She wrapped a cloth over the injury covering his damaged eye, her hands shaking so violently she could barely hold the fabric. "What happened, Alastor? Who did this?"
"Death... Eaters..." he groaned, his words a broken whisper. "Too many... they... we didn't expect them.."
"Where are the rest? Molly? Arthur?" Her voice pitched higher with panic as she pressed harder against his wounds, trying to stem the relentless flow of blood.
Moody winced, trying to speak through the agony. "Molly... got a letter... something was wrong. She and Arthur went out... looking for you... and the others."
Violet's heart sank, a cold dread wrapping around her like a vice. "No... no, they split us up." Her voice cracked, her mind racing as the implications set in. Someone had betrayed them.
Her eyes darted around the room, her instincts screaming that they weren't safe. The walls, once lined with family photos and cheerful knick-knacks, were now smeared with blood and littered with debris.
"We have to leave," she said urgently, grabbing Moody's arm to help him sit up. "It's not safe here. Somebody told them where we were. There's a traitor."
Moody groaned in protest, but he didn't fight her as she helped him to his feet. His weight bore down on her, but she gritted her teeth and steadied him as best she could.
Her mind raced. Where could they go? Who could she trust? A memory surfaced, unbidden—a place she hadn't considered in years. It was risky, but they had no other choice.
With Moody leaning heavily against her, she Apparated, the sensation of being squeezed through a tube almost unbearable under the weight of their injuries and fear.
They reappeared on a quiet, unassuming street. She approached the door of a modest house, her knuckles rapping against the wood in desperation.
It opened moments later, revealing a girl with long, flowing white hair and wide blue eyes. Pandora Lovegood's face was a mix of surprise and alarm as she took in their battered forms.
"Pandora," Violet choked out, her voice trembling. "We need help."
"