"Now, young lady," Agatha heard a warm voice behind her as she was about to leave Grimmauld Place. "You can't just come here and not give your aunty a hug."
"Molly," Agatha's bright smile was soon buried in Molly Weasley's hair, when Agatha wrapped her in a tight hug.
"Let me look at you." Molly insisted and moved her into a motherly grip, as she looked at the Executor with the eyes of a woman who raised seven of her own children. "You let them grow, now?" she asked softly, looking at Agatha's horns.
"I've let them for a while, now."
"They look gorgeous, dear." Molly said, stood on her toes to reach, and tucked some hair behind the horns, further exposing them. "Why did you have to become as tall as any Dumbledore? Where is my little devil gone? A grown woman, now."
"Also, for quite a while, now." Agatha smiled.
"I remember you leaving for Africa like it was yesterday." Molly's smile slowly dropped. Agatha's did the same. Both let the moment carry, as they remembered the days when she was ripped from where she had felt safe, and shipped to where she had been safe.
Agatha shrugged Molly's hands off, as gentle as she could. Deeply sighing, she forced the smile back on her face. "That's the past."
"Too right. The present has you right back here, where you belong." Molly went back in for another short hug. "Now what is this I hear that you have bought a house?"
"Oh, dear. Rumours travels as fast as ever, I see."
"It is all anyone is talking about," Molly shrugged, "well, on page two, at least".
Agatha pinched her nose. "My housing is news?"
"Hogsmeade is in an uproar. Just the last day, I talked to Rosmerta, and she was telling me that you moving in is all anyone talks about in the pub."
"Great," Agatha sighed. "Just what I needed. You don't, by chance, know if..." Agatha couldn't quite finish her sentence, waving her hands to try and gesture to Molly to connect the dots.
"Your uncle knows." Molly caught Agatha's hands. "Talking is always a good start, you know."
"I'm afraid he isn't interested in a start to anything."
"You know old Aberforth. He'll listen."
"But I just don't see why I should be the one to start talking." Agatha shook her head. Again and again, Britain reminded her why she hadn't returned. "He was the one who cut the ties."
"He is hurt." Molly stroked her hands with her thumbs, before letting them softly fall. "I know you are too, but you are strong enough to make the first step, sweetie. Aberforth is not."
"I don't..." Another deep sigh escaped Agatha. Even more than a decade after leaving her part-time motherly care, Molly Weasley's voice had a way to make itself be heard. She knew it wasn't her responsibility, but now she felt like it was, just a bit. Now she felt like she needed to take care of that, instead of comfortably ignoring her families many issues. "I have a lot of students to visit. I can't be bothered with a grumpy old wizard's moods, yet. If he doesn't reach out until the beginning of the school year, I'll go and talk. Whatever that'll do."
It had taken her a good hour, but eventually Molly let go of her under oath that Agatha would return to tell her every story that happened between her being a first year in Uagadou, to her becoming an Executor. Had it been any other day, it would have messed up her visitations-plan completely. However, she did plan for this day to be a bit more complicated, hence why there was plenty of buffer.
She didn't really know what would happen, as she apparated right in front of the silvery gate protecting Malfoy Manor. Her visit could be short - a slammed door in her face. Her visit could be, well... exciting.
Did her father know of this? Of course not. In fact, her father kept a wide berth around his direct political opponents, let alone the Big Bad himself. Agatha on the other hand wore many a scar because she simply could not resist poking the hornet's nest.
Poke! Her finger touched the little engraved bell in the white marble, framing the silver gate. The softest, most delicate chimes could be heard, and not long after, the silvery gate's many interwoven parts began writhing like snakes. One silver rod formed the outlines of an eye, that bent over Agatha and looked at her.
She gave the hollow metal eye her best fang-showing grin, curious to see if Voldemort would take the bait; if he was even in. From all she knew, ol' Tom could be coaxed by mocking and ridicule. The enemy just dropping by to have a talk with a student? That's exactly the stuff that brings a megalomaniac to burst, and to make mistakes.
Agatha knew that not being seen was key to any strategy Voldemort was currently playing. So, naturally, she would try to make the snake show itself.
The silver eye reverted to being part of the intricate pattern decorating the gate. When it went back into its original form, the gate swung open. Agatha's smile grew larger. Her fangs were on full display. Her walk became almost a swagger, as she made her way over the perfectly groomed gardens, the gaudy flock of peacocks and up the stairs towards the front entrance.
The moment her foot met the last step, one wing of the door opened, and Narcissa Malfoy stood in the frame. Agatha immediately noticed the distinct smell of fear in the air. She felt Narcissa's heart beating faster. Her breath was nonetheless controlled. Outwards the regal woman showed a neutral facade, as if Agatha's visit was just another social call she would have to deal with.
"Mrs. Malfoy, I am here to speak with your son, about his academic endeavours. May I come in?" she asked, with her best purring tone, noticing her voice releasing shudders in Narcissa Malfoy.
Narcissa Malfoy was a master class example of how to keep royal indifference above all your turmoil. The woman reeked of panic, now. Her pulse was through the roof, and now her breath caught up with her in speed. Agatha kept staring her right into the eyes, grin wide and tail waving around. Narcissa's eyes were widening. It were mere seconds, but they felt like small eternities, before Narcissa stepped out, closed the door behind her and with a wave of her wand, let silence come over them.
"I don't know why my son would need special counselling." Narcissa crossed her arms, and stood a bit taller. Still, she barely reached to Agatha's chin with her forehead.
"Nothing special about it. I just want to compensate for previous years of lacklustre education, with a more tailored approach for each of my students."
"Draco gets the best tutors over the summer. I assure you there is no need for... a tailored approach, as you said."
She was sure Draco was only being taught by tutors worth their salt. Why have all this money and not hire the best? Agatha always knew that any success here would be a surprise, and had Draco been the only avenue of entrance, Agatha would have turned around and walked away, right this moment. However, her nose never lied. While Draco was out, Narcissa smelt like nothing would make her happier than Agatha being in. Even just Agatha's ambient aura seemed to spur the daydreams of Mrs. Malfoy. Poor, lonely woman.
Agatha's grin grew even wider, unnaturally so, with the edges of her mouth already at the very edges of her jaw. "Our records show that Draco could benefit from a more focused discussion on the dangers of darker magic." She took a step closer to Narcissa, so that she had to look up into Agatha's red glowing eyes. "I'm just here to help." she purred, and her aura pushed, caressed and enchanted the Lady Malfoy.
"Help?!" Narcissa hissed, more out of habit than true aversion. Bit by bit, Narcissas composure cracked. "You know!"
"That is why I am here. I do know," She took another step towards Narcissa. They stood so close, their robes touched, and their faces were close enough for them to feel their breaths. Narcissa didn't move. In fact, all Agatha could feel was that for Narcissa's taste, she wasn't close enough.
"Let me help. For Draco's sake." she breathed out, barely above a whisper, but with waves of her now roiling magic. Just as the words were spoken, Narcissa's eyes broke contact with her own, and instead focused on Agatha's face - no, her lips. Narcissa was sinking into her demonic sirens' song, and instead of fighting it, embraced it.
"It would be a mistake." Narcissa pleaded. Still, her heart beat fast, and her breath had become short.
Agatha was about to answer, but gave herself a moment to analyse. Sure, Narcissa was afraid, panicked, and trying to keep a facade. However, Agatha suspected that the reason for all that had switched in the last few seconds, to her fighting her own desires. She could smell the profound effect her nature had on Narcissa.
Knowing all this, Agatha quickly weighed the options. Draco was an unreliable source, anyway. His mother, on the other hand, would be a fountain of good information.
Her hand grabbed Narcissa's, gently within a soft grasp, easy to move out of. Yet, her hand stayed, and even moulded into Agatha's hand. The softest of sighs escaped Narcissa.
"Let me help." Agatha said again, now with a velvet tone, conveying the multitude of ways in which she could help. "Let me in,"
"I can't..."
"You can. In truth, you must." Agatha's mouth hovered right by Narcissa's ear, whispering. "We both know there won't be much left of Narcissa if you do not."
"He... he is not here."
"Who?"
"Draco. He is in France, with family." Narcissa took a shaking breath. "Our guest is not here either. Neither is..." She trailed off.
"Neither is?"
"Lucius." Narcissa's eyes shot back to stare directly into Agatha's with an intensity and longing, it even surprised her.
There was so much to unpack in this situation, Agatha gave up before she even began to dissect it. It was, however, utterly clear to Agatha that her weak half-succubi charms fell on fertile ground with Narcissa Malfoy, and already rooted themselves deep into the woman's mind.
"I see," she said, and twisted her hand so that it now laid in Narcissa's. "Show me how to help."
Narcissa opened the door, and led Agatha straight towards the stairs, up to the floors above. Agatha did the expected spiel, of swaying hips and hooded eyes, but had to admit that her own pulse was now hammering against her throat.
They walked up the stairs, with Narcissa making sure Agatha had the nicest view of her as she walked up in front.
Agatha was glad for the pause of scrutiny. Her face needed to reflect a few emotions, and keeping them all behind a lusty mask became exhausting. Was she really about to do this? Was she really about to ease the frustrations of the mother of one of her students in the house Voldemort used as his hideout?
Yes? Agatha struggled. They walked through the corridors of the Manor, brightly lit in silver light, with grandiose portraits of generations of Malfoys on the wall, and every few meters a year's worth of her salary in Art, placed with the utmost care.
At the far end, the corridor ended with a door leading into a marvellous orangerie, filled with exotic plants of every variety and colour. In the middle there was an island of satin and wool, like a circle of green fabric, within a green room. Golden seams and details rounded the picture.
Agatha was placed on the soft cushions, while Narcissa went over to a small bar. She poured two glasses of red wine, and took her time to come back. Narcissa sat down next to her, leaned in and softly placed the glass into her hands. They toasted, and just as the glasses chimed their small notes, Agatha felt a hand moving up her legs.
Her moral compass won out, and large parts of herself protested this decision. She couldn't let a woman, clearly emotionally and physically left alone, be caught by her demonic magic. Weak as it was, her succubi nature did work on the especially frustrated, lonely and otherwise miserable. It was also weak enough, fortunately for her, that simply calling it out allowed the victim to escape the influence. Agatha sighed, and stopped the roaming hand from moving beyond her lower thigh. "Narcissa,"
"Yes?" she whispered.
"I hate myself for it, but I do have to make you aware," Agatha sighed again, closing her eyes for a second. Before she could continue, Narcissa's lips pressed onto hers. Their kiss deepened. It became wilder - needy and aggressive, like a starved lion after a successful hunt.
Agatha stopped it. With the most gentle push, she separated them both. "Yes. I will absolutely hate myself for it, but you are definitely under the influence of my magic, and I don't... feel good... exploiting that... why are you smiling?"
"The little Tiefling thinks I wouldn't know?"
"Oh?"
"I heard it ought to be intoxicating, to let it happen; to let this magic in." Narcissa licked her lips. "This is the dumbest thing I have ever done, and if you don't mind I would like to continue?" Narcissa bit her lip, and her hands slowly caressed Agatha's cheek. Her thumb traced her lips' outlines, while her eyes tried by look alone to get rid of Agatha's robes.
The young Executor, meanwhile, tried to process how exactly this situation had turned around on her. On the other hand, why fight it? So Agatha shrugged, grinned and took a sip of her wine. With a cocky smile she looked Narcissa in the eyes, and said "By all means, far be it from me to get between someone and their dumb decisions."
Agatha laid in countless velvet pillows. Narcissa Malfoy had her head laid in her neck, with Agatha's tail wrapped around Narcissa's thighs. She idly played with the silver-blonde hair that pooled down her body, listening to her low, deep breaths.
In her head, the images of the last hour played back and forth. This may be the most insane thing she ever did, and she was still doing it. Drinking some of the red wine, she wondered what her visit here had gotten her, except satisfied. An allie? She did not get her hopes up about that one. Draco definitely didn't benefit from any of this. Narcissa? Well, as things stood, she at least seemed content at this moment, and maybe she would be content with this one memory.
"Memory," Agatha mumbled. Her eyes grew large as realization set in. "Oh, fuck. Narcissa. Wake up."
"I am up, dear." she answered, but kept her eyes closed and nestled her head even closer to her. Her hand wandered up, her fingers miming a walk up her body, before she reached Agatha's chin. "What is on your mind? Nobody will be here for a while still."
"How often does your guest check your minds?"
"Oh, darling," Narcissa purred. "It is endearing that you worry, but do you truly think I would still be alive if I could not keep him out of my most private thoughts?"
Narcissa rose and fell with the huge breath of relief Agatha took. There wasn't more than carnal feelings here, sure, but that didn't mean Agatha wanted to be responsible for her death. Narcissa's entire being felt content. Instead of panic, all Agatha could smell was deep calm. She wished she could feel the same way, but she always remembered where she was, and to a point why she was here. Draco's education was one thing. But the true wealth of information was in the fact that she was right in the headquarters of the enemy. Even if no one else was here, she had gotten quite a few good information.
Lucius was out for long hours at a time. What was he doing?
Voldemort left for hours at a time, at least. What was he doing?
Draco was in France. At the very least, that let her know that his parents didn't want him close to Voldemort. Yet? Ever? Would she even teach Draco Malfoy this year?
Narcissa herself was just one heap of questions. Agatha let her finger stroke up and down her back, following her spine. What a curious, intelligent, beautiful witch Mrs. Malfoy was. Formerly Black, Narcissa came from a great, yet broken family. Her sisters either in Azkaban, or discarded as a "mudlover", she was the last one keeping the noble bloodline of Pollux Black alive. Pollux, who had been one of the few within more traditionalist circles to oppose Voldemort - citing Grindelwald's doctrine. Agatha had learned much about the Black family during her time on the hunt for Sirius. There were Blacks in America, Africa, South-East Asia and throughout Europe. All of them, without exception, were known as more traditionalist - "darker" families, hence why Sirius had no hope for sanctuary with any of them. They did all, still to this day, oppose Voldemort, though.
So why didn't the english Blacks? Why had they been so enamoured with him in the first war, and why were people like Bellatrix so obsessed? In contrast to their upbringing, traditions and family-wide convictions, it seemed out of place.
"Knut for your thoughts." Narcissa whispered in her ear.
"Nothing,"
"No, nothing is what your hands do on my body. Your mind is racing. I see that from here."
Indeed, Agatha's finger had stopped at the middle of Narcissa's back at some point in her musings.
"Alright," Agatha sighed, and began to sit up, taking Narcissa with her, who grumbled into her neck. Once they both sat upright, leaning onto the larger pillows, she asked, "When did your family - the Blacks, I mean - become as loyal to the Dark lord as you were at the end of the last conflict?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"You asked," Agatha interrupted. "You obviously don't enjoy the Dark Lord in your house. You send your son away from him to protect him? You don't trust the man, one bit. Your oldest sister, and your entire family did, at the end, however. Why?"
"I never..."
"I know." she cupped Narcissa's face in her hand. "I know. Neither you nor Andromeda did. The last sane Blacks. Disowned and..."
"Don't." Narcissa held a finger to Agatha's lips. "It is not control, or abuse or blackmail that keeps me here. So do not insinuate any of the kind. I've heard it all, and I'm sick of it."
"Shackled, was what I wanted to say. Out of options." Agatha removed the finger from her lips. "I know your marriage to Lucius was out of love. It holds because of love, but not to Lucius. To Draco."
"He is a good man,"
"Good, he is not, Narcissa." Agatha rolled her eyes at her." Your husband is a vile man. He may be a good man to you, though."
"To Draco." She said with force. "That is all that matters. He would never endanger our son."
"Well, I mean..." Agatha leaned her head. "There was his stunt, three years ago."
Narcissa now sat up from the pillow she leaned on, and even completely naked, she managed to look royal in this moment. Royal and royally pissed off. "What?" she hissed, her low tone speaking of the rising anger within the mother.
"The basilisk? Are you," Agatha shook her head. "Are you telling me you don't know about the basilisk?"
"Of course I do. The one in Draco's second year. I was worried sick, but Lucius wasn't involved."
"Your husband wasn't just involved." Agatha laid one hand on Narcissa's shoulder. "He did that. You didn't know?"
"No! How?" Narcissa's frown deepened, but still she leaned forward to better hear. "How would he have done that?"
"He took an artefact given to him by Voldemort. I don't know if he knew what it would do, but he definitely didn't check first. As far as I am informed, he smuggled it in, in the cauldron of a first year." Agatha said, and immediately saw that something in Narcissa's mind clicked.
"He said...!" she began shouting, before forcing her voice back to a whisper. "He said it would ruin Arthur Weasley. Childish as that may be, I didn't care much about their ongoing rivalries. But this..." Blood shot into Narcissa's head, her hands became fists, and the calm had long given way to fury. "He insisted we keep Draco in Hogwarts despite it. Think of the looks, he said."
Fury became impotent rage. Rage made way for tears of anger. Agatha watched Narcissa slowly realizing; slowly putting large pieces of her life into perspective. When the first sob escaped her, Agatha pulled her into a hug. She stroked her back, while letting the body-wracking sobs be caught by her own body.
"He lets him back into our house." she hissed through the tears. "He throws our wealth to his feet. I thought it was to protect... but... He will..."
"He'll give Draco to him, if... when he asks." Agatha finished for her. "Or if he thinks it would give him an edge in an old school rivalry."
"He- he-" Narcissa sobbed into Agatha's neck, shaking with every ragged breath. Her hands clawed into her, as she tried and move their bodies as close together as possible.
Agatha noticed their connection shifting. What had been an enjoyable bout of spontaneous, mutual lovemaking quickly turned into the terrifying truth of a succubus' charm. Narcissa was falling prey to her, and fast, with her grief and anger making the perfect invitation for Agatha. The young Executor could smell Narcissa Malfoy's soul, slowly putting on those demonic shackles by itself. It was the true horror of a succubi. Once they had some poor soul enchanted, all they had to do is wait until their victims beg them to enslave them.
With all her might, Agatha reigned her charm in enough for the process to at least halt. At this point it wasn't anything a good nights sleep, to think things through couldn't fix. At least Agatha hoped so.
She grabbed NArcissa's face, and looked her right in the eyes, forcing the woman to focus on her words. "Understand that you are in danger. I will say one last thing, before I force my aura down, and you'll be free to think of me again as you'd normally do."
"No," Narcissa begged. "Not now. I don't want..."
"That is precisely why. I believed you when you said you controlled it; found it intoxicating. Just as with any drug, you should not use my demonic nature to combat your grief. It will lead you to madness, I can promise you this much." Agatha stroked Narcissa's hair, her chin and lips, until she let her hands fall along her arms to her hands. She held them tight. "When I said I'm here to help, I meant it. Your loyalty is commendable, but you do find yourself at a crossroads, choosing now between your husband and your son. I can help you, without my fathers' involvement, if you so wish. The Executors choir knows how to hide witnesses... very well."
Agatha stood up, and with one last fond nod to her, she took her magic and reigned it in. Like a wild horse caught, the demon within her struggled and fought against the shackles. It howled in her mind, her own voice, shouting infernal curses, until eventually they stilled. "Now. Your mind should be free."
Narcissa's eyes grew wide. She leaped up from the bed, clutching some of her robes. "I don't... why... yes. Yes, I'm thinking straight again." she pressed her eyes close, trying and failing to hold back tears. "Oh, Morgana, this is... this is bad, this is... why did I even let you in!?"
"I came at just the right time, as you were in just the right mood. My aura isn't strong by itself, but if helped along... well... it can be quite alluring."
"You won't tell anyone?" Narcissa's voice was overcome with fear. Her eyes were darting around the room, looking for something Agatha couldn't see.
"Not if you'd rather nobody knows."
"Nobody must know!" she shouted. "Nobody! Ever."
"I promise, I will hold my..."
She was interrupted by a glass door flying open and crashing. "Mother?!"
"Draco!" Narcissa, still completely naked, with only her ball of fabric covering her bits, shouted through the orangerie in absolute horror.
"Mr. Malfoy," Agatha, just as naked, but merely standing up into a regal pose, greeted. "You arrive at an inopportune moment."
The young man stood flabbergasted in the door frame, with its now cracked windows almost falling out. His naturally white complexion paled even more, as the scene before him slowly sank in. His eyes went from his mother, to Agatha. His face turned from shocked, to an odd mix of sneer and blush.
"Mr Malfoy, how was France?" Agatha gave him a small smile, waved her wand and had her clothes wrap around her by themselves. "I take it you arrived sooner than planned. How come?"
He looked at her, fully caught off guard by everything. Yet, her question brought him back to clarity. With that clarity, his sneer became a terrified grimace. "I was picked up." he said, and his eyes told both women by whom he had been collected.
"Oh," Agatha said, instead of the cackle that built up within her. "What a day this promises to be."
"He said to get you. He's in the pavilion." Draco said, looking at his mother. Agatha pitied the boy. He shivered in fear, but there was so much more happening to him. He kept looking over to Agatha, and the lounging area in the orangerie.
Narcissa tried, but failed to hold her son's gaze. She became small in her posture, with one hand covering her face. "Bollocks," she hissed through small, silent sobs. "Fucking bloody bollocks. Stupid! What did I think…" she kept on quietly ranting, until Agatha squeezed her shoulder.
She addressed both Malfoys. "The choice is yours. I will meet your guest in the pavilion. You do as you see fit in the meantime. Run? Find me in Hogsmeade. Stay? Don't interfere, at least." she looked at Draco, then. "I promise you nothing but misery if you decide to emulate your father. Think about it. Voldemort has brought your family nothing but trouble. Your wealth, your reputation, your freedom itself, is all lost under him. Is this feverdream he calls a vision worth it? It remains your decision. Whatever you decide, if you find it in your heart to not suffer this man for much longer, Draco, do me one favor. Cast as many spells as you can think of."
"What?" Draco was helplessly lost in his life collapsing within minutes. However Narcissa nodded at Agatha, understanding her intent.
"Make yourself a bright little lantern in the darkness." Agatha quipped as she passed him, to walk across the wide and lush gardens of Malfoy manor.
The pavilion couldn't be missed, perched atop a large pond and beneath a great willow tree. It's white painted wood shone bright in the sun. A table, decorated with white flowers, and filled with a luxurious lunch, was placed in the middle of it. At its head sat the man she had dreaded, and hoped to find here.
His scent alone made her almost dry-heave. The sheer malevolence, and rot that came from his soul was clouding her sense of smell. Every sense within her screamed "not human", "unnatural", "evil". It was interesting, in its horrifying way, that truly her entire being, for once, was in unison about a person. Neither demon nor human side of her felt safe at this moment, and she swallowed hard as it slowly crept into her mind that she would be fighting for her life within the next minutes.
She stopped at the bridge over to the pavilion. Wand out, and eyes fixed on Voldemort, she waited for him to make the first move. His eyes had followed her since she walked out of the mansion. His stare was cold and calculating, but Agatha was sure that he had not expected her.
Good.
"Mr. Riddle. I had hoped to find you here." she brandished her wand in the typical way of a starting duel. One slight bow, after which she stopped in her dueling position. "Your unfortunate revival is a thorn in the eyes of the ICW. I had hoped to maybe ease our discomfort today."
"A thorn I am, now?" Voldemort stood from his chair. Slow and graceful he ended up in his typical fighting stance. Barely a pose, with his wand laying in his hand like an afterthought, his dueling style was an insult to his opponent, by itself. "Tell me, Ms Dumbledore. Your arrival on the isles. Am I to understand that the Executors have declared war? Am I correct in my assumption that Africa is fair game now?" He smiled.
Agatha's nostrils flared. Her grip tightened around her wand. "I suggest you keep your efforts focused on one island."
"Or what?" he mocked.
"Or this war will not remain… civilized."
"I had no intention of this war ever being so." he laughed. "Ms. Dumbledore, if you insist, let us dance on a stage of blood."
"By all means." she let her wand swish through the air, her fangs showed as she roared her spell in the demonic tongues. "Sharamortoth!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
Putrid gas streamed from Agatha's wand, covering the pond and gardens, which rotted and wilted at it's touch at first. Vines of mould, and decaying branches shot out from the pond and earth around Voldemort, seeking to impale him. He dodged, a fire spell slowing the corrupted flora enough for him to get out of the pavilion.
Voldemort's Killing Curse flew towards her in breakneck speed. She jumped away, rolled and as her feet hit the ground she released a barrage of spells, one more explosive than the other, towards Voldemort.
What had been a beautiful garden mere seconds ago had transformed into a warped hellscape of fire and rot. Her spells were all dodged, except one that ended up cancelled by Voldemort mid-flight. The others missed, and behind the Dark Lord, a shed burst into a blinding explosion, three times as high as Malfoy Manor.
"You lack your father's grace." Voldemort mocked.
"We go to different parties." Agatha smiled, and drew a large circle in the air. Her eyes turned black, from her mouth black ooze streamed as she screamed into the skies "Balgaray!"
Thousands upon thousands of her imps flew through the portal cast into the sky, their chitters and screams an orchestra of the deep layers of hell, as they descended onto Voldemort.
He stretched out his wand, and from it's tip a snake of fire erupted, burning her imps to the last one. Black ooze rained down on him as her imps returned to the hells to regenerate. Her wand pointed at him, and there was but one spell she had in mind for the man. "Avada Kedavra!"
As fast as a whip, his wand flicked up and conjured a slab of stone from the pathway into the spell. It burst and shattered, shielding Voldemort from his demise.
"Crucio!"
"Dilaris!"
His torture curse shot at her, hitting right in her chest. Agatha fell to the ground, screaming in agony. Her entire body felt like it wanted to transform, to break every bone and reassemble them into something new. Something driven by pain. She felt her demonic nature rejoice, while her human side begged her to run, to stop, to make it stop.
Her own spell hit Voldemort with the force of an Erumpent horn exploding. He was hit straight on with cleansing energies, the like only seen by unicorns and angels themselves. He held his bleeding eyes, and ears, screaming in anger and pain, before vomiting up black iqor.
Finally, he let go of the Crucio curse, so she could see him writhing in pain from the magic trying to return his soul and body to it's origins. Parts of his body shrunk to the size of a baby's. His right hand and arm vanished into his robes, forcing him to change hand in order to cast a counterspell.
Agatha, still prone on the floor, aimed her wand and just unleashed a staccato of spells, one more destructive than the last.
Voldemort swung is wand, and a huge wall of earth shot up, separating the two. Suddenly the sky darkened, and from behind the wall, his form began flying up into the clouds and angry thunder.
"You believe me to be defeated this easily?"
Not really, Agatha thought, and made a note of her considerably better chances in this duel, than could've been expected. Voldemort was not at his top game, and it was obvious to Agatha that a major part of that was the weak body he commandeered.
But his rage… Oh, his rage was a thing of horrifying beauty. Agatha watched his silhouette against the sun, his wand moving with perfect precision, and his spellcasting a work of Art. In another world, Agatha would have jumped at the chance to be this man's student.
However, in this world, she raised her wand and conjured the mansion's shingles to form a material barrier around her. One more flick with the wand, and the shingles began to strategically place themselves in their line of sight.
She wasn't sure how to engage. Brute force didn't work against him, and neither did elegance. She was mulling through her options, stalking along the walls of Malfoy Manor, when she saw the smallest flicker of his eyes. Voldemort's wand moved towards the large, multi-story window. Agatha's head whipped around, and stared at the blond hair of Narcissa behind the glass.
Without thinking, Agatha flung the shingles over to Narcissa, and sent another spell to darken the glass, opening her own flank up. She knew she had lost, before it happened. "Aww, fuck." she pressed through her teeth, just as Voldemort jumped right onto the chance given to him.
It was just enough time for Agatha to turn her head and see the violet energies flying towards her. The impact, left of her torso, broke her ribcage. She felt the thin bones hold about as well as sticks against a sledgehammer. Her lungs, her heart, her stomach got compressed, and she felt herself be pushed through glass and stone, before all went dark.
Jeremy hated being on "brat duty", as the Aurors called the two poor recruits in charge of dealing with underage magic bursts around the country. Usually it was some muggleborn not yet in Hogwarts, that couldn't help and give their wand a first little whirl. Sometimes it were older students, either unaware of the restrictions, or pureblood brats that didn't care.
Jeremy agreed that the purebloods should be free to do magic in their houses whenever, but the law dictated that they at least had to check it out and reprimand the little snot nose.
Ingrid apparated in next to Jeremy. Other than him, she was eager to show that she didn't mind the menial tasks given to rookies. In fact, this time, she was even looking forward to it. They both walked up to Malfoy Manor, where underage magic had been detected, and prepared to deal with the worst, certified asshat the Ministry had to offer: Lucius Malfoy.
Jeremy dreaded getting into Malfoy's bad graces. Ingrid couldn't wait to write that pureblood supremacist a fat fine for his son's "summer studies".
"What 'd ya reckon he waved his wand around that much for, huh?" she asked Jeremy, who went over a list of the suspected spells cast by Draco Malfoy.
"Whatever. Whats more interesting is that they must've lowered their enchantments for us to see it. Why they did that is the real question." Jeremy folded the list back up, and touched the little bell. The silver gate twisted for them, and after little inspection, opened.
"Odd," he murmured.
"What d' ya mean?"
"People in mansions usually let you wait." Jeremy took a step forward, stopped, and listened. "Wand out." he commanded.
Both young Aurors drew their wands and readied themselves for whatever awaited them. Their steps carried them slowly up the pathway, with Jeremy listening to quite literally nothing. No wind, no chirps, not even the buzz of a bee.
"Now that ain't right," Ingrid whispered. "Got me som' bad feelin' in ma guts."
"You're right. Something is going on here." he pointed past the manor. "Smoke. There."
The moment their eyes met, the utter silence was broken by a deafening roar of some spell detonating. They could barely look back at the manor before seeing the body - the corpse? - of the Executor Dumbledore getting thrown through debris, glass shards and solid bricks. Her body crash-landed mere steps away from them. Immediately, the white granite pathway was painted a deep red from the Executor's blood. One of her horn was broken at the root, where now a gaping hole straight to the bone of her skull could be seen.
"What'n tarnation?!" Ingrid shouted.
"I don't know. I don't know. Damn." Jeremy tried to keep his breathing in check, and more so begged his mind to not imagine what could have done this to an Executor. His breath went fast and shallow, his limbs were shaking. "I- I- I-"
Ingrid pointed her wand at her own throat. "This is Ingrid Harrison. We have Executor down. I repeat: Executor down at Malfoy Manor. Requesting reinforcements immediately." With another flick, her patronus shot out of her wand. She watched the spectral bison for just the fraction of a second, and even then it was almost too long.
From the dust and smoke, like an angel of death, came a dark silhouette.
"No," Jeremy breathed out with barely a sound. His eyes were glued onto the white skinned, black robed figure in the sky. Wielding a bone-white wand, with a face like a snake, it could only be one man, but that was impossible, wasn't it? "It can't be."
"Aww, drat." Ingrid sighed, drew her wand at the figure, and prepared to defend the Executor. "I bet Tonks 10 galleons that Potter got it wrong."
"He's dead." Jeremy didn't listen to her. His knees gave in and he found himself helpless on the ground. His wand arm refused to lift, just like his entire body refused to move. "He's supposed to be dead."
"Well, he fuckin' ain't." Ingrid shouted. "Stand up and fight, ya coward."
She focused onto the figure; onto the Dark Lord Voldemort. She started giggling. Her mouth just started bubbling out giggles. She would die here. Within the next few seconds, she would be dead, and all her mouth could do was to start giggling.
What in her arsenal would do anything against Voldemort? Nothing, that's what. All she could hope for was a quick response unit hearing her Patronus, and her somehow holding out until they came.
Ingrid took a few steps forward, so she could stand over the Executor Dumbledore. The Tiefling was still taking ragged breaths. Her eyes; her entire face was flooded with blood, and her hands roamed aimlessly across the floor, searching for her wand. Never leaving Voldemort out of her sight, Ingrid kicked the wand made from red wood into the Executor's hands, hoping beyond hope that the Executor could find it in herself to stand up again.
Ingrid gulped. Voldemort hovered above her, and eyed her like a butcher eyed a cow. But she wasn't just cattle for the slaughter. She decided, right there, in the moment, that if she was going out, she would do so with a bang. "Well, I don' rightly know how ya'll do things 'round these parts, but where I come from we don't kick once they're down. You fight me, bucko."
Voldemort frowned down at them, but his eyes lingered on Agatha Dumbledore, utterly ignoring the young Auror shouting up at him. Slowly he hovered down, closer to the ground. His wand pointed at Agatha, but no spell came. Ingrid wasn't sure what was happening, but she kept her wand trained on the Dark Lord.
"I underestimated you, Executor." his voice was like silk, but cutting like razorblades. The sort of voice that resonated within one. "Avada Kedavra!"
From the hip, Ingrid summoned a few ready made steel plates, and sent it into the trajectory of the Killing Curse. Shrapnel and burning hot slag exploded into her face, as the plate took the full brunt of the curse.
At the same time, Ingrid heard the sounds of apparition behind her. Shouts and commands could be heard, with one voice especially loud amongst them. Ingrid turned around, and saw not only the on-duty reinforcement, but also Kingsley Shacklebolt, Joeffrey Savage and Director Bones.
All in all, around two dozen Aurors stood at the edge of the grounds of Malfoy Manor, gazing in horror at the dead man walking right before their eyes.
The still crumbling Malfoy Manor behind them was the only thing heard as the battlefield waited for someone to make a move.
Ingrid didn't expect to hear a cackle from below her.
Agatha had her wand tight in her grasp, her mind stopped swirling from the impact, and the pain all over her body dulled. She heard the apparitions behind her, and knew her plan had worked.
The tip of her wand followed Voldemort, aiming through the legs of the Auror so bravely, so foolishly, standing there to protect her. Through the aftermath of his killing curse Voldemort saw her moving her wand. It made him think, hold, and take in his situation.
She couldn't help herself. She started cackling and giggling like a little girl that had stolen a cookie. Even through the haze of her concussion, she could see the face of Voldemort, as it slowly sank in for him how much she had played him.
Oh, she couldn't get enough of it. His jaw tensed, his nostrils flared, and the deep red eyes of his glowered at her with the promise of death.
She rolled over, to get a hand onto the ground. With the rest of her strength, she pushed herself up into a kneeling position. One of her eyes was swollen shut, the other one burning from the blood and dirt in it. Her entire head felt off balance, due to one of her horns missing. Hundreds of tiny to large cuts had turned her robes into a heap of rags, soaked through with blood. It was merely her natural resilience that had allowed her to be literally pushed through a building and survive.
She spat out some blood. "Only one thing left to do, Voldemort." she cackled again, and with the most mocking voice she could still muster she proclaimed: "Kneel. Be shackled. Be judged. Disobey my command, and you will find yourself delivered to your gods. By the authority of the Confederation, I offer you justice or death."
Voldemort smiled, with it never meeting his furious eyes. He eventually ripped his gaze from Agatha and onto the large group of Aurors all pointing their wands at him, most still not believing what they're seeing. "I recognize when I lost a fight. Well fought. Enjoy it. It will be your last victory in this war, Executor."
With that, he swirled his wand, and even though dozens of spells were suddenly unleashed upon him, he was gone in the cover of black smoke and shadows. The Auror's spells hit the still standing walls of Malfoy Manor and turned it into slag.
Agatha sank into herself until just her bones and sinew locking kept her kneeling upright. Her hand touched around her body, and she felt her thoroughly broken ribs, her head got concussed heavily, and most of her body was severely bruised. She felt like a dragon had chewed and spit her out, and that was with a Voldemort in weakened condition. "Bloody hell," she murmured, imagining what Voldemort must've been like as an opponent in his prime. Her father hadn't exaggerated.
She felt arms lifting her up, and three wands simultaneously starting to work on her wounds.
"No, no, get off." she swatted the wands away, and stumbled out of the circle of Aurors around her. All she wanted was to get home and have Styx patch her up, but alas, it would not be that easy. She saw a furious looking Madame Bones walk towards her with purpose.
"I hope you have a very good explanation for this, Executor! What happened here?"
"Well, I tried to visit a student. Draco Malfoy." she coughed again, blood shooting out of her mouth. "The Malfoy's had a guest, you see."
"I-" Bones began, but choked. She swallowed, steeled herself by righting her posture, then spoke again. "He Who must not be Named. He is- He is back?"
"Whatever he is now, but yes, Voldemort is back." Agatha nodded, her expression grim, but she really had to police the edges of her mouth to keep them from smiling. "Still hits like a freight train, but he is definitely not what he was in the last war, by all accounts. Something's off."
"We'll get to the bottom of this." Bones grabbed her shoulder, and truly focused onto Agatha's blood smeared face. "Executor... no, Professor Dumbledore. Go home. Tomorrow I'll send Tonks and Shacklebolt to take your statement." Then Bones leaned in closer, so she could whisper into Agatha's ear. "Do not pull a stunt like this again. We got enough witnesses now. Leave this to the DMLE, and stand down. Next time I catch you going rogue, I'll send you to your cousins in Azkaban, understood?"
"Understood," Agatha answered. Fine by her, if she was honest. Her prime directive was to defend Hogwarts, anyway. "But one more thing, Director."
"Yes?"
Agatha pointed at the young Auror that had defended her with her life against Voldemort. "This one challenged Voldemort to a duel to protect me; called him bucko. That's some Mad-Eye level stuff. For what it's worth, I think you should keep a close eye on her, Director."
Bone simply raised an eyebrow at the now furiously blushing Auror.
"I did that, didn' I?" She looked like she was about to keel over. Some of her colleagues held her as the sheer, mercyless reality of what she had just done sank in, forcing her to the ground. "Golly," she mumbled to herself.
"Didn't know you recruited from Ilvermorny." Agatha righted herself, ready to disapparate next to Bones.
"No real choice. Too few are suitable that come from Hogwarts." Then the Director grabbed onto Agatha's tattered robes. Light, but still pulling her a bit. "I mean it, Dumbledore. Stay out of this. I'll be in touch, should we need Executors in the field."
"You needed them months ago. Don't hesitate to ask for help, you insufferably proud Brit."
"It's not me that needs convincing." Bones hissed with lowered voice. "But maybe now somebody who needs it will listen."