"Marshmallow. Move!"
Agatha had no patience for the gargoyle's antics. The more she thought about their findings as they walked up to Hogwarts, the faster her feet carried her. Horcrux. If it was true, and she was sure they had done their investigator's work with all due diligence, then Voldemort was an entirely different enemy than the ICW, and especially the Executor's Corps assumed. She wasn't sure if she wanted her father to know all along, or be as surprised as they were.
If he knew, then he had overstepped his authority as Supreme Mugwump severely by not letting anyone know. If he didn't, it meant that Voldemort was more adept at cloak and dagger operations than they had all assumed him to be. Only the gods would be able to tell what else he had done in the dark, then. There was plenty of horror and terror to choose from out there, after all.
The gargoyle hadn't even fully stepped aside, when Tonks and Agatha climbed up the stairs of the tower.
"En-"
Agatha didn't wait for pleasantries before she threw open the door.
"-ter." Albus sat behind his desk, one hand holding a cup of sweet smelling tea, the other an extravagant peacock quill.
There were many things and guests Agatha had expected to meet in the headmaster's office. Her father was a busy man, with many seeking his advice and expertise. Yet, Agatha almost fell backwards down the stairs when she saw Maximillian Stravos in the headmaster's office.
Maximilian was a handsome man in his forties. Hair with white streaks at the side, a well cared for short beard and robes that framed a well-trained body. Illusion, of course. Maximilian was as real as Tonk's disguise as Thirteen. His presence was, no doubt, meant as an insult to both the headmaster as well as Agatha herself.
"Just on time, Agatha, dearest." The gravel in Maximillian's voice slowly turned to a feminine, rasping one. His body morphed, as did the clothing, and before long there stood a vision of lust, passion and forbidden pleasures. Black hair, pooling to the low of her back, and bound around two great, straight horns, crowning the ever salacious face. Anes'Rath, in her most alluring form as a succubus was a sight not many could behold while remaining in control of their senses.
In fact, Agatha held Tonk's shoulder, who had already started to kneel before the touch shook her out of her daze. The metamorph swayed, and shook her head to regain her senses. Without a word, Tonks stumbled back to the very far end of the room, where she sat down in an armchair, escaping from the thrall of a devil's presence. She writhed in her seat, shoving back and forth, clearly not knowing what to do with her bodies longing screams for the monster in their midst.
Agatha held Tonk's gaze for a bit, until she was sure the metamorph could keep it in her pants. It wouldn't be the first time she had people, sometimes literally, salivate over her mum at first sight. Once she saw Tonks control herself and avert her gaze, she returned to her parents.
She enjoyed one part of meeting her mother. There was something animalistic in the air when two devils met, even if one was but half. The hells had an undeniable hierarchy, forged in hellfire, bound by blood on parchment made from human skin on millions of contracts eternal. Yet, every time two devils met, there still was tension in the air, ready to explode into violence at the slightest provocation. Agatha barred her fangs, tensed her muscles and gathered black fog around her. It was a sign of emancipation; of independence from her command and survival of her care. Agatha hoped that the grin she gave her was mocking enough. "Mother. What an unpleasant surprise. What could possibly bring you here?"
"You, of course, darling. I had…"
"Give it." Agatha held out her hand, and her voice made clear that she had no intention of playing games. "I know they don't snitch, which means you caught one of my imps. Why else would you know I would come? I want it back."
"That is not how it works, dear."
"That is how you'll make it work, or we're gonna have that special kind of discussion again." Agatha growled, her voice quickly falling into the deep rumble of a hellish beast. She built herself up, and leaned close to Anes'Rath's ear. "And up here, I'm holding all the cards. I will crucify you, salt your wounds and dance in the rain of your blood, and you know I make good on my word."
"Oh my, you pottymouth." Anes'Rath playfully slapped her, while she summoned a black ooze with a cracked cat-skull on top of it, on the other hand, and placed it on Agatha's shoulders. "Don't you worry, darling, I haven't forgotten last time. You always had more of your uncles in you. All rage, no grace."
"Last time…?!" Tonks blurted out, only to blush a deep red the moment Anes'Rath had her eyes on her again.
"Oh, how droll, you got yourself one of those hag child-replacement things. Which pox-stricken monster did you get it from?"
"She is a metamorph, not a doppelganger."
The succubus rolled her eyes with a flourish. "Same difference. Nevermind your little changeling friend, though. I'm here..."
"Meta. Morph."
"...because you've been naughty. Why, the amount of complaints I got. 'Anes, keep your child on a leash. Anes, look what your mongrel did. Anes, you should have killed her in the womb.' Yadda yadda, you know how they are."
Agatha leaned over to get a better look at her father. Albus Dumbledore seemed calm, but she could feel him cooking under his skin. The prominent hand still held the cup of tea, and his face was as casually jovial as so often. However, his off-hand twirled his wand, and his eyes were focused entirely on Anes'Rath's neck, no doubt imagining how it would look turned. "What is this really about?" she demanded.
Without averting his murderous gaze, he answered. "The Mother Veela has a complaint, it seems. Instead of bringing it to me, or Merlin forbid, you directly, she has decided to contact the hells."
"The Mother Veela? Is this about Fleur? What did you do!?" Agatha's face was doused in black for just a moment, before she burst forth, pushing her mother back with but her will and aggression alone. Her hand shot out, grabbing the succubus by the neck.
Anes'Rath just laughed in reply. "So it is true?" she mocked, "My little imp has a weak spot for the nymph? Oh, what did she do? Sing you a lullaby? Nessus preserve me, you'd lick a hellboar's feet if it'd give you a pat on the head. Pathetic."
"Speak plainly, or suffer." Agatha's voice echoed from the walls, as pure, white burning hatred pooled in her chest and her claws tightened around her mother's neck.
"Ugh, the dramatics. Can't you…" Anes'Rath didn't finish. Her upper skull was pushed into the wall. Agatha's fist, smoking from her bodies fire, left a dent and burn marks in the stone behind her, with her arm, covered in brain and bones, stuck in the hole through the devil's head.
"Rude." The still somewhat intact mouth of Anes'Rath slurred.
With a shrug, Agatha let the body slump to the floor, where it immediately began to reform into the healthy and complete body of Anes'Rath. However, gone was the attitude. All that was left was a devil who had once again been reminded that there was no respect to be expected from her halfling offspring. "Alright, have it your way, brat. It is simple. The Mother Veela, as well as the Marquise Delacour, demand that you keep your distance. Otherwise, well… you know nymphs. Prolonged enslavement, terrific torture, horrific death."
"Sure," Agatha shrugged. "Let them try their luck."
"So brave," Anes'Rath mocked her. "But hear me, diaboli humilis. I do not enjoy the stink of Fey, least of all when they disturb me in my own domain. Find yourself some humans to serve you, like your sisters, and keep your hands off Veela."
"She isn't even a full one."
Anes'Rath groaned, and rolled her eyes as if she had just heard the dumbest thing anyone had ever said to her. "The mortal realm truly rots a brain. Veela is not a matter of birth, it is a matter of want. And Agatha, my brutish, unrefined, naive disappointment, your little nymph whore being quarter tells you that she, indeed, kinda wants to control your sorry existence; kinda wants people lining up to worship her, fantasize over her, do the most rotten things to themselves just to please her. She wants control, and you mongrel in heat can't wait to give it to her, isn't that so?" With a flick of her hand Anes'Rath conjured a tight collar around Agatha's neck, and janked on the leash attached to it. "A little gift for the fey-whore. Who knows, maybe she can trill some obedience into you."
Anes'Rath hissed when she felt Agatha's wand, drawn in the blink of an eye, burning with the beginnings of an exorcism spell, at her neck. Just as the succubus had lost her joking mood, so did Agatha's voice lack any tone of banter, or mercy. "Begone, mother. Your message has been received, understood and will hereafter be ignored."
"I didn't expect anything else, but duties are just that. I'm looking forward to seeing you enjoy the well deserved consequences of your ill-advised actions."
"Anes, if you would please leave my office." Albus now placed his wand on the desk, tip pointing towards the devil, his former love. "Now."
"Oh, no need to hurry, Albus, darling. I was about to go." she said as she stepped back towards the door. "Just one more thing?"
"By Bezzlebub's balls, what?!" Agatha shouted at her.
"Your father knows about the soul-splitter…"
"Anes'rath," Albus tried to interrupt her, but to no avail.
"There is a shack in Little Hangleton. Gaunt family. Your father wants that ring, so painfully bad. It's as pathetic as it is hilarious. Cheerio!" She vanished in a cloud of ashes and cinder, just before Albus' spell would have hit her. The splatter of holy light met the wall, instead, and left oddly rune-like burn marks behind.
Both Dumbledores glared at the burn mark, both wishing the spell would have hit. Not that it would have killed the succubus, but it would have made returning to the hells a lot more painful. Few creatures on this planet could anger Albus Dumbledore to the point of deadly violence, and Anes'rath was an expert at it.
"Worst. Family. Ever." Tonks whispered, yet it may as well have been a shout in the oppressive silence.
"Isn't that right." Agatha said, but her attention was on the imp on her shoulders. The little one was in dire straits, with its little cat skull cracked by her mother's hand. She stroked over it with her thumb, casting a small repairing charm on it. With the crack healing, so did the black ooze take on form as a black foggy cat again. It nestled itself around her neck, and let itself fall prey to exhaustion. "We're talking, later." she said before leaving the imp to its rest.
Tonks was her next checkbox to mark. Not only did she learn about the depths and depravities of necromancy today, she also got unfiltered, unbound succubus energies mixing and stirring her senses without much warning. "Are you quite alright, Tonks? She can be… a lot, the first time."
"Yes, yeah, absolutely, I'm… I…" Tonks shook her head again. She felt around her body, as if looking for a wound, and shuddered when she touched even so much as close to between her legs. "Truth be told, and I'm sorry Professor, but I have never been so horny in my life. I didn't know it could hurt to be. Bloody hell."
"Pleasures have a tendency of becoming pain at their peak. Anes'rath is nothing if not the epitome of physical pleasure, given form. It will subside, with some time, and in my personal experience, a good brandy." Albus stood, and with but a wave of his hand, opened a globe in the back of his office. Taking three glasses, and a deep bronze bottle of brandy, he came in front of his desk. The glasses hovered into their hands, and the bottle followed shortly after. Once everyone had their drinks, he allowed himself to sit back onto his desk. "To your health," he toasted, and necked the entire glass in one go, only to have the bottle fill it a second time.
"So, about what she said." Agatha sipped her brandy.
"Which part?"
"All of them, one by one, if you'd be so kind as to indulge me. Why was mother here? What by Merlin is going on with Fleur, and what exactly did she mean with a soul splitter ring you want to get your hands on?"
"Where to begin?" Albus wondered. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. His wrinkled face scrunched together even more, small thinking folds becoming deep valleys of worry. "Anes'rath came here, claiming you were on your way and that she had a message for you."
"That much she said," Agatha gestured for him to hurry along. "What didn't she say?"
"The Hells have some interest in the affairs of magical Britain, it seems. Whom better than Anes' to assess our own stakes in those affairs?" Albus' worried face then changed to a small, honest smile. "The Mother Veela worries about her flock, of course. I doubt that she would take steps as drastic as Anes' prophesied. The Marquise, however." he left the rest unspoken.
"Her great-grandmother? Correct?"
"Great-great-grandmother." Albus corrected. "She is a rather famous puritan. Or should I say in-famous? Veela taking humans for procreation or thralls is acceptable by her, but if she ever suspects genuine feelings she is known to apply some, how she put it, corrective measures."
"What you're saying is that I have to expect a Veela tribe to come for me at some point?"
"I dare not wager a guess. You will have to consult your housemate on the matter."
"That might be for the best." Agatha agreed. "If I can get a hold of her, that is. She hasn't returned, and I had expected her to never do. Yet, here we are, with a Veela matriarch apparently angry about a relationship I don't even know about myself."
"Ah, young love," Albus chuckled.
"Father…" Agatha warned. She was not in the mood for his jovial quips, especially not when it was a personal matter. "Our most 'romantic' encounter was me almost making minced meat out of her head."
"Agatha, dear. Why should you be the first Dumbledore to experience an unusual romance? Hardship and challenge have always followed our family's line when it came to matters of the heart."
"I felt like having a devil as a mum was enough for one fate." She couldn't help but chuckle herself, shaking her head at the madness of her life. The brandy was a welcome distraction. What a day it had been. What a week. What a month.
"Professor, it's not like I'm not interested in Agatha's love life, but her mum did say something about a soul-splitter." Tonks had long since emptied the glass of brandy, yet she still held onto the empty tumbler, twisting and turning it in her hand, while the rest of her remained calm. "Horcrux, I assume, is more accurate?"
"Voldemort has a Horcrux in a ring and hid it in his grandfather's shack." Agatha summarized. "Is that about right? Don't lie, we figured it out by ourselves. Ardelean gave us plenty of puzzle pieces. We're seeing the image, just not the full one."
Albus remained silent. He slowly walked to the window overlooking the Black Lake, and held out his hand. "Fawkes," he whispered, and in the blink of an eye, the golden flames of the Phoenix filled the room with light as he settled down on Albus' hand.
The phoenix nudged the headmaster with his head, and Albus visibly relaxed. His shoulders sank, as he leaned onto the windowsill. Breath by breath, he steadied himself back up. "I am becoming too advanced in my years for such excitement."
"Let us help, then." Agatha took a step closer. She saw the red rings under his eyes, the hanging skin, and utter lack of energy. The trilling song of Fawkes steadied his hands, which lightly shook with exhaustion or simply age.
His eyes stared into nothing, but his mind raced. She knew that look well enough. Well enough to know that he would speak and be heard in his own time.
"You are both oath bound to the Confederacy, are you not?" his quiet voice asked.
"I'm an Executor, of course I am."
"Dissimutors are sworn in as well, you know that though, professor."
"He asks, because he wants to remind us." Agatha said.
"Correct," Albus gave them a tired smile when he turned back to his desk. Fawkes perched up on the headmaster's chair, while Albus let himself sink heavily into the cushions. "Know that what I am about to reveal to you is classified at the highest order of secrecy. Once you are brought into the fold, you are not just bound by oath, but bound by your honour and good name, your standing within the confederacy and the world of magic as a whole."
In the eerie silence that followed his words, Albus reached around his neck, and pulled a necklace's chain to reveal a medallion of gold and amber, shining with a dull light.
She felt her heart skip a beat in shock. Agatha had seen such a medallion one time in her life. One of five medallions the Oath of the Confederacy was bound to. "Before you hold that up, remember the final decree of the oath."
"If an order causes the warrior to abandon the Oath, he must refuse it." Albus recited. "To the commander he must go and refuse them to their face, and if he is denied, he must refuse once more and strike him down for their misconduct, so the rot be cleansed where it begins. Honour guide us within and without, in darkness as in light. Sworn are we to word and wand, and bound are we to use them in the name of magic, or perish by their might."
"I asked this because I want you to remember. We have our differences, but I do not want to have to kill you, father."
"Wait, wait, wait," Tonks jumped up from her seat to look both Dumbledores in the eyes, following their stare into each other's. "That's not just some old line?"
"No," Albus shook his head. "In fact, should I lose the way, and you would not strike me down, you would be seen as accomplices, and liquidated too."
"To imagine all I wanted to do today was sort through my laundry…" Tonks mumbled.
"Please, you two, take a seat." he gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk, while an off-handed twirl of his wand summoned the brandy glasses and filled them again. Once both of them sat, and gave him their full attention, he spoke with a heavy voice. "I invoke the oath, because what I am about to tell you can be seen as the culmination of my life's work, and especially my failures. I have told no one else, except for Babajide. He has sworn this oath to me so he would continue the fight, should I fail. However, failing may come with a price none of us are ready to pay."
Agatha and Tonks sat on the beach, on a comfy blanket Styx had brought out for them. They looked out towards the scottish mountains, gleaming silver with the light of the moon, with a perfect mirror image of them on the calm surface of the Black Lake. The silence between them was heavy, loaded with the burden of knowledge, and the heavy weight of responsibility.
Agatha's mind raced, as she pondered the charge they more or less demanded of her father. In hindsight, it seemed preposterous that they would barge into this grand strategy as they did. Her fists clenched just thinking about Harry's fate in it all. What a wretched life. Cursed with prophecy even before he was born. She wasn't sure what the lesser cruelty was, between him knowing and him being blissfully ignorant of the high probability that he wouldn't make it to twenty.
Born to kill another, or die trying. It was a perversion of life in and of itself. One more bit of evidence that suggested that the cosmic powers that be were, at best, indifferent. Fate merely demanded a sacrifice. Which head rolled was of little consequence for the greater balance.
Somehow, it seemed Fate wanted it to be Harry, in any case. Her father had insisted on many secrets, but he ordered them both to not reveal the most horrific truth to the boy. They would abide, but Agatha would not interfere were he to find out himself. If he sought his destiny, no one had the right to deny him. If he could figure out that he carried the darkest of dark magic with him; the very essence of his mortal enemy, a horcrux of Voldemort, then he would be ready to bear that burden anyway.
"We're off the clock now?" Tonks stared into the wide mountain ranges, arms crossed.
"We were never on it. This isn't an hourly gig."
"Aces," she spat out with a tone that was either venom or sarcasm. Agatha couldn't tell. What she could tell was the distinct aroma of ghastgrass coming from a well rolled smoke. Tonks closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She turned it left and right, making her neck crack each time, until she exhaled with a long, suffering sigh.
Agatha grabbed deep into her bottomless pockets, fishing for one of her own pipes. After a bit of back and forth, she produced a long, curved pipe of blackened wood. "You got some of that extra?"
"Here," Tonks arm vanished in her own pouch. Out came a snitch-sized ball of dried herbs. "Mum's special variety."
Soon enough, she too blew a cloud of smoke towards the moon. The prickly feeling of ghastgrass slowly softened out, and with it, softened the edges of her many worries. Her racing mind, jumping from one problem to the other, from Voldemort to Harry, to her mother and Fleur, to the kids and the poachers, the hunt to come and those it would prevent, slowed and steadied.
For a moment, Agatha allowed herself to just watch the moon-silver glimmer on the mountain's rocks. Just for a moment, the here and now took centre stage. She felt her lungs fill with smoke, and the tickle of it as she blew it out of her nose. She felt her jaw crack, as the tension loosened. Tensing and loosening her muscles like a wave across her body made the many joints crack that were still sore from the morning. Even in her tail, each of the vertebrae popped a little as she let it swing around.
"We're partners now, reckon?" Tonks kept looking out onto the lake, smoke lazily wandering up her face. "When do we hit the shack?"
"Tomorrow, or the day after? I don't know, yet. Soon." Agatha rubbed her eyes to ward off the exhaustion. With the tension leaving her body, so did much of her high-strung energy. "We have to expect the worst, including a possessed Supreme Mugwump wiping the floor with us to get to the ring. That means we need an archmage-proof plan of extraction."
"Sounds like the perfect garnish to finding and destroying the peak of the Art of necromancy. Oh well, at least we're not the one with a prophecy on our head, eh?" Tonks hurled a small rock against a grindylow's head that peaked out from the reeds. The poor critter yelped and squinted its eyes before slowly sinking down into the black waters. "Poor kid. Being bound by fate to a guy like You-Know-," she sighed, took a deep breath and continued, "a guy like Voldemort."
"Fate bound," Agatha whispered, thinking about the mess of a life Harry Potter led. "It's an interesting thing, a prophecy. Every story, every legend, teaches us that prophecy is open to interpretation, at least. So, I wonder, who interprets it how?"
"By who you mean Lilytrix, don't ya?"
"Lilytrix," Agatha snorted a laugh. "But yes, I wonder how she interpreted it when my father told the Potters. Other than him, or James, she would probably see opportunity more than the warning. The question is, what could one do with the magical power of a prophecy? Was the splitter in Harry part of a plan, or an accident?"
"Didn't Arikazael say he suspects her in Sakha? Hags are fateweavers, aren't they?"
Agatha nodded slightly as she mulled over Tonk's suggestion. It made sense, in that often vague and undefined way in which magic could make sense. At the very least, the hags would be knowledgeable about that specific, esoteric sort of magic that was held and studied down in the Department of Mysteries. The problem was, though, that nothing came free with hags. Nothing. "If we're going to Sakha, we could also consider asking my uncle. He'd make a similar deal; similar price for the information, and there is no secret he doesn't know."
"Do I want to know who your uncle is? I assume on your mother-side, given that introduction."
"Mephistopheles. Lord of the eighth layer of hell, and…"
"Ayeee, lets not." Tonks's eyes were so wide, she looked like she had just seen Agatha's uncle. "Your mum is quite enough, thank you so much."
Agatha gave the metamorph a once over. Just mentioning Anes'rath was enough to put the blush back on her face. "You know, people tell me they feel better once they got it out of their system."
"Out of my system?" Tonks pumped her eyebrows at her. "You offering, Miss Dumbledore? What would Fleur say?"
"I'm offering. Just not what you think."
"Oh, and what exactly are you offering?"
"Remember that my mother mentioned my sisters?" Agatha grinned at her. "I could summon one for you, that I get along with."
"You're takin' the piss, aren't you?"
"I am not." She shrugged. "They're actually quite nice, for devils. Reasonable. From time to time I help them with overly clingy demonologists, and in turn they owe me favours. Just one warning: you may come to like it."
Agatha stared at Tonks. Tonks stared at Agatha. Agatha chuckled when she saw Tonks really arguing with herself about it. She had seen it a few times by now, either because even Agatha's slight allure did them in, or because people were unfortunate enough to have a run in with her mother. The unnatural arousal, the forced longing, it needed a valve, or it would linger for weeks.
"I'm not paying my soul for that, do I?"
"Not at all. I ask for a favour owed. That's it."
"I can't bring a succubus to my flat."
"Guest rooms, first floor."
"Damn you, Dumbledore." Tonks blush was as red as a tomato. "If this will help, hook me up with your sister."
"-s. Sister-s, if you want. I have a few of…"
"Just summon one, bloody hell." Tonks shoved her playfully, laughing at the cheeky grin Agatha gave her. "This is already embarrassing enough."
"It's just sex," Agatha waved off. Taking one last, deep drag of her pipe, she stood and pulled Tonks right up with her. "Let's not do that outside, though. What would the neighbours think?"
"Yeah, the neighbours, that's my problem with this."
Agatha had charmed and enchanted the first floor to have a few guest rooms, carved into the foundling like small granite caves. Styx then came along and equipped it all with a large, yet simple bed, surrounded by just an old three-legged stool, a desk and a cupboard. Simple, yet elegant in their solid wood design.
The moment they entered, candles in small carved alcoves began to shine with soft, orange hues, reflected by the perfectly polished granite backsides of the alcoves.
"Guest room?" Tonks teased. "Reserved for your special guests?"
"It's not my love cave, if that is what you're suggesting. I have a bed." Agatha said, while starting to draw the necessary summoning circle onto the floor, with but a few twists of her index finger. "You will be the first to use it, actually. We haven't had guests."
Tonks sat down on the matrace and bounced around on it a bit, as if to test the softness of it. Her eyes focused on the slowly building summoning circle. Her nerves were laid bare, blushing and slightly morphing around with anxiety.
"If you're unsure, I can stop." Agatha held her work for a moment, with the light of the runes made of hellish cinder hanging in the air, giving her devilish features even more prominence.
"I feel like some desperate prick waving galleon-pouches around in Knockturn."
"I'll forgive the slight. But please refrain from equating succubi of the most hallowed Gardens of Flesh to easy women on the Alley." Agatha kept drawing the runes in the air. The air became hotter, but just below unbearable. The moisture was rising to the edge of uncomfortable. Just enough to tease the pain. "My relationship with my mother's family is difficult, but I do see them as siblings, and they do see me as their youngest sister. I didn't make this offer because I thought all you needed was a good fuck. I made it because I know, to make this go away quickly, you need a succubus."
"I… " Tonks fell back onto the matrace, staring at the roughly sanded granite ceiling. "Sorry, I didn't mean to insult your sisters. It's just… well…"
"You'd prefer for someone with a hairy monthly problem to take care of it, don't you?"
"Bullseye… I think. I don't know." Tonks spread out over the matrace like a starfish. She sighed with frustration. "Truth be told, I think I've had some sort of personal revelation today I wasn't ready for in that regard."
"Pray tell,"
"Not much to tell. It just got mighty grey, is all."
"Ah, nuance. The death of decisiveness." Agatha's arm and fingers danced in front of her. The circle was almost complete, and the fires of hell already licked across the hovering runes and geometries. She stopped for a moment, pondering whom exactly she should bring to the mortal realm. Succubi and-or Incubi didn't just have one hunting method, or, as the mortals would say, type. Grinning at Tonks, she asked her. "Decisiveness and all, what sort of itch would you like scratched?"
"The itch. The one your mum graced me with." Tonks shuddered and clawed into the bedsheets, releasing some of the tension in a shaky breath. "This is bonkers. I'm not even saying her name, for Merlin's sake. She barely glanced at me."
"Hmm," None of that helped her much, but if she wouldn't decide, Agatha could take care of that for her. Just like one would pair something sweet with something salty to balance it out, Agatha thought of someone rather sweet to lift the metamorph's spirits. With a quick swirl of her fingers, the last bit of Infernal was written in the air.
For a moment the temperature rose to that of a raging fire, just to be gone the next, when from the runes, a small rectangular frame materialised. It grew in size, until a man with the mass of Hagrid would be able to pass through it.
"Vox! Looking delicious as ever."
"Little Agatha, calling on little old Voxtaran? Who needs a good killing, darling?" From the portal, icy fog streamed into the room, flash-freezing the moisture to become snow. Towering even over Agatha, Voxtaran made a show of "clothing" herself in icy fog, just translucent enough to almost see her pale, white body. The bit of actual clothing she wore was a broad band of black fabric, attached to her horns, framing her perfect angular face, and streaming down the sides of her. Front and back were, as always, bare and open for perusal. Her completely red eyes met Agatha's, but quickly enough she smelled the mortal in the room, and gave Tonks all her attention. "Oh, someone new? Please, excuse my manners." She bowed deep, and as she came back up, arced her body to show all she had to offer. "The name is Voxtaran. Vox, for friends of Agatha. The pleasure will be all yours, I'm sure." she finished with a wink.
"Vox here is one of my oldest sisters." Agatha held out her arms, as if she was welcoming Vox to the stage. "Born during the Bronze Age, Vox has quite a repertoire."
"Ah-ah, little one. Before we proceed,..."
"So formal today, but alright." Agatha cleared her throat. "A favour for a favour. Your debt will be forgiven." The short incantation was all it needed. The faintest of devilish magic sparked between the two and vanished, and a pact was fulfilled. One favour owed, one favour about to be paid.
Vox just gave her the smallest of nods, before a predatory grin stretched across her face, fangs showing in the light of the candles, and she once more focused entirely on Tonks. "Mmmh, such delicious agony. You look like you've seen more of us sisters, haven't you?"
"She met our mother, actually." Agatha answered for Tonks, as she began to make her way out of the room.
Tonks shivered, but kept absolutely still on the bed, otherwise. She, too, stared at Vox. Her eyes were glued to the succubus like a magnet to steel. "I did. I'm Tonks. Hi." she mumbled, while her head began to blush deep red again.
"Mother? Oh dear, you poor thing. You must hurt, all over." Vox sprung with unnatural speed, up to straddle Tonks. Her finger traced Tonk's jaw, down her jugular and ever so slowly further down. "Tell Vox where you hurt the most, little witch. I'll kiss it better."
The last thing Agatha heard before she closed the door was a small whimper from Tonks, and a gleeful giggle from her sister. She hit the door with a quick Silencing charm, and after a moment of consideration, a few detection charms. It wouldn't do to have Tonks die of exhaustion or such nonsense.
Walking down to the kitchen, Agatha kept repeating in her head that she did the right thing. Tonks would prefer this over weeks of Legilimencer sessions. Who wouldn't?
She poured herself a small bit of wine, and found herself pondering it more than drinking it. Thousands of issues freely came in and out of her head, moving and mixing into nonsensical conclusions. She was tired, she noticed while observing the moon slowly making its way across the firmament. She'd have to run some 96 hours days using the Hogwarts timeturners again, if she ever wanted to finish with her students. Such a meaningless task, it seemed, compared to the threat of a new form of necromancy, invented by a mad tyrant.
She ended up sitting on the couch, watching the Black Lake, again. The glass with most of the wine still in it, stood forgotten on the table. She gazed out onto the small waves washing to shore. In and out. Like her breath, a slow and steady movement. Every time a thought came over her, she focused on the waves. Calm. There would be time for more worries tomorrow.
She curled her finger, and one of the windows opened. Fresh air streamed into the library living room. The sounds of soft waves over a gravel beach were like a lullaby, humming her to sleep.
The next moment, screams, crashes and breaking glassware shattered the serenity she had mustered.
Opening her eyes, it took her a few blinks to realize that the light she saw was the early morning sun. It didn't feel like she had slept, at all, but the sun didn't lie.
"Agatha!" she heard Vox shout at her. Vox, who should have been gone hours ago, if it truly was the early morning. Agatha's hazy mind still debated the evidence.
"Agatha! Tame your nymph, or I'll do it for you!"
Nymph? Agatha whirled around on the couch, to look over the backrest. Just as Vox claimed, there she was. Perfect blonde hair, perfect sculpted face, impeccable style, even in cursebreaking clothes, Fleur. She had her wand drawn, and Agatha knew that angered face from her first day as her housemate.
Vox, meanwhile, hung on conjured ropes in the air, trying to get free.
"I swear, she isn't staying." Agatha hopped over the couch, rubbed her eyes to get the sleep out, and came to stand between Fleur's wand and Vox. "She's my sister."
"Sister?" Fleur gave Vox a confused look. Agatha followed. "Oh, well… sibling, currently? Vox, what is going on with your body?"
"Ha!" Vox gave up freeing herself, and just embraced the ropes like a burlesque dancer. "I've forgotten my name up there a few times, Asmodeus help me if I know how this hull is supposed to look at this point, sister dearest. But in any case, I would like to get some refreshments for my charge, and then make haste to get back up. So, may I first get down? Pretty please."
"Fleur. Gently, please." Agatha still saw her hesitating. "I'll explain. Just let them down."
"Very well," she waved her wand once, releasing the spell with precision. Vox was spun around by the ropes, and set down softly on the floor. Yet, she kept the wand pointed at them. "You said 'your nymph'. What did you mean?"
"It is the great gossip around the Pleasures and Vices. How couldn't it be after that scene your Mother Veela made? The Veela and the Tiefling. Scandalous. I love it."
"Ze Mother Veela waz in the hells?" Fleur's wand-hand began to shake with rising fury. "I spoke to her in confidence! I wanted guidance, not… not zis!"
"Ah," Agatha nodded. "That explains a few things. I got mighty confused for a moment when my mother told me I have a romantic relationship."
"Merde," Fleur slapped her hands over her face, mumbling into them in a more and more panicked tone.
"This is getting too emotional for me. You'll excuse me, I shall attend to my current physical relationship." Vox grabbed a carafe of water from the kitchen's bar. She began to make her way up the stairs, past a fast spiralling Fleur, when Agatha stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"You haven't…" Agatha's worried eyes were all the question Vox needed.
"Of course not, darling. A deal is a deal. I'll leave her soul alone. But, dearie, as long as she is up for it, her body is mine."
"That good?"
"Metamorphs are my new favourite. No contest." Vox sighed dramatically, one hand stroking Agatha's chin, leaving a light tingling feeling on her jaw. "I suppose a thank you is in order? It's rare, after millenia, to find new things, you know? I know my obligation was over hours ago, but would you be alright having me as guest for a tad longer, dear?"
"I suppose. If Tonks is…"
"Vox?" a deep, manly voice shouted out, down the stairs.
Agatha's face froze in a mix of confusion, and amusement at the ceiling-high giant of a man standing in the doorframe, with biceps larger than her torso, clad in a bathrobe that had been quickly transfigured to somewhat fit the hulking body.
"We are currently working our way through the male physique. It is quite an experience." Vox said, while grabbing Agatha's head and turning it away from upstairs, down towards Fleur. "Take care of her, or something? Whatever you do, stay down there for a few more hours. I have… a mountain to climb." she purred, and walked up to where a blushing giant gave Agatha a shy wave.
She waved back, and gave a thumbs up, before she turned to face her own dilemma. Fleur had found her way to the couch, where she had burrowed her head between her knees. She still whispered to herself in aggressive hisses. "À quoi pensiez-vous? Bien sûr qu'ils le feraient!"
"Fleur. Care for a walk around the lake?" Agatha held out her hand for her. She wondered, though, how much of her behaviour towards the allegedly quarter-veela came from her, and how much came from Fleur. She hated the seed of doubt both her mother and her father were great at putting in her head.
Her soft fingers touching Agatha's bruised, clawed ones sent electricity through her, and yet she couldn't enjoy it, for the voices in the back of her mind sullied the sensation with doubt. On days like this, she envied her sisters. Pure ego was a boon, sometimes.
Fleur followed her out of the house with little interest in where they were going. She stared at the ground, eyes wide and mouth forming some words without sound.
There was a small path curving around Foundling Path, through the woods just outside the property. She led Fleur away from Hogwarts, towards the outer edges of Hogsmeade, where some larger mansions of old families stood proud, or half-destroyed. Some had never bothered to rebuild after the war. Some, like the old Black mansion, were still said to be cursed and left alone for everyone's sake.
"So," Agatha cleared her throat. She had hoped to find herself more in control, but her nerves flared something fierce. "What are we dealing with, exactly?"
"Putain de merde!" Fleur shouted over the Lake as loud as she could. Her roar made flocks of birds flee from the canopies around them. One singular gnome made haste to get out of the nearby rose-bush. One last time, Fleur wiped over her face, accompanied by a deep, steadying breath. "I went to the Mother Veela because I…" she stopped, her eyes watering with frustration as she struggled to find words.
"Take your time." Agatha lightly pushed her forward on the low of her back. With a hand on Fleur's shoulder, they walked in silence for what felt like an hour to her. They left the small neighbourhood of old money behind, came through beautiful aspen woods, cut through by dozens of little streams from the mountains and hills. Fairies and bowtruckles lazed around in the branches, while the odd hoof-print of centaurs remained in the mud on the side of the road.
"I should be dead." Fleur blurted out.
"Yes, you should." Agatha agreed, but quickly clarified, "An archfey and me in a frenzy? Most people in this world should not survive that."
"I only survived because I did something I should not be able to. Singing anyone into calmness, let alone you, is a full-blooded Veela's skill." Fleur stopped when they walked past a beautiful view of the Black Lake. Water glistening in the sun, and Hogwarts in all its majesty above it. All that was missing was a small bench, and one quick transfiguration by Fleur later, a small boulder underneath the aspen canopy had turned into one.
Agatha took a seat. The boulder had merely changed shape, yet Fleur had formed the granite into comfortable waving forms that invited to rest. "My mother said something about there not being quarter-Veelas. Nymphs of any type are secretive about their nature, for obvious reasons. Usually I would respect that need for secrecy, but not when it directly concerns me."
Fleur sat next to her. She looked out onto the lake, not truly looking at anything. "The saying goes that 'the blood of the thrall fades by the songs of the mother'."
"You're saying you can become a full Veela? Am I interpreting this correct?"
"I may be a full Veela, now." she said like it hurt her. "My father's blood is weakened. My magic is more, hmm… wild? I sang, and as I did, the blood of the thrall vanished."
"Hmm," Agatha didn't know what to say. In some space in the back of her mind, her Executor mindset began to analyse what she heard with cold precision, but most of her mind just remained still; undecided. "Your father is a thrall? I thought he was a more voluntary husband."
"He was - is. Mama has him on a loose leash, my grandmother won't get tired of saying." She laughed without humour. "Now that I am revealed, they expect me to outdo her. Not just a husband. Form my own little harem of humans to do my bidding, like any full-blooded Veela."
"Hence why the Mother Veela demanded I stay away from you, so your quest for more or less willing suitors may commence. Sound about right?"
"Oui,"
"What if I don't?"
"I do not know what my family; the marquise, would do." Fleur admitted. "Neither do I know what I will do. I should not be here at all. I should be in Bordeaux, preparing to… éblouir, uhm, present myself." Fleur rolled her eyes. "Madame Maxime insists. I don't want to disappoint her after all she did for me, but…"
"But… what?"
"I don't…" Fleur blinked upwards, as if to hold back tears. "I went to the Mother Veela, fearing I was possessed. I asked her to look and see if your magic… did something to me."
"I'm sorry you felt like you had to check."
"Stop it." Fleurs eyes were red with unshed tears, but the fiercer for it when she stared her down. "Stop this constant self-punishment. Do you want to know why I thought I was possessed? Why I didn't feel like myself?"
Agatha could only nod.
"I had found myself walking into Gringotts, demanding to be a cursebreaker, when just hours before I had barely dared to beg to become a clerk; an appraiser. Why did I do this? Because you told me to. I didn't recognize myself. Then you told me I couldn't go, and I was so… furieux - livid, my heart burned." Her hands, wildly gesturing just a moment ago, fell into her lap. "You were the one that told me. That I wasn't the fourth in a tournament of four; that I was a powerful witch that survived being thrown into the worst situations for everyone's amusement. I realized, that wasn't just during the tournament. That's my life. I am sick of it. This bold courage? I never do that. I never feel that. It felt so unnatural, but so good, I didn't believe that it couldn't be magic. The Mother Veela told me it wasn't. Then she wanted to know."
"She wanted to know why you're even asking?"
"Oui," Fleur's muscles tensed for a moment, just as a flicker of anger crossed her face. "She wanted to know whose words - how did she say? Dont les mots renforcent ma cœur. Who strengthens my heart, so. I told her. I trusted her."
"The next second she tells your great-grandma, and - literally - all Hell breaks loose."
"What did your mother say?"
"She loves this." Agatha said, smiling sadly at Fleurs shocked reaction. "Not the part where a Fey was in her domain, mind, but the part where her daughter could be tortured and killed by a flock of angry Veelas for…" The words got stuck in her throat. For what, truly? For not letting go? For her first crush on anyone?
"I think I feel the same way." Fleur touched the back of Agathas hand with the faintest of strokes, asking by the gesture alone for her to open her palm. Once more, her soft hand took hold of her hard-skinned, calloused one. It felt like clarity to Agatha, yet after a moment of warmth, the confusion came back. She had never done such a thing. Most of her peers had made this experience in third- or fourth-year. Holding hands. The most innocent of intimate gestures, but it felt more significant than any night of lovemaking she had ever spent with anyone.
"I wonder too, you know." Agatha whispered. Whispering was all the volume she could muster, through her throat that felt like it got strangled by her embarrassment of being so inexperienced. Her cheeks burned hot, and her head became airy and unfocused. "About, well…"
Fleur waited for her to continue, only squeezing her hand a bit more to encourage Agatha.
"About your magic… affecting… me." Her free hand grabbed her chest, and the invisible string around her throat closed even further. Her eyes told Fleur how helpless she was, and in return, Fleur's showed her every patience in the world. She swallowed, and continued to whisper even lower, as the pressure in her became stronger. "I feel… no. I think, you… I think I feel like; it is maybe,... I… kindahaveacrushonyou."
"Agatha," Fleur started, but the sheer amount of pressure Agatha had built up, suddenly turned into a torrent.
"The first time we met, you were so calm around me, even when you were annoyed at the house, you even moved in with me, and then I fought Voldemort and you found me and treated me nicer than I could remember anyone doing, and then you went to Gringotts and I got so jealous of Bill, and then he said I have a crush and I didn't believe him, you went to Africa, and I was so worried, because of course I have a crush on you. I never had that, at all, ever. I never cared about anyone like this, and it… its, so…"
"Scary," Fleur squeezed her hand, soft and slowly releasing it again.
"Yes," Agatha closed her eyes, and saw Fleur's panicked face between her claws flash before her. "I'm scared I hurt you again. What if you can't find a tune, next time?"
"I'm scared, too." Fleur let her forehead sink onto Agatha's shoulder. "What if I make you a thrall? What if you let yourself fall into it? I don't think I would feel the way I do about you, if you would se prélasser - bask in it."
"How do you feel?"
"You need to ask, ma petit?" Fleur smiled up to her. "I have defied my mother, my grandmother, my great-grandmother and the Mother Veela, to be here. Cheri, I also think I have a crush on you."
"Oh," Agatha felt like an absolute idiot, so out of her depth. She stared at Fleur, into those beautiful blue eyes, felt her hand in hers, and the soft summer wind around them.
"Do it." Fleur breathed out.
Agatha was frozen. Her heart raced, and she knew what Fleur wanted from her, but couldn't move even an inch. Her lips were dry, her mind utterly empty, with only the flashes of a dying Veela in her claws before her inner eye. "I can't." she whispered back.
Fleur's hand stroked over her cheek, soft and slow, circling around her ear, until she cupped Agatha's face. "I can." she whispered, as she grabbed onto Agatha's neck and pulled her to her.
Her lips tasted like blueberries, her perfume smelled like a stroll through rose garden. Every fibre of her being suddenly tensed, then relaxed, and eventually she let herself fall into her first, real kiss. Her first one that was no primer to following carnal pleasures, but the pure gesture of affection she had only seen in plays and read about in books. The plays and books didn't lie. She felt weightless, and heavier than a mountain at the same time. She was about to fly away, and had never felt so grounded; so deeply rooted in the moment as she was now.
Then her lips left hers, and the weight of what they had done settled in. Fleur was in danger, just as much as Agatha was. Great powers, leader of planes and people, made clear that they were not to be together - ideally not even in the vicinity of the other. Yet, here they were, closer together than Agatha had dared to ever hope.
"You worry," Fleur's lips were close enough to her that her whisper let warm breath stroke across her cheek.
"I don't want to see you hurt. I don't want your life destroyed because of me."
"Ma diable," she whispered, "I do not know what we do here, where we go, but there is one thing I do know."
"Tell me?"
"There was no life to be destroyed before." Fleur smiled brighter than the summer sun, while a single tear made its way down her cheek. "If this burns, I will gladly burn with it. It would be worth it."
"If you're su-" Agatha stopped, when Fleurs finger laid softly on her lips.
"Kiss me, ma cheri. I have chosen."
So she did. Gentle, and soft, and so genuine; so unlike she had kissed anyone before.
Well, there it is. Let's see how this is gonna go. I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know in the reviews.
Guest Thanks for the feedback regarding the french I throw in here. I'm using DeepL for sentences and just hope it's not too bad for my french speaking friends out there, but didn't think on checking the smaller phrases. Oui, ma cheri. That's the sorta feedback I adore. I'll correct the previous chapters, step by step.