A little warning: This is mostly unedited, and that is by choice. This little story is here to keep me writing while my novel stagnates, and it was honestly too much fun writing it to not publish it. Still, its kept very "first edit". I hope you have fun with Agatha. I absolutely had, and have fun writing her.

Of all things that should never be met in a place of danger, children were leading the list. It was odd, then, to walk amongst so many young ones in what was essentially a stronghold of a waring faction.

Hogwarts. Shining beacon of arcane tradition and academia. More than a third of Europe's greatest arcanists came from here; were taught by the best. Yet, as Agatha walked the corridors of the institution, the recent fall from grace was apparent in every corner. It hadn't even recovered from the brain drain Britain suffered during the first Blood War, and found itself at the beginning of the second.

This time, it would be shorter, if she had any say about it. This time, it would be the last time.

Her path led her past a row of large windows, looking down upon a large stadium. Her steps halted, for just a while. Down there, it happened only a few days ago. Cedric Diggory died. Official reports claim a complication with the Triwizard Tournament. Just one more unfortunate soul, one more gifted young man full of potential, wasted by blood sport.

It was a pity, since his victory could have helped him realize all that potential and more. Wealth, success, station, glory. It should have been Diggory's. However, the reports say that he was a loser. Cedric Diggory was branded a failure, Harry Potter a pathetic gloryhound, Albus Dumbledore a liar.

Agatha knew better. The International Confederation of Wizards knew better. Yet despite knowing that the reports were a calming method for the public, the British Ministry denied any help and any involvement by the ICW. Not that much help was quickly forthcoming. The ICW was not without its black marks.

Good for Agatha that she has always been a more independent part of the club. All she officially wanted in Hogwarts was a part-time job, back at home. That was what her papers said, at least. That was what led her to a large gargoyle protecting a hidden staircase.

"Cheesecake,"

The winding stairs carried her upwards to an unassuming door. It opened without her doing, showing the old archmage waiting behind. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Supreme Mugwump of the ICW. And of course, to her,...

"Father." She steeled her voice. Her tongue had almost denied her to say that one word that felt like a lie. Father. Truly, she was here less because of their relation, and more because the Supreme Mugwump had requested her personally.

"Agatha," he began. His voice was gentle. His eyes even more so. "Please, take a seat. Good of you to come with such haste."

"The order specified an urgent demand."

"If I remember correctly, your last order as Executor was to take a vacation."

There it was. She felt her face contort into exasperation, despite all her willpower trying to keep it stoic. He had a way to do that. His voice, calm and kind, ground against her with a force she only knew coming from him.

"I know your office is sufficiently protected against eavesdropping. I don't see a reason to continue our subterfuge here."

"Indeed, forgive me." Albus leaned back, one hand taking a cup of tea with him. "You know I would not call on you, if I was confident anyone else could master the situation as you could."

"I know no such thing. Nothing was disclosed to me. I was told I would be briefed here."

"You will be. First tell me, though, have you noticed suspicious activities within the ICW?"

She nodded. "I have been spied on. People seemed more interested in my whereabouts than usual."

"Voldemort has his people in the ICW."

"As he did last time. We have been ordered to steer clear of Britain. Usually I would have…"

"...been most effective in delivering annihilation, I'm sure." he interrupted. Despite his smile, Agatha saw through it easily enough. There it was again, the doubt; mistrust, the lingering weighing of pros and cons of her heritage.

"I have reigned in my nature. Against mother's honest attempts."

"How is Anes'rath?"

"On the loose, seducing her next meal, probably. Still very annoyed at you, I'm sure."

"A small price to pay for your existence." Albus quipped. He then pointed at her head. "Please, Agatha. My office is, as you noted, quite protected. You can drop the disguise, if it is uncomfortable."

Uncomfortable was an understatement, if she was honest. With one, long breath, she let the magic surrounding her dissipate. As if a curtain was lifted, long horns could be seen growing from her head. Her small, relieved smile showed slender fangs, and from her robes, almost unnoticed, a long tail with a tuft of hair at the end sprouted. She opened her eyes and shining red looked at her father.

"You are aware that your nature is no secret?" he asked.

"The disguise makes my business much less cumbersome. Paperwork is so much quicker when the clerk isn't shivering in fear."

"I would like you to not use your disguise too much on your next mission. Not at all, if you could?"

"You have yet to tell me what this mission would entail."

Albus leaned forward, tea soon forgotten on a little tablet. His hand slid some documents over to his daughter. "These are the contracts for the position of Professor of Defense against the Dark Arts."

"You want me to teach?" Agatha couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. She even let a little, mocking smile loose on him.

"No, no. Not entirely." He chuckled and held a quill out to her. "While I am sure your expertise makes you a marvellous professor, I need you as a deterrent. I need you for political games I intend to win. Most of all, I need Hogwarts defended against any threat. You are an Executor. Your presence alone would make anyone think twice. I cannot always stay at Hogwarts, and when I am gone I want to know that my students are under your protection."

With barely a nod Agatha took the quill and signed the contract. "Easy enough. I assume the official story is one of father and daughter…"

"Agatha," Albus began. His smile held steadfast, while his eyes betrayed the man's woes. "Indeed, I called you for all your skills. However, the most important reason, to me, is you being my daughter; my only kin other than your uncle. I had hoped…"

"You messed me up worse than a literal succubus!" Agatha spewed out with as much venom as she could muster. "How worthless of a father you were that a demon was more nurturing, kind - hell, even more loving than you."

"Agatha, I…"

"Do not pretend! Do not grovel, now. I know why I am what I am, and I don't need your tardy sympathy to know where my duties lie. We have been over this countless times." She almost jumped from her chair, and whirled towards the door. "I will protect Hogwarts with my life, because it is what I do best. I don't need encouragement to be an Executor. I shall see you at the Welcoming Feast. Goodbye."

"Agatha, stop." Albus stood. His hands slamming the table when Agatha kept walking. "Executor Dumbledore, I order you to stop."

"Yes?" She refused to look at him. Her hands waited on the doorknob, ready to pull it.

"One more matter that requires your attention. I am in need of a bodyguard for Harry Potter."

"Details?"

"He resides at Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging. I had Mundungus Fletcher lined up for this time slot, but if you accept, I'd rather have you keeping eyes on the VIP."

Heat was of little concern to Agatha. Her heritage allowed her to grasp the coals in a fire. It was anger, so much anger, that made her sweat under the summer sun.

Little Whinging was, by all muggle standards, the average of averages. Petty bourgeois people, living in suburban hellscapes devoid of culture or character. Nothing between the hedges spoke of any amount of original thought. She despised trying to fit into normal muggle spaces. Horns and tail did not play well with muggle couture. However, walking amongst the graveyard of culture this broken little remnant of England represented truly irked her beyond what she was prepared to endure today.

People switched to the other side of the road when she approached, dressed in black business attire, a large hat and sunglasses. Still, she would be damned if she reigned in her aura - her presence that made any human feel that they are in the vicinity of something above them on the food chain.

Eventually, she reached the hedge her father had informed her about. Somewhere in it one of his vigilante agents sat and waited for relief. It took her a while, scanning the hedge up and down like a hawk, until she saw just the hint of leafs unnaturally deformed.

Just before she spoke, her wand waved through the air, casting a silencing charm on their surroundings. "Auror Tonks, I presume?"

The leafs relaxed as the figure stood from their perch. Agatha had to admit, she didn't expect the wild, purple hair to appear from beneath the invisibility cloak.

"Wotcher, Executor! Nifty little spell there. Very elegant."

"I have come to relieve you. You may leave."

"Fine by me. 's a good thing the Professor had someone else than Fletcher." Tonks swatted a bit of leafs and dirt from her Auror robes as she got herself ready. "Anyway, not much to report on Harry. Lad's bored and well, really under the weather, if ya heard about…"

"I did. Thank you."

"I mean, if ya get to talk to him, maybe be a bit more chatty than you're right now?"

"Noted," Agatha said, with just the smallest of smirks creeping up her lips.

Tonks held nothing back. Her smile stretched above her entire face. "Cheeky. I like it. A'ight then, see you 'round." She handed Agatha the invisibility cloak, and with one whirl of her body, apparated away.

"He never mentioned she was a metamorph." Agatha muttered as she folded the silvery cloak up. She had no need for such crutches. A simple wave of her wand, and the magic she knew by heart took hold of her.

Slow and steady, the invisible Agatha walked around the building. She took in every detail, even though most of those only worsened her mood. She took some time to watch the Dursleys and their rigid way of trying to create the ordinary, however they could. There was an aggressive lack of any form of originality within their family. No spark, no push towards life. She could feel the bile coming up, and decided to return to the post. Watching the front door was bad enough.

She did not like muggles, and she wasn't shy to say it either. Well, most muggles that was. There was a small group of them, scattered around the world, that managed to intrigue her. Those usually shared her disdain for places like Little Whinging.

Even the playground she followed Harry Potter to seemed more an afterthought; a fulfilment of obligations, rather than something created and cherished as a place of fun. Rust and squeaking joints was the only theme left to this place. It fit that the bullies Harry Potter engaged with called it their home turf. Misery loves company, and this playground sucked the happiness out of one like a…

"Dementor,"

Agatha whirled around, her eyes wild, her stance ready to fight. She could smell them before she saw them. She always could with her kin. The demonic stench was soon accompanied by the characteristic frost and, of course, the feeling of utter despair.

Potter seemed to notice, while the muggles surrounding him just left due to the weather worsening. Agatha followed in her invisibility, but kept a good distance. She knew that Potter was an outstanding wizard regarding his defense. If worst came to worst, he would be able to get out alive.

Well, if his cousin didn't kill him, that is. The fat oaf stumbled around the streets like a panicked little rabbit. So much for playing the big man in front of his friends.

She kept a close eye on her future student. Wand out, he ran after his cousin. He wasn't calm, but he was collected. Fighter material. Good.

Around them, puddles iced over and flowers wilted in the frost. Their breaths could be seen as the two boys ran into a tunnel below a street.

"There you are," Agatha growled. Just when she arrived after Potter, she saw the form of the Dementor approaching them. The fat boy screamed at Potter. Of course, who else would the muggle suspect? Potter remained in control.

"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted.

"Oh, fuck." Agatha quickly aimed her wand and shot and Expelliarmus against Potter. His wand shot out of his hand into hers, just as she dropped the invisibility. Another red curse from her wand stunned the fat one on the ground.

"Well done, Potter. I'm taking over."

"Who…?!"

"Explanations later." she shouted, running past him. There, before the Dementor she held up not her wand, but her hand, and let the disguise drop fully. Then the guttural screech that was the language of the lower planes came from her mouth, hot and smoldering like her mother's homelands.

"Stand down, son of Borakhshei. This mortal is under my protection."

From one second to the other the Dementor halted his approach. His faceless head came from under his hood, and with his opened maw he saw, smelled and tasted Agatha all at once. His voice was cold and biting like the deepest pit of Agathys.

"I do not fear you, halfbreed. I shall feast on what is mine. The masters commanded."

"Violence it is, then." she shouted at the Dementor and flicked her wand up. "Expecto Patronum!"

Bright light flashed forward, forming into the figure of a winged rabbit with antlers, who hopped left, flanked the Dementor and with another jump to the right smashed the demon into the wall. "Furias Lucifari!"

With the force of the sun erupting, her Patronus vanished, and was replaced by the fury of light pressing the Dementor against the wall. It burned it, broke through its cloak and body, devouring the avatar of it on the mortal plane.

It was over before one could truly realize what was happening. All that was left of the demon was ashes, slowly being blown away in the summer winds. Warmth and sun came back to the area with a vengeance.

"You…" Harry stood next to his cousin, protecting the fat boy with his own lanky form. "You killed it?"

"No," She put away her wand, and held out his'. "I blasted it through the fabric of reality, back onto the planes from where they come. It will be back, soon. They're not that easy to kill."

"Didn't look easy to me." he said. With one quick swipe he grabbed his wand and got back into position.

Agatha smiled at the display. "You have to decide. Fight or Negotiate. If you fight, hold up your wand. If you negotiate, drop the fighting stance. This is a tense situation. You should make your intent clear."

"I'm not sure about it, yet."

"Then get that wand up." she commanded him. ",and not like… dear gods, what did they teach you in Defense?"

Harry couldn't even think of reacting before Agatha's hands were correcting his finger on his wand. She slid his thumb and pointer over some slots and bumps, rotated his hand and corrected his elbows angle. "There you go."

"Uhm…"

"Better grip. Better control. Disarming you was disturbingly easy."

"I see," he murmured, as he inspected the new hold on his wand. "Thank you,... I didn't catch your name?"

"Professor Dumbledore."

"Huh?"

"Professor Agatha Dumbledore. Your new teacher in Defense against the Dark Arts." When all Harry could muster was an even more confused expression, Agatha used that time to fling a quick memory charm at the boy's cousin. "He'll think he slipped in a puddle and smashed his head. You should probably not be here once he wakes up. Let us walk?"

"Sure," he answered, but Agatha could clearly see his hand never leaving his pocketed wand. She wouldn't have it any other way.

The sun hated Dementors as much as any creature of the light. It burned brighter and hotter than before, as if to purge the Dementor's influence from the lands. Soon enough Harry had beads of sweat on his brows. Once they reached a small remnant of forest in the midst of suburbia, Agatha took a seat on a small bench below a large willow. Her long ears twitched at the sound of a few pixies somewhere in the crown.

Her new student sat down, as far away from her as he could, with his hip positioned so that the wand would always slip out of his pocket with ease.

"I assume you have a few questions."

"Well," he began, clearly looking for any sort of hold in his mind. "Dumbledore? As in, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts?"

"My father."

"Your…!" Eyes widened Harry slumped into the bench. He shook his head. "I thought he never had any…"

"I am his worst kept secret." Agatha waved it off. "But I do not enjoy talking about it."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just… Anyway, aren't you worried somebody sees you?" he asked while pointing at his own forehead.

"Do muggles see Dementors?"

"No?"

"Yes or no. Do not ask."

"No."

"Correct. Just as they do not see Dementors fully, they cannot perceive my horns, ears, fangs, eye-color or tail." she explained. Then she pointed towards the direction from which she smelled an owl approaching. "Ah, that must be the reveal to this plot."

"Plot? You mean the Dementors were sent?" Harry asked while he squinted his eyes to where Agatha was pointing.

"By whom is the question."

The brown owl swooped down in front of Harry and delivered the red envelope of the Ministry. Agatha pointed her wand at it, and swirled it once. "So, now it won't be speaking in public. What does it say?"

Harry opened the letter carefully, trying not to aggravate the obvious howler. His eyes quickly dashed over the lines and his worry grew with every word he read. "They're throwing me out! I'm expelled, I…"

"Calm yourself." Agatha commanded, trying to keep the young wizard from spiraling into a panic. "Give me that."

She read it and began laughing as she finished the ridiculous letter before her. "Oh, that's rich."

"They're going to destroy my wand, how is this funny?" Harry shot up from the bench. He paced before it, panic in his eyes, and mind running a mile a minute.

"They are not going to destroy your wand." she stood up and caught his shoulders, making him stop before her. She looked him deep in his wide eyes and tried to calm him by her own composure alone. "They are trying to make you do something stupid. What they will not expect is you remaining calm. That fat one is your cousin, correct?"

"Yes, Dudley."

"Dudley knows you are a wizard?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Then all who saw you attempt a Patronus Charm is your cousin who is in the know, you, the dementor and me. I doubt the dementor will file a complaint."

"What about the hearing?"

"I doubt it will even come to that." She let go of his shoulder, but Harry remained shaken to his core. She would be the first to admit that her repertoire of calming gestures was about depleted at this point. Harry kept up admirably, but even the toughest wizard would be scared if the Ministry threatened to snap his wand.

"Oh, another?" Agatha was saved from calming down a panicking teenager by another owl, flying straight towards the boy.

"Mr. Weasley writes. He says I ought to stay put at home, not surrender my wand and not do any more magic." He crumbled the letter up. His hand was already out to throw the paper somewhere into the bushes before he took a deep breath, and instead put it in his pocket. "This is so unfair."

"Many things are,"

Harry's look said more than he could have ever put into words. His life seemed to try and devour him at every turn. His sorrows and fears his only companions in his solitude, it must've felt like he was all by himself.

"You go home. Go into your room, and try to distract yourself. I'll see what I can do."

The halls of the ministry vibrated with the force of her apparition. People jumped to make way for her. She held none of her demonic features back. What walked towards the fountain of magical brethren was a vision of hell, formed into the body of Agatha Dumbledore.

The lonesome guard tried and hold her back, but the emblem of an ICW Executor opened many doors, and cleared many ways. Without a second thought to the guard she entered the elevator and made her way to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

The last time she walked the corridors of the DMLE she had been rejected from the Auror program. In retrospect, she deemed it destiny blessing her. Had she become an Auror, slaving away at one of the many desks in the Department would have killed her quickly. Making her way straight towards the Director's office, she saw the scars of bureaucracy in the eyes of most.

Most. The moment she entered the investigator's bureau, a familiar purple haired Auror stood before her. "Oh, hi there." Tonks quipped as if Agatha wasn't just looking like she was about to kill a litter of puppies.

"Director Bones. Is she in?"

"She's in a meeting with,..."

"I know," Agatha pushed past Tonks, and made her way to the office of Amelia Bones. From afar, she could see what she had hoped she would. The director was surrounded by the Minister himself, his crony and her father. She focused herself for a moment before entering. The time to scare the underlings was past. It wouldn't do to portray anything less than absolute serenity in front of the brass.

"Who now?!" Bones jumped up from her seat, about to lecture the intruder, when their eyes met. "Oh. Executor. I was not aware we had ongoing investigations involving the ICW?"

"Dumbledore! What is your daughter doing here?" Fudge asked, head already red as a tomato.

Agatha tried to ignore the small smile from her father, or the disgusted visage made by a short witch with a face like a toad. Instead, she answered, investigator to investigator. "I came to report my banishing of a Dementor. It seemed to have been lost in Little Whinging. While not my jurisdiction, I did remove it lest it would harm some muggles." She turned towards the Minister, then back to Bones, her face perfectly still. "Although I wonder, what does a Dementor do in Little Whinging? Have you, per chance, lost control?"

"How dare you," the little toad-woman growled. However, it seemed it wasn't just because of her words. The little toad looked at Agatha like she was the vilest scum from the dirtiest sewer.

"Preposterous!" Fudge added. "A Dementor in Little Whinging?"

"Yes. Would you care for the memory?"

Bones cut in before any of the two could answer. "Indeed, I would. I'm sure it would also clear up any confusion about the involvement of Harry Potter in this incident?"

Agatha allowed herself the smallest of smiles. Bones was integrity personified, just like she remembered. Just by her posture, she knew she was between the political fronts here, and she hated it. Albus, in the meantime, stepped back and let the theatre commence.

"Potter attempted a Patronus," she began.

"See! He did cast a spell. That's the second time, now. He will be expelled!" Fudge slammed his fist on the desk.

"As I was saying, he attempted a Patronus in defence against the Dementor. The successful Patronus was mine, and the following banishment as well. Furthermore, I don't see the Statute broken at all. No one saw anything, or could remember."

"There are muggles everywhere in Little Whinging." Fudge countered. "Who tells us you didn't miss someone?"

"I do,"

"Rubbish! You cannot be serious? This… this is all the plan of you two. Father and daughter. Of course!"

"You do not trust me?" Agatha took one step. Her heel clicked ominously on the floor. She took another step, so she would be close enough to Fudge for him to feel the heat of her breath. "Are you calling me a liar, Minister?"

"Threat. That's a threat. Director!" the little toad witch shouted at Bones.

"It's a threat alright, just not the one you expect." Agatha turned away from the minister, and towards the witch. "I just need to know if I have to inform the Demon and Devil Department?"

"Alright, stop! Everyone!" Bones finally lost her patience. She leaned over her desk, both arms holding her solid on its surface. "Nobody calls the Inquisition," she said, looking at Agatha like she's scolding a schoolgirl, "and nobody accuses an Executor of a lie because it doesn't fit their narrative."

Bones sat back down, took the file before her and slammed a stamp onto it. "As far as this investigation concerns the DMLE, the case is dismissed. Executor Dumbledore, I will have to ask for your memory and wand protocol for the evidence in this," she sighed deeply. "riveting case of underage magic that apparently needed the highest offices in Britain and an Executor to get involved."

"Oh, I was just there by accident." Agatha threw in, earning the most exasperated look from Bones she could muster.

"How?" Bones asked. "How are you of all people in bloody Little Whinging by accident?"

She did notice the little scolding eye roll by her father, but she had a theory about why he asked for her to teach, and what better time to confirm it than now? "I endeavour to meet some of my students before the next year. There are some talents to scout."

Bones was the first to connect the dots, looking back and forth between both Dumbledores, but the little toad witch was the first to air her opinion. "Teach? That is insane. Dumbledore, you cannot be serious to let this…"

"This, what?" Albus interrupted. "Undersecretary, please continue. This. What? If you have concerns about the qualifications of my new Professor for Defense, I am sure I can procure all manners of recommendations."

"The Board of Governors will never agree to this." The Minister was fuming. However, there was also something more beneath the red-headed surface. Agatha was curious. What exactly was the position to him in this game?

"I disagree," Bones looked at the people in the room, all surprised that she would chime in. "I'm on the Board, and I'm happy to hear my niece may actually learn something in Defense this year. The last year's Auror applicants were not great, to say the least."

It had been a long day, and Agatha still had something important to do, but alas, her father was of the persistent variety. So it happened that the two of them sat in a small booth in the Three Broomsticks, nursing a drink. The angry, swirling black and red of Dragon-Rum for Agatha, and a sweet summer cocktail for her father.

Time passed by, and both knew that Agatha would not be the one starting any sort of conversation. Albus took the initiative. "I was surprised to see you in the Ministry, today. I had assumed you would not get involved in the politics."

"If it were just for me, no."

Albus sipped from his fruity drink, taking his time. "Excuse me, but I know you for quite some time now, and you are not the caring type."

"Are you moving Potter to a different position?"

"Do not distract from the topic at hand."

"He needs to be moved quickly. The Dementor is going to resurface, and when it does, it will be furious."

"So it is Mr. Potter you worry about." Albus gave it his best, winning smile. "What about him? He is a very talented wizard."

"Before all else, he is a very lonely wizard." Agatha took her rum like a shot. With all the fire from her mouth that it conjured, she felt like her mood was sufficiently clear. "Has anyone he cares about in any way spoken to him all summer?"

"I have ensured…"

"Of course not." she interrupted. "Your protégé is dying, father. Slowly and painfully, he dies a little every day, because there is no one around who eases the burden. I went to the Ministry today because the boy was at his breaking point. You. Are. Breaking. Him."

"Agatha, this is something different."

"Different how?"

"This is not about you."

"It is never about me." she whispered with the venom of a viper. She threw a few Sickle onto the table and made to go. However, she turned around again, because she knew. She knew he would not listen if she left now.

"Have you calmed yourself?" he asked.

"No," she answered. "but I feel like I owe it to myself to help the boy against the treatment he receives."

"He is alive and well."

"He is alive, alright." Agatha took a deep breath, rose her arm and ordered another rum. "Well, he is not. Harry is…"

"Harry?"

"Harry is in dire need of friends, or family, or some confidant. He fell apart in front of me, a complete stranger, because the Ministry tried to take the last bit of himself that he had."

"It is for his own best."

"It's torture, plain and simple. You torture him."

"There are powers at play here that you do not understand. Please, Agatha, believe me when I say that I have my reasons."

She sighed. "You are Albus Dumbledore, of course you have a reason. You always do. Doesn't prevent it from being a stupid reason, or the wrong one. What really matters, though, is that the reason is never Harry."

"All I do is for his own good; for his final survival."

"Aye, I know that line of reasoning." Agatha took the fresh rum, but this time she stared into it, following the black streaks flowing. "You did all you could for me to survive, too. Somehow, those plans barely involved you being a father."

"Agatha," Albus tried, but her sad smile and shake of her head stopped him.

"Well, I survived. Mother never came close to me or you again, and…" Agatha stopped. Gears turned in her head and as she looked up from her rum, into the face of her father, she connected the dots. "Oh, I see. This is exactly like with Mother."

"Professor Misenga never exaggerated when he spoke of your intellect." Albus gifted her maybe the first real smile she had seen in years. He slurped his cocktail, waiting for her to present her deduction.

"Voldemort was known for his mastery of the mind. Whatever happened in the labyrinth, it makes you keep a distance." Agatha paused to think about the many threads she just began to see. "Blood. On the photos I saw Harry having a scar on his arm, fresh, bleeding, not torn, but cut. For a ritual? He is connected with Harry, but for some reason can't act on it right away - or won't. If you are close to Harry,..." she trailed off.

"Tom might be tempted."

"Tom might be tempted." Agatha repeated slowly, savouring the moment of bizarre déjà vu. "I understand, now. However, I think you are still making a mistake with the boy. He needs someone - anyone."

Albus stroked through his beard, deep in thought. "There was a contingency plan for situations such as we saw tonight, if I couldn't clear the matter right away. You are correct. I have failed Harry. I shall give orders to enact the plan, and relocate him."

"Where to?"

"You know?" Albus leaned back, and deposited some silver himself on the table. "Let me show you."

"Executor,"

"Black,"

"It never crossed my mind that the demon who hunted me across Europe may be someone's daughter."

"Who knew the convict that slipped through my hands for more than two years now is innocent."

"I told you several times."

"Next time a convict tells me he's innocent while hurling spells at me, I'll definitely believe him." Agatha pointed at his chaotic hair. "I'll just assume the animagus isn't registered."

"Of course not."

"Neat trick." Agatha admitted. "I can't smell animagi."

"I know," Sirius answered. "And still, you're responsible for about half of my nightmares, and I spent twelve years in Azkaban."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

Agatha had expected many things when her father revealed a Fidelius to her. The old facade of the Black residence that had somewhat of a mythic reputation had opened up before her, and it felt odd to her. Not because of the rumoured horrors that had happened inside these walls over the centuries. Not because a house just appeared out of a spacial fold. No, Agatha was more wary because her father let her in on a secret.

When she walked up the few steps, and entered the broken hallway of a decrepit house, the amount of secrets revealed to her slowly began to manifest. She immediately had smelled a good dozen of people of all ages. She had also smelled someone who had dodged her senses more often than most.

Now Black stood in front of her, holding out his hand. Her mind ran a mile a minute, as the Executor within her rattled off the many felonies she saw, with Black just being the cherry on top. Forming of a militia, unauthorized Fidelius deep within muggle territory and the sheer amount of dark magic she could sense inhabiting every crack of this house, normally would authorize her the use of violent force. However, having Mad-Eye standing there, chatting with some vigilantes, did stop her in her track.

She looked back at the outstretched hand of Black. The man that, last time she saw him, left her with a Bahama Mama, a jacuzzi and the note "Maybe next time, forkhead." with a delightful drawing of her, a giant sausage impaled on her horns.

Everyone in the room saw her biting back the humiliation as she grabbed his hand, and pulled him in. Next to his ear she almost fell into the infernal tongue as she whispered, "You give me a reason, I'll pulverize you. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." Sirius backed off as fast as he could. "Anyway, welcome to my humble abode, Executor."

He gestured her towards the door through to the kitchen. She had already seen mad-Eye, perched next to the hearth, from which he could see the room and hallway.

"Mad-Eye," she greeted.

"Ember," he nodded in greeting. "Albus. You finally listened, did ya?"

"So, who is she?" Harry asked nobody in particular. "Is she really the headmaster's daughter?"

Sirius sighed. "Yes."

"But where does all this," Harry gestured vaguely at his face. "What exactly is she?"

"I don't know everything," Sirius began. His voice was quiet, almost whispering, but Harry understood well enough. "You need to understand that Dumbledore was a prime target in the last war. He was our general, you could say. If he had died, the war would have been won for Voldemort, no matter what happens."

"Alright, so…?"

"Voldemort was getting creative. You don't trick the headmaster easily. However, he did fall for an Incubus who was, as far as I heard, disguised as a secretary to the Chief Warlock. One thing led to another, and Dumbledore sprung the trap."

"The trap?"

"He, uhm…" Sirius swallowed deep. "They, uh… they,"

"Spent the night together." Remus walked in. He wore the same tattered clothes he always wore, but looked worse than on most days. "Do you know what an Incubus, or Succubus, is?"

Harry rummaged his brain for it, but couldn't recall having heard of them. He shook his head.

Remus sat next to Harry, and took on that same pose he often struck in the classroom. When not even Hermione answered, he explained. "No worries, that isn't really material you ought to know, yet. Incubi and Succubi are demons. As all demons do, they live off souls - life force. Usually, spending a night with an Incubus means you lose your soul to the demon. Dumbledore had managed to trick the demon, somehow."

"He never talked about the incident beyond what we needed to know." Sirius injected.

"Within that need to know basis, there also was the information that the demon was with child. Albus' child. Agatha is a Tiefling."

"The last adult Tiefling, half human, half demon, was recorded in the nineteenth century. The fact that Agatha survived to adulthood is a small miracle in and of itself." Sirius looked up to one of many family crests hanging around the old Black residence. "Obviously I wasn't here for it, but it seems she's not close with Albus, huh?"

"Whatever he had to do, it did alienate them." Remus shrugged. "I can't believe it was easy. There are many groups out there who would like nothing more than her death. It's even more impressive what she has become, then."

"About that," Hermione spoke up. Her entire demeanour shifted, she sat up in the couch, on the edge of the cushions. "What does she do? What is an Executor?"

Sirius grinned. "Not good enough, that's what."

"Idiot. You're stupid lucky, that's all." Remus smiled. "Executors of the International Confederation of Wizards are, in simple terms, internationally operating Aurors."

Now Harry and Ron also sat up.

Sirius barked a laugh. "Understatement of the year. Aurors like Kingsley, or Bones are little puppies compared to the bloodhounds of the ICW. Honestly, within the DMLE only Mad-Eye ever reached that level of unrelenting brutality."

"Brutality?" Hermione asked.

"Aye." Sirius had a thousand-mile stare as he took a fortifying breath. His smile faded. "Once they send Executors after you, all bets are off. They'll wade through pools of blood just to get those shackles onto you."

"But Agatha didn't…" Harry begun the question. "She didn't, right?"

"Wade through a pool of blood? No." Sirius was over fortifying breaths. He poured himself a finger of whiskey. "She's more subtle. It's enough to hear her whispers days before she is even close to you. It's like you feel her breath on your neck when you sleep. Her red eyes watching every stray thought you have, and her voice sowing paranoia. Its… Its…"

"Sirius," Remus was standing in front of him, holding his shoulders. "Sirius, are you alright?"

Sirius touched his cheek where he felt a tear running down. "Yes. Yes, I - I will be."

"Should I tell Dumbledore that she shouldn't be around you?"

"No, no, no. It's alright. I'm alright." Sirius slightly pushed Remus back into his chair. He raised his glass. "But hear, hear. I take Dementors chasing me over Agatha Dumbledore any day of the week."

"How is she doing all that?" Hermione asked.

Remus shrugged. "Half demon, half a Dumbledore. Even tough they're not close, I'm sure Albus saw to her education."

"She is Albus, just not as experienced, but makes up for it by having none of the moral limits." Sirius added. "She's mastered using her appearance; her heritage, as a weapon."

"How old is she, anyway?" Ron threw in. When everybody looked at him, he added: "What? I mean, horns, tail and such aside, she looks barely out of Hogwarts."

"Uagadou," Remus corrected.

Sirius held up his fingers as he counted in his head. "If I recall the Order was pretty new at this point. She was born at the start of the seventies, right? Seventy-One?"

"She is twenty-four."

"What?" Ron half shouted. "She is the same age as Bill?"

"Aye. I remember Arthur and Molly joking about playdates when Albus briefed us." Sirius sucked in some air through the teeth. "Wasn't well received, I tell you that."