Time will tell...
The night was bitterly cold, a sharp wind cutting through the streets of London and carrying with it an air of foreboding. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist unnaturally, and every sound—no matter how small—felt amplified, reverberating in the eerie silence. Violet moved carefully, her black cloak billowing behind her as she kept her hood low, her face hidden. The fabric clung to her as though the night itself sought to consume her, and she embraced the darkness, blending into it.
Her breaths were shallow, visible puffs in the frigid air, and her heart beat erratically as she traversed the desolate streets. London, usually alive with noise and motion, now lay unnervingly still, as if holding its breath. She gripped her wand tightly, her knuckles white as she kept it at the ready, the polished wood warm in her hand. She had decided after much deliberation to head toward Slughorn's home, hoping—praying—that the others had apparated there after the chaos at Borgin and Burkes.
The quiet gnawed at her, a silence so complete it was oppressive, making her hyperaware of every step, every creak of leather boots against cobblestone. Her nerves were strung taut, and every shadow seemed a potential threat.
As she neared the house, her tension heightened. The yard was cloaked in darkness, and just as her foot touched the edge of the garden, the front door burst open with a deafening bang. The sound shattered the stillness, sending her heart racing. She darted behind a low wall, her back pressing hard against the cold stone as she tried to steady her breathing.
Peeking cautiously over the edge, her gaze fell on a man stepping out into the night. His face was obscured by a sleek, silver mask—an unmistakable mark of a Death Eater. But her stomach twisted as her eyes drifted to the figure following him. Her breath caught in her throat.
Julius.
She hadn't seen him in months, and yet he was just as she remembered—achingly handsome in a way that felt almost cruel. His tall, lean frame was clad in a dark suit tailored to perfection, the fabric sharp against the pale hue of his skin. His tousled brown hair fell artfully across his forehead, framing his piercing blue eyes that gleamed like shards of ice, cold and calculating. A cigarette rested casually between his lips, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light.
"They were here. I know it," Julius growled, his voice deep and commanding, laced with a venomous edge. He scanned the garden with a predator's gaze, his eyes narrowing. "Find them and bring them to me."
The Death Eaters around him stiffened, nodding wordlessly before dispersing into the shadows like wraiths. Only one lingered at his side, awaiting further orders.
Violet pressed her hand against her mouth, muffling her shaky breaths as Julius paced, his frustration evident. She leaned back behind the wall, her mind racing. He's leading them. He's the one they fear.
The crunch of footsteps on grass grew louder, drawing nearer. She felt her pulse in her ears, loud and frantic.
"There's no one here," Julius snapped, his tone seething with barely contained rage. "They're gone. We're wasting our time." His voice lowered, filled with icy finality. "Let's go."
Relief washed over Violet as the footsteps retreated. She allowed herself a shallow exhale, taking a cautious step back from the wall.
But then she froze.
Her back collided with a cold, solid figure.
Before she could let out a scream, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth. Her heart pounded furiously as she struggled, but the familiarity of the presence stopped her short. Trembling, she reached up and yanked the mask from the figure's face.
"Theo?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The pale face of Theo Nott emerged from the shadows, his gray eyes wide and panicked, darting around to ensure they weren't seen. "Shh," he hissed, pulling her deeper into the garden's cover.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice cracking with emotion. Tears pricked her eyes as her mind spun with confusion. "Why, Theo? Why are you with them?"
"I don't have a choice," he muttered, his voice low and filled with a quiet desperation. "None of us do." He glanced over his shoulder again, his paranoia palpable. "Listen to me carefully. The house in London—it's not safe. Elphias's home—it's a trap."
Violet's breath hitched. "Theo," she pleaded, grabbing the front of his cloak. "Tell me—are they alive? Please. Is the rest of them alive?" Her voice broke, and the tears she'd been holding back finally spilled over.
His expression softened for a fleeting moment, a crack in his guarded demeanor. "For now," he whispered. "But they won't hold on for long if this keeps up."
He turned to leave, but she gripped his arm. "Wait—"
"Don't," he said sharply, pulling away. His voice was low and urgent. "I've already risked too much."
Before she could stop him, he stepped back into the shadows, his form dissolving into a plume of black smoke that disappeared into the night sky.
Violet stood frozen, the weight of his words settling heavily on her chest. The garden seemed darker, colder, as if the night itself had turned against her. With shaking hands, she adjusted her hood, steeling herself.
She had to keep moving. She had to find them—before it was too late.
***
Violet crouched in the ruins of Slughorn's old home, the musty air thick with dust and despair. Broken furniture lay scattered across the floor, shattered glass glittered ominously in the dim light, and the air carried the faint metallic tang of spilled blood. The Death Eaters had been thorough in their destruction, leaving behind nothing but chaos.
Her hands trembled as she sifted through the wreckage, desperate for a clue—anything to guide her to the others. Then, tucked beneath an overturned chair, her fingers brushed against a crumpled piece of parchment. She unfolded it, her breath catching as her eyes scanned the words scrawled across the top:
Violet's Brew
Ingredients:
AconiteThistle leavesTreacle essenceIndigo extractCrumpet dust
The list seemed nonsensical at first glance, but something about it gnawed at her. She stuffed the paper into her pocket, not daring to linger in case the Death Eaters returned. The air outside bit at her skin as she walked, her exhaustion weighing heavy, but her mind racing. She pulled the note out again, rereading it over and over as she trudged through the empty streets.
It wasn't until the fourth or fifth time that the realization hit her. The first letters of each ingredient spelled out a word:
A-T-T-I-C.
Her heart skipped a beat. The attic. Was this a clue? A message left behind for her to follow?
But there was a problem. To brew the potion, she needed aconite, and her bag—packed hurriedly by Pandora—was missing it. She had no choice but to risk Diagon Alley.
Stopping at a small coffee shop to gather her strength, Violet sank into a corner seat, her cloak pulled low over her face. The warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the chill outside, but she barely felt it. Her hands shook as she stirred her cup, exhaustion threatening to pull her under.
On the table in front of her lay a folded copy of the Daily Prophet. She hesitated before picking it up, the familiar weight of dread pressing down on her chest.
The front page was dominated by a single headline, bold and unforgiving:
"HOGWARTS FALLS TO THE DARK LORD."
Below it, a smaller line sent chills down her spine:
"Riddle's Forces Take the Castle—Dumbledore Missing, Staff and Students Held Hostage."
Her breath hitched as her eyes flicked to the photograph beneath the words. Tom Riddle's face stared back at her, cold and unyielding, his dark eyes filled with triumph. He stood at the entrance to the Great Hall, the towering doors wide open behind him, his wand raised as Death Eaters flanked him on either side. The enchanted ceiling above him swirled with storm clouds, bolts of lightning illuminating the twisted smirk on his lips.
The article beneath was no less chilling:
"In an unprecedented and devastating blow, the Dark Lord has claimed control of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sources report that Riddle led the siege himself, breaching the castle's defenses with a force of Death Eaters and dark creatures unseen since the days of Grindelwald. Witnesses describe chaos and destruction as the staff and students attempted to hold their ground against the invaders. Dumbledore's whereabouts remain unknown, and rumors of his capture have sparked widespread fear across the wizarding world. The Ministry of Magic has yet to issue a formal statement on the matter, though anonymous sources suggest that the Dark Lord's next target may be the heart of the Ministry itself..."
Violet's hands gripped the edges of the paper, her knuckles white. The world felt like it was closing in around her, the walls of the Leaky Cauldron suddenly too tight, the air too thin.
She folded the paper and shoved it into her bag, her thoughts racing. Hogwarts had fallen. Dumbledore was gone. And Tom...
Her grip tightened around her wand as she forced herself to stand. If she wanted to save them—her friends, her world—she couldn't afford to falter now.
***
The cold wind swept through the street, tugging at Violet's cloak and whipping her hair from her face as she clutched her bag tighter and hurried down the cobblestone path. Her breaths puffed out in uneven clouds, her heartbeat hammering in her chest. The little shop ahead was dimly lit, its crooked sign swaying on rusted chains above the door.
She stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling softly. The shop was cramped, the air thick with the scent of dried herbs and old parchment. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with jars of ingredients, but her focus was singular.
"Aconite," she whispered urgently to the shopkeeper, a frail-looking woman with sharp eyes that seemed to pierce straight through her.
The woman didn't speak at first, simply watching Violet with an unsettling intensity. Violet felt her skin prickle under the weight of that gaze, but she forced herself to remain calm. Was it suspicion? Recognition? Or was she just being paranoid?
The woman finally nodded, her bony hands moving to fetch a jar of aconite. Violet handed over a few Galleons, barely waiting for the woman to wrap the herbs before tucking them into her bag.
As she turned to leave, the woman spoke softly, her voice like the rustling of dry leaves. "Be careful, child. Shadows follow you."
Violet froze for a moment, her pulse quickening. But she didn't respond, hurrying out the door.
The air outside felt sharper now, the streets darker. She pulled her hood lower, blending into the sparse crowd, her nerves on edge. Just as she rounded a corner, her breath caught—two Death Eaters strolled leisurely down the main street, their masks tucked under their arms, their dark robes billowing behind them.
Her heart pounded as she turned sharply into a narrow alley, her feet moving faster, the sound of her boots muffled on the uneven stones. The path was unfamiliar, winding deeper into the shadows.
She skidded to a halt when she came upon an old, weathered sign hanging above a forgotten shop:
Madam Primrose's Attic.
Her eyes flicked to the door, her pulse still racing. As she leaned closer, she noticed a small engraving etched into the wooden surface—a delicate violet flower.
Her breath hitched. This is it.
But before she could react, a pair of hands grabbed her from behind, yanking her inside.
"Arthur!" she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest as she recognized him.
He stepped back, his face pale and drawn but relieved. "Took you long enough. We've been dying with worry."
The shop's interior was far from what she'd expected. The walls were lined with sturdy wooden beams, the furniture mismatched but cozy. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. She spotted Kingsley and Molly by the fire, their faces weary, and Slughorn pacing anxiously.
Arthur gestured for her to sit, but she shook her head, her words tumbling out. "Dumbledore prepared this place? What's going on? Where's Eve?"
Arthur hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dumbledore set it up before he left. He's gone to—"
"To what?" Violet snapped, cutting him off. "To find a way to stop Tom? Meanwhile, Hogwarts is defenseless, and Tom's taken it! He could hurt everyone—our friends, the people we grew up with!"
The room fell silent, her words hanging heavy in the air.
"Violet," Molly said softly, standing and approaching her.
Violet's stomach twisted as she noticed the way they all avoided her eyes. A cold weight settled in her chest.
"Where's Eve?" Her voice cracked, her gaze darting between them. "Why aren't you answering me? Where is she?"
Molly placed her hands on Violet's shoulders, her own eyes glistening. "She's gone, Vi. They got her while we were making our way here. There was nothing we could do."
The words hit Violet like a blow, stealing the air from her lungs. She stepped back, shaking her head in disbelief.
"No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "No, you're lying. She—she wouldn't have been caught. Eve's too clever—she—"
"She fought," Kingsley said quietly, his deep voice breaking the silence. "She held them off so we could get away. But they took her."
Violet's knees buckled, and she collapsed onto a nearby chair. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, her vision blurring with tears.
***
The room was dark, the heavy velvet curtains drawn tight to keep out any trace of moonlight. The flickering light from a single chandelier cast long, menacing shadows across the faces of those assembled. Tom Riddle stood at the head of the room, his tall frame casting an imposing figure as he leaned against a carved chair. His piercing gaze turned toward Julius as the man entered, flanked by a group of Death Eaters. Among them was Theo, his expression stoic yet strained.
"And?" Tom's voice was calm, almost conversational, but the menace beneath it was unmistakable. "Did you find them? Did you find her?"
Julius stepped forward, his face unreadable but his tone carefully measured. "No, my lord. The house was deserted when we arrived. They left only minutes before us—the lanterns were still warm."
Tom exhaled sharply, his frustration barely contained. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the arm of the chair, each sound echoing in the oppressive silence.
Before he could respond, another voice broke through.
"Don't worry, my lord," Barty Crouch Jr. said with a twisted grin, stepping into the room with a disheveled figure in tow. "I caught this one not far from Knockturn Alley. Her friends managed to escape, but she wasn't so... lucky. Were you, Evie?"
The girl he dragged forward stumbled, her wrists bound tightly in front of her. Eve Travers lifted her head, her dark eyes filled with defiance despite the smudges of dirt and blood on her face. Her long, auburn hair fell in messy waves around her shoulders, her breathing labored.
Tom's lips curled into a sinister smile as he stepped forward, his gaze locking onto her like a predator eyeing its prey. "Ah, Miss Travers," he purred, his voice dripping with mockery. "So nice of you to finally join us. Isn't it?"
Eve glared up at him, her jaw clenched, but her silence only seemed to amuse him.
"Yes, you had such potential," he continued, circling her like a vulture. "You could have been something great. But instead, you chose Dumbledore's pathetic little army. Such a pity. A real pity."
Her eyes flicked to Julius, who stood silently near the edge of the room, his expression unreadable. She had loved him once, as a child. Back then, Julius had seemed larger than life—handsome, mysterious, powerful. But he had never seen her that way. To him, she had always been Violet's companion, little more than a girl trailing behind her far more captivating friend. Even now, as a grown woman, standing bloodied and defiant in the enemy's clutches, Julius's eyes betrayed nothing but distant indifference.
Tom's voice snapped her attention back to him. "But don't worry, my dear," he said, raising his wand with deliberate slowness. "I know just what to do with you."
Her defiance faltered as a glint of cruelty flashed in his eyes.
"Crucio."
The curse hit her like a tidal wave of agony, and she screamed, her body convulsing as every nerve burned with unrelenting pain. The Death Eaters around her watched with twisted smiles, some chuckling under their breath.
Julius didn't move, his face a mask of indifference. Inside, he felt nothing for her—not guilt, not pity. She was a pawn in the game, just like everyone else. Whatever childish affection she'd once harbored for him meant little now, a relic of another time.
Tom watched Eve writhe on the ground, her screams echoing off the walls, but he didn't flinch. He only lowered his wand once she was reduced to shallow, gasping breaths, her body trembling as she lay on the cold floor.
He crouched down, his face mere inches from hers as she weakly lifted her head. "You're going to help me, Miss Travers," he said softly, his tone almost gentle, which somehow made it even more terrifying. "You'll bring them straight into my hands."
Eve's lips quivered, her gaze flicking again to Julius, seeking something—anything—in his expression. But there was nothing there.
"Take her away," Tom ordered, rising to his full height. "Put her somewhere... quiet. Let her think about her choices. And Julius."
Julius stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Yes, my lord?"
Tom's eyes narrowed. "You're in charge of her. Make sure she doesn't get any ideas of escape. And if she does... deal with her."
Julius gave a curt nod, his voice steady. "As you wish, my lord."
Two Death Eaters dragged Eve from the room, her broken sobs echoing in the hallway. Julius followed, his stride purposeful but unhurried. As he walked, he thought briefly of her—a fleeting image of a young girl, chasing after Violet, her eyes filled with hope. That girl was long gone.
And Julius had no intention of saving what remained.