If i never return?
"Quickly, come in!" Pandora's voice was urgent but calm, her white hair flowing behind her as she led them inside. "Put him on the sofa!"
Violet half-dragged, half-carried Moody to the worn-out couch, his weight a staggering burden, but her determination kept her steady. His skin was pallid, his remaining eye fluttering shut. His breathing was shallow, each ragged exhale sounding more labored than the last.
"Alastor, you bloody bastard," Violet muttered under her breath, her hands trembling as she positioned him. "You can't die on me today."
She fumbled for her wand, casting a series of healing spells. Light shimmered over his wounds, knitting some of the torn flesh together, but her magic wasn't enough. The deeper gashes resisted her efforts, and the blood kept seeping through.
"Wait here," Pandora said abruptly, disappearing into another room without further explanation.
Violet stiffened, her senses heightened. Every nerve in her body screamed to stay alert, her trust frayed to threads. She clutched her wand tightly, her knuckles white, half-expecting Pandora to return with Death Eaters to finish the job.
But when Pandora reappeared, it was with a vial of amber liquid in hand, not a wand or a weapon. "This should help," she said briskly, kneeling beside Moody. "Hold his head up."
Violet hesitated, suspicion flickering in her dark eyes. "What is it?"
"Essence of Dittany," Pandora explained, her tone patient but firm. "It will help him—at least, I hope it will. We'll know by morning. But his eye..." She leaned closer, examining the gruesome wound with a clinical detachment that made Violet wince. "I fear it cannot be restored."
Violet's shoulders slumped as she let out a shaky breath. She eased Moody's head back onto the sofa, watching as Pandora carefully poured the potion onto his lips. It trickled down his throat, and though his breathing didn't improve immediately, there was a faint, fragile hope in the room now.
Violet sank into the chair beside the sofa, her gaze fixed on Moody's battered form. His blood still stained her hands, dried and dark beneath her fingernails. She felt a surge of guilt and helplessness, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on her.
"I thought you were dead," Pandora said softly, breaking the silence. Her voice was steady but carried a note of something raw—perhaps relief, perhaps sorrow. "You disappeared without a word one day. Then we heard..." She trailed off, her blue eyes flicking to Violet's face. "That Professor Riddle was—you-know-who. I thought he had done something to you."
Violet's stomach clenched at the mention of his name, a knot of memories and fear tightening in her chest. Her gaze flickered to Moody, then back to Pandora. "I didn't know where to go," she admitted quietly. "Or who to trust."
Pandora's expression softened, though there was a flicker of sadness in her eyes. "You still don't trust me, do you?" she asked gently. "But I assure you, I have no bad heart."
A faint smile tugged at Violet's lips, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I know that," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Pandora rose gracefully, moving toward the stove with practiced ease. "I have something to calm you, if you'd like," she said, her tone as soothing as a lullaby. "I'll brew us some tea with valerian roots. I grow them in my garden." She paused, glancing back at Violet. "Would you mind picking some for me? It'll give you a moment to breathe."
Violet hesitated, then nodded. She pulled her bloodstained sweater tighter around her shoulders as she stepped outside into the garden.
The sight that greeted her was breathtaking, even under the heavy weight of her thoughts. Pandora's garden was a masterpiece, a tapestry of vibrant herbs and delicate flowers that seemed to shimmer under the light of the full moon. The air was thick with the mingling scents of lavender, rosemary, and night-blooming jasmine, a stark contrast to the coppery tang of blood that clung to Violet's memory.
She wandered through the garden, her fingers brushing against soft petals and rough leaves as she searched for the valerian roots. The moon hung low in the sky, its silver glow casting long shadows that seemed to dance across the ground.
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Molly and Arthur. Molly, pregnant and vulnerable. Arthur, steadfast but now likely in as much danger as the rest of them. Then to Eve and Kingsley—had they managed to escape? Were they safe, or had they met the same fate as the Prewetts? Even Slughorn, cowardly as he was, flitted through her mind.
The questions gnawed at her, each one heavier than the last. Where were they? Were they still alive, or had she lost them all?
Clutching the valerian roots tightly in her hand, Violet glanced back toward the house. The weight of her choices pressed down on her chest like a stone. Whatever came next, she knew she couldn't falter. Too many lives depended on her now.
***
Tom removed his coat with a sharp, frustrated motion as he entered the warmth of his manor. The air inside was a stark contrast to the biting chill outside, but even the heat couldn't ease the sting radiating from his wound. The fabric of his shirt clung uncomfortably to his back, damp with sweat and faint traces of blood. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the sharp pang in his abdomen as he cast a rudimentary healing charm. The magic was effective but cold, leaving a tingling numbness in its wake.
Crossing the room, he poured himself a generous glass of firewhisky, the amber liquid catching the flickering light of the flames in the fireplace. He stared into the hearth, the embers glowing like molten eyes, reflecting his own inner turmoil. The firelight danced across his sharp features, casting long shadows on the walls, giving him an almost spectral appearance.
The creak of the door broke his reverie. Without turning, he knew who it was.
"What happened?" Julius asked, his voice low as he closed the door behind him.
Tom's jaw tightened. "Not in the mood, Julius."
"You never seem to be, as of late," Julius remarked coolly, stepping closer but keeping a measured distance.
Tom didn't respond immediately, his gaze still fixed on the fire. The warmth seemed to sear his skin, yet it did nothing to thaw the ice in his veins. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and edged with bitterness. "She ran from me. Again. How can I possibly be in a good mood?" His tone sharpened, venom creeping into his words. "She's nothing more than a child, a brat who cannot fathom the consequences of defying me. And yet..." He trailed off, his expression hardening. "I cannot fathom why I care so deeply for her."
Julius ran a hand through his dark hair, his expression carefully neutral. "She'll come around, Tom. She just needs... a little persuasion."
Tom's control snapped. His glass flew from his hand, shattering against the fireplace. The flames roared as the whisky ignited, a burst of heat licking at his face.
"She stabbed me!" he roared, his voice echoing through the cavernous room. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling with the force of his fury. "I am impressed by her resistance—no one has ever defied me like this before. But I am enraged by it!" He turned sharply, his dark eyes blazing as he faced Julius. "I need her," he hissed, each word dripping with unrestrained intensity. "Like the blood in my veins. Like the oxygen I breathe. Like the power in my hands. She is... she is the final piece, the last fragment of the puzzle I must complete."
For a moment, his mask slipped. His voice lowered, almost to a whisper, as if he were speaking to himself rather than to Julius. "Without her, it's as if everything I've built remains unfinished."
The air in the room grew heavy, suffused with tension. Julius, ever perceptive, noted the rare crack in Tom's otherwise impenetrable facade. But he was careful not to overstep.
"No one will know what you've spoken to me tonight," Julius said, his voice calm and steady, a quiet assurance in his words.
Tom turned back to the fire, leaning heavily against the mantle. The flickering flames cast harsh lines across his face, making his expression unreadable. He waved a hand dismissively. "Leave. I want to be alone."
Julius hesitated for only a fraction of a second before obeying. He slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. Once outside, he leaned against the polished wood, his mind racing.
He thought of her—his little sister, his blood, the one who had become the focus of Tom's obsession. He understood the allure she held; he felt it too. She was more than a mere pawn in their game. She was the keystone, the element that could tip the scales irrevocably in their favor.
But unlike Tom, Julius's ambitions were laced with something far darker. He wanted her to kneel willingly, to be deceived, to trust him. Julius loved her, it was a weakness, one he accepted to afford.
As he pushed away from the door and walked down the dimly lit corridor, he resolved to do whatever it took to bring Violet home.
***
Violet sat rigidly beside Moody, her back aching from the stiff position she'd held through the night. Her hands, calloused and trembling, hovered near his battered form as though afraid even the smallest movement might cause him further harm. Shadows clung to her pale face, accentuating the heavy bags under her eyes, stark reminders of sleepless hours spent ensuring he still breathed. Her bloodstained clothes clung to her as if they were part of her skin, the fabric stiff and coarse from dried blood. Her hair, hastily tied into a messy bun, had strands falling loose, framing her face with a disheveled weariness.
The faint sound of a door creaking open pulled her attention. Pandora emerged, her long white hair cascading like a river of light against the gloom of the room. She approached softly, her blue eyes assessing Violet with quiet concern.
"Did you even close your eyes for a moment?" Pandora asked, her voice gentle yet edged with worry. She placed a folded set of clean clothes on the table, the faint scent of lavender wafting from the fabric.
Violet shook her head, her voice hoarse. "I couldn't. What if someone showed up?" Her words were laced with paranoia, each syllable heavy with the weight of uncertainty.
Pandora sighed, her calm demeanor a sharp contrast to Violet's frazzled state. She crouched beside her and placed a hand on her arm. "We're safe here, Violet. No one will find us, not in this place. You need to take care of yourself, or you'll be no good to anyone."
Violet hesitated but finally nodded, exhaustion breaking through her resolve. She reached for the clean clothes. "Fine. But only for a moment. Stay with him."
"I will," Pandora promised, her tone firm.
The hot water from the shower cascaded over Violet's body, washing away the grime and blood but not the tension that gripped her. She closed her eyes, leaning against the tiled wall as the water poured down, her thoughts racing. Images of her scattered allies filled her mind—Molly, Arthur, Kingsley, Eve. Were they safe? Were they hurt? Or worse? She clenched her fists, the warm water doing little to ease the cold knot of fear in her chest.
When she descended back to the main room, her damp hair fell loosely around her shoulders. The clean clothes felt like a fragile armor against the chaos of the outside world. Pandora greeted her with a small, encouraging smile, handing her a steaming cup of tea.
"Pandora," Violet began hesitantly, her voice cracking under the weight of her words. "I know it's not my place to ask, but... can you take care of him? I have to leave. The others are out there, scattered and vulnerable. We're weaker like this. Easy targets."
Pandora reached out, clasping Violet's hand tightly. "Of course. I'll do anything I can to help. But you'll need supplies if you're going. Pack some extra clothes, and I'll prepare a few herbs and potions for you. They might come in handy."
Violet's lips curved into a faint smile, gratitude flickering in her tired eyes. The moment was interrupted by a low groan from the sofa. Moody stirred, his single eye cracking open, its gaze sharp despite the obvious pain etched into his features.
"What are you two plotting?" he rasped, his voice rough but laced with his trademark gruff humor.
Violet's breath hitched, and she was at his side in an instant, her hands gently brushing against his arm. "You bloody bastard," she muttered, a weak laugh escaping her. "I thought I'd lost you for a moment there."
Moody smirked faintly, a shadow of his usual self, his hand pressing lightly against his bandaged chest. "I'm not so easy to get rid of."
She narrowed her eyes at him, a flicker of her old defiance returning. "How long have you been listening?"
"Long enough," he admitted, his smirk widening slightly.
Pandora stepped forward, handing Violet a sturdy bag. "It's not much, but it should get you through for a while."
Violet accepted it, the weight of the bag a small comfort. "Thank you, Dora. Truly. I won't forget this." She hesitated, her gaze darting to Pandora's steady blue eyes. "If... if I don't come back, send a letter to Dumbledore. Let him know what happened here. He'll know what to do."
"Don't talk nonsense," Pandora replied firmly. "You'll come back."
Violet looked away, her shoulders tense. "You speak with hope, Dora, not a clear mind." She took a deep breath, the air heavy with unspoken fears. "Farewell... for now."
As she stepped through the door, the chill of the night greeted her. The moon hung heavy and bright above, its silvery glow casting eerie shadows over Pandora's garden. Violet didn't pause, her mind already set on the journey ahead. Somewhere out there, her friends were waiting—or fighting for their lives. Either way, she would find them. And she would bring them back.