Chapter Text
There was no more pain - that was the first thing she realized. Not immediately. At first, it was just the absence of everything. As if someone had dimmed the entire universe. No sharp light, no sounds, no breath catching in her lungs. Only a soft, gentle emptiness. One that asked for nothing. Like slipping beneath the surface of water, but the water was warm, carrying her, refusing to let her sink.
Violet opened her eyes. At first, she only squinted, but there was no need. The world around her shone with its own calm. It was a meadow - or perhaps a landscape? It was impossible to tell where it ended and where it began. The ground beneath her feet was soft like moss, yet solid. A fragrance hung in the air, impossible to name - a mixture of spring, childhood, and memories she hadn't known she carried. She wasn't standing. She wasn't floating. She simply was.
When she looked ahead, she saw them. Doors. Standing alone in the middle of nothing, framed only by the shimmer of surrounding light. They looked simple - wood without a handle, without hinges, without a lock. And yet something familiar radiated from them. Not the exact shape - rather the feeling. A chill along her neck, a light stab beneath her ribs when she spotted them. They were... old. Older than she was, older than her memories. And still, somewhere deep within, she knew she had seen them before.
Not consciously. Not in the real world. But in that corner of the mind where dreams bleed into intuition. That was when it struck her. The Divination test. The crystal ball. The doors of fate. The vision she had tried to forget back then, because she hadn't understood it. Doors that led nowhere - and yet had to lead somewhere. Back then, she had told herself it was no true vision. But now she knew it hadn't been chance.
Violet took a step toward them. She felt no pressure, no pull. It was as if the very landscape was giving her space. Not pushing her, only watching. When she drew closer, she noticed the wood was etched with faint carvings. Not runes, not symbols. More like the marks of time. As though millions of souls had passed through and each left a trace. And yet the doors were clean. Untouched.
She reached out her hand, but before she could touch them, they opened by themselves. Without creaking. Without resistance. As if they had been waiting for her presence. Behind them there was nothing. Not at first. Just more of that gentle light. But as soon as she stepped through, the light shifted into an image. She held her breath - or rather, felt as though she did, though she hadn't been breathing for a long time.
Before her stretched a garden. Not just any garden. It was... exactly the one she had once seen. That day of her birthday at Hogwarts. The day she thought the Mirror of Erised had shown her nothing more than a reflection of her fantasy - a longing for peace, for love, for something that might never be hers. But now it was here. A pebble path leading to a pond rimmed with white blossoms. Trees bending gently in the wind without a sound. And the sky... endless, azure blue, unmoving yet alive.
She shivered. Not from cold. Not from fear. From understanding. She knew there would be no pain here. Not because someone had stolen her memories or dulled her emotions. But because there was no reason for suffering here. All that was dark had stayed far behind those doors.
Violet walked a few steps along the path. Each step felt light, as though the ground itself was holding her up. She didn't know how much time had passed, or whether time even existed here. But suddenly none of that mattered. No questions, no answers. Only the feeling that she had returned. Not from anywhere specific - but to something that had always been.
The garden welcomed her. And Violet welcomed it. She sat on the bank of the pond, its surface calm as a mirror. It didn't reflect the sky - it reflected her. Yet she was not alone. In the reflection, she caught a glimpse of something else - a flicker of light, a shape she had no strength to define. It didn't matter. She closed her eyes. And smiled. Because for the first time in a very long time, she felt no fear, no grief. Silence stroked her skin. And the garden around her began to bloom.
The garden did not speak. And yet it answered her. Violet stayed in its heart, between the pond and the willow. At first, she only sat by the water's edge, her fingers buried in the grass, her gaze fixed on the still surface. She longed for nothing. She needed no explanation. The garden breathed with her.
Soon, though, she noticed something strange. Whenever a smile touched her mind - small, gentle, like a memory of carefree laughter - a whisper of wind stirred in the distance. And with it spread the scent of lilacs. So strong that she could taste the sweetness on her tongue, just like in childhood when she had raced among blooming bushes, laughing for no reason. The branches above her trembled slightly, and the garden shone with a brighter shade of green.
Violet smiled faintly. "Are you thanking me?" she whispered.
The garden stayed silent, but the lilacs bloomed again. The first time she remembered Sirius, it wasn't like a flash of memory. More like a feeling. The sense of his presence - not as something past, but as possibility. And that was when she noticed something in the grass - a crumpled shirt. Black, with the faintest stain of violet. It lay there as if it had always been. When she picked it up, she felt its weight. And something more. Its scent. His scent. So strong it made her close her eyes for a moment. It wasn't a dream. But neither was it reality as she had known it. The garden wasn't a place. It was an emotion.
When calm settled over her, the pond shimmered like a canvas. When a single tear slipped down her cheek - not from sorrow, but from being moved - the water rippled and showed her an image. Not always the same. Sometimes Sirius, lounging on a porch, legs stretched, that cheeky grin on his face. Sometimes her parents, laughing at the living room table. And sometimes just hands - unclear, blurred - holding hers.
One day, while walking the same path she had grown to love, her steps carried her to a great tree. She didn't remember it being there before. Its trunk was cracked, veined with moss and gray lichen. She sat beneath it, leaning her back against the bark. And when her fingers brushed a stone in the grass, she turned it over and found something carved into it.
It was faint. The words looked old, as if etched long before her arrival. "For those who remember - even if they don't know why."
She caught her breath. For a long while she stared at those words. She wasn't sure what they meant exactly. But inside her spread something unusual - a quiet, deep understanding. A sense that she wasn't alone. Not in the way of others being present. But in the way threads connect those who loved, who lost, and who remained loyal without knowing why. She didn't put the stone back. She laid it beside her. And the garden bloomed into white flowers.
She wasn't sure how long she stayed in the garden. There were no clocks. No shadows stretching longer. No sun climbing higher across the sky. Only a stream of light shifting in shade with her moods.
The garden adapted to her, but it never pandered. It knew when to remain still and when to bloom. When to whisper in the branches and when to fall into silence. Some days - if they could be called days - Violet simply walked and gathered flowers. Each had a different fragrance. Some reminded her of the warmth of a childhood blanket. Another of evenings in the common room. And one - only one - smelled like Sirius. That one she kept. She placed it in a crystal bowl that appeared on a stone table. When she returned to it, the flower was still there. It hadn't wilted. It only breathed its scent.
Once, while lying in the grass, watching the sky - ever soft, ever spilled - she felt something change. At first it was just a faint hum. Not a sound, more a breath. Then she realized the air around her had thickened. As though a wind had passed through. And with it came the scent of rain. She closed her eyes. And at that moment, it began to fall. Not harshly. Not coldly.
The drops fell slowly, heavily, quiet as whispers. They landed on her face, her hair, her arms. She wasn't wet. Only connected. Water that washed away nothing, yet everything. The drops slid across her forehead, and with each one she felt something she couldn't name. Not melancholy. Not longing. But closeness. As if the rain were telling her: "Your soul is not abandoned."
The garden began to answer her differently than before. Not only with color and silence. But with details. With changes that weren't hers. On a clearing appeared a wooden bench, slightly crooked, with the words "It's ours" carved clumsily into its back. In the corner between two trees, a swing appeared - one of those old ones, with thick rope and a wooden plank swaying gently though no wind blew.
Sometimes she felt she wasn't alone - even though she never saw anyone. When she sat by the pond, it seemed as though someone stood on the opposite shore. When she lay in the grass, she sometimes heard a muffled giggle.
At first, she thought her mind was making it all up. Then she caught herself smiling, though she didn't know why. And one day, when she sat on the bench, she found a scrap of parchment lying there. On it was written: "Hide and seek tomorrow. The two of us and you. G+F."
Violet narrowed her eyes, then burst into laughter. Out loud. For the first time. And the whole garden laughed with her.