It was a beautiful day in the alps. Agatha stared out from large panoramic windows into the valleys beneath the mountains. The never ending soft breeze coming over the ridge let eagles hover in the wind, as they looked for prey.

The room she was in was a high, baroque representational hall. In the middle was an armchair, positioned, so its occupant looked out into the panorama. The smell of fresh wax on the wood floor and scented candles intermingled playfully, while the armchairs velvet and pillows wrapped around Agatha in a tight embrace.

She didn't even look up when the door opened. The clack of heels could be heard, before her assigned Legilimens sat down on a stool next to her, and opened a small book.

"Just as always, when we start these sessions: Would you prefer your mind be emotionally disconnected from the topics?"

"As always: No." Agatha sat in the wide armchair, legs crossed, both arms resting on the chair's velvet armrests. She stared at the woman clad in beige and grey through large, round sunglasses. "Who am I speaking to today, anyway?"

"My designation for today is Legilimens thirteen, if it pleases you." The woman produced a quill that started hovering next to her head. Her face could be best described as average. The quintessential female human face, with nondescript features, just as uncanny to anyone looking at it as it was forgettable.

"Acceptable, Thirteen." Still she wondered, as she always did when she sat in this room, if there was even more than one metamorph Legilimens, or if the same person just switched forgettable faces each time. The smells changed, at least. Today it was a pleasant lavender and sandalwood. The soul was unreadable.

"To finish the formalities, I once again remind you that these sessions are mandatory for every present and former Executor classified as Class Eta threat potential or above. Attempts to end the session early will result in disciplinary action, incarceration or extermination. Do you accept?"

"I accept,"

"Very good," Thirteen nodded, and the quill noted something in her book. "Let us begin. Your recent employment as Professor for Defense against the Dark Arts has led you into dangerous situations, already. Your latest visitation ended in the reveal of the Most Wanted, Dark Lord Voldemort."

"My maneuver got the desired result. Britain is on high alert, and Voldemort's plans are shattered to pieces, now. Even with no ICW interference, I am confident that Britain's Aurors are no longer helpless."

"Indeed. However, I am more interested in the aftermath. Your personal aftermath. How did your family react?"

"I haven't talked to my father, yet." Agatha gave Thirteen a small smile. "I'm glad he wasn't the first one to find me."

Agatha almost splinched herself when she apparated to the doorstep of her new house. Her head felt like it had pudding in there instead of a brain. The air burned in the gaping wound on her skull. She opened the door and stumbled into the bathroom. Just as she was starting to let the bathtub fill with water and get in, she heard the metallic footfalls of Styx hurrying to her.

In the shadows of the room her imps held vigil over her. Some were in the upper corners of the room, some under the furniture. Another one in the form of a raven, brought a tumbler of iced rum to the edge of the bathtub.

"The mistress must not die. She knows this." Styx' ghosts looked furious, raging and silently screaming at Agatha whenever they escaped Styx' body for a moment. "This one has brought the potions required. This one had also expected not needing these potions for at least a year."

One by one she drank the potions. Ribs snapped back into place, her bruises healed and her migraine - or rather concussion - became only the memory of pain. She chased it all with the entire glass of rum. Her body protested when she laid back into the tub, onto a towel Styx placed as a pillow.

She held her eyes close. The cold, porcelain fingers of Styx opened the wound on her head further. Stinging pain shook her body when he poured the last potion straight into the hole in her head. "I hate this part." she hissed, and opened her mouth to let Styx place a wooden stick between her teeth.

The seconds until the potion hit dragged out into what felt like minutes. Agatha steeled her resolve, took heavy, fast breaths until eventually - finally the potion set in.

The wood cracked under the pressure of her teeth. Her eyes bulged, her body cramped. Styx held her in the water, kept her from hurting herself during spasms of pain. She felt her skull heating up, and fluid like hot, metal slag; like lava running down her face. It burned. It scorched her skin, and muscles beneath. It became a continuous flow, covering her face and torso until it touched the water, bursting into an explosion, leaving only steam and basalt in its wake.

Her missing horn grew slow, steady and as if formed from the lava. All she saw, all she felt was white, hot searing pain of the kind only the Cruciatus was capable of inflicting. Splinters of wood pierced her gums, but still she bit even harder on the stick. Lesser pain was almost a welcome distraction.

It took only seconds. Yet, Agatha felt like she had gotten through hours of torture. Shaking and shivering, she laid back onto the towel, with Styx' cautious hands helping her.

Then, with the utmost care and precision, they started removing the already hardening substance that began to cool down from its furnace like temperature. Some burned skin and muscle tissue came loose with it, and began swimming in the boiling water. Agatha had no more energy for pain. She just let her body do whatever it deemed right. Shivering, cramping, crying and soaking in a stew of her own dead skin, flesh, and bones.

"Bonsoir! I'm back." Fleur's voice chimed through the house. "I 'ave good news." she cheered.

"Styx. Please." Agatha whispered. Even those two words came at the cost of her strength. Through her tears she only saw the blur of Styx nodding, and standing up, before her eyelids became too heavy again. She could only listen.

"Styx, where is Agatha?"

"The mistress heals her injuries. She will not be disturbed."

"Injuries?" Fleur gasped, and something heavy fell to the floor. "No, let me through!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Agatha sighed. While heeled steps came closer to the bathroom, she let herself slip deeper into the water, down to where her nose was barely above the water, and she would be able to glare at Fleur especially well.

The door smashed open. "Agatha?" Fleur came in, worry all over her face, until she took her first breath.

Fleur immediately heaved, and to prevent a mess, leaned over the sink. Some more heaves wracked her body, but the quarter-Veela kept her lunch. With a swish of her wand, she conjured a Bubblehead Charm around her nose and mouth. Not sooner could she turn around to Agatha again.

"Mon dieu, what 'appened to you?" she kneeled down besides the tub, staring right into Agatha's eyes. "You do know that looking 'angry only works when you do not 'ave tears in your face, right?"

Agatha let her mouth surface again. "Lost a horn." she whispered. She didn't have enough energy for volume. "Sorry about the sulfur in the air."

Fleur's eyes wandered up to the new, glossy and perfect horn. She let her hand hover next to it, only to let it fall down and inspect the burns with it. Agatha hissed, but Fleur was relentless. Her wand flicked, and from somewhere in the house, salves came flying in. No words were spoken, while Fleur began to smother the burns in cooling salves. Whenever she encountered a deep, muscle-devouring burn, she switched to a creamy, white reduction, viscous and smelling like sage.

"Will you tell me what 'appened?" she asked while she gently forced Agatha to sit up straight, so she could reach the burns on her torso and upper arm.

"I fought Voldemort."

Fleur stopped for a second, took a breath, and continued the treatment. "'e 'ho must not be named?"

"The one and only." Agatha felt her mouth curl into a slight smile. "It's cute how you pronounce that moniker."

"Stop," Fleur snipped her finger against her forehead. "So, 'e 'ho…" she sighed. "Ze Dark Lord is back? I believed 'Arry when he said he was, but… Merde."

"Merde, indeed." Agatha chuckled, and immediately regretted it when the newly forming skin stretched and tore with the movement. It hurt so bad, she lost her breath for a second. She decided to lay back onto the towel-pillow and stay as still as possible.

"So, I've had my talks with Harry, Granger and the Weasleys, and…"

"No, halt." Fleur stood up with purpose, took her wand and pointed at the water. "You cannot 'eal in such filth." The spell cleaned the greyish, brackish water in an instant, leaving only pure, hot water behind. Fleur then turned, and took one of her countless crystal vials that dominated most of the bathroom's available surfaces. Three drops of it, and the water bubbled up with thick, soft foam that covered the entire bathtub, but recoiled from Agatha's face, leaving a perfect circular hole for her to look and speak through. The entire bathroom began to smell like jasmin, mixed with honey. Agatha felt the water caress her softer, like little washing mitts scrubbing off the dirt on her skin. She couldn't help but release a small moan of relief when she felt the pain dulling with every minute.

"Stay 'ere." she commanded, and hurried out of the room. Doors opened and close, cupboards were rummaged through. An armchair flew past into the bathroom, followed by a small sidetable, a wine cooler with a bottle, two glasses and a bowl of decadent looking sweets. Scented candles, came in a line and placed themselves around the tub. Finally, Fleur herself came back in, now with slippers instead of her heels, and with a supposedly "comfortable" outfit that still looked better than what a lot of people wore to a formal dinner.

Before she could even hope to protest, Fleur fed her a sweet monstrosity made from chocolate, nuts and caramelized honey. While Agatha chewed through the magnificent tasting treat, Fleur opened the bottle of wine. One glass filled with deep red wine, that shimmered magenta and orange against the candlelight, found its way into the hand of Agatha, who by now just stared wide-eyed at her roommate.

"Much better." Fleur declared. "Now, onto your story. You spoke to 'Arry, and… Agatha?"

Everyone knows the feeling of being out in the cold, then entering a warm room and feeling like it's singeing one's skin. When the contrast becomes too much, comfort hurts. Agatha felt this, deeper and truer than she could bear at this moment. Fleur was only a blur to her. Tears streamed down her face and heavy sobs shook her, to the point of hiccups. The glass of wine stood forgotten on the edge of the tub. Her hands held her face instead, as everything all at once came to the front of her mind, intermingled with all this kindness around her and created an emotional maelstrom that she could only let herself drown in.

"No, no. What? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, I…" Agatha sniffed, coughed and sobbed, trying to form words. "I don't… It's so nice. You're so nice."

"Huh?" Fleur took a small towel, kneeled back down to the edge of the tub and began to wipe the tears from Agatha's face. "Now, now, ma cheri. It was a hard day. Here," she held out the glass of wine again. "Drink a sip, and then tell me all about it. Then I'll tell you all about mine, and when the bottle is empty, I'll bring a new one."

"Alright," Agatha took a deep breath, and wiped her face off herself once more. "Okay. So, you remember that I said I wanted to visit all my students?"

"Qui,"

"My father always suspected Voldemort to hide in Malfoy Manor…"

The quill kept scratching its script without pause now, while Thirteen witnessed a singular tear coming from beneath the sunglasses. Agatha kept her gaze straight, out through the windows. Clouds rolled over the peaks, now, and started to hide the green valleys. Suddenly the alps became a purely grey and white world.

"We talked well into the night. Styx dragged our drunken arses to bed at two am."

"I'm glad to hear you found another person to share with. For the record, how…"

"You can note her down as 'In the Know', now."

"I see," Thirteen noted something down in the book that the quill seemed to have missed. "Miss Delacour shares the same Threat Level class as you. Have you spoken about the use of your hereditary powers with her?"

"Quarter Veelas still count?"

"Yes, they do. But do not distract." Thirteen leaned forward. "Narcissa Malfoy, or," she checked her notes again. "Black, now. Narcissa Black, has fallen victim to your hereditary magic. How does that make you feel?"

"I don't know."

Thirteen leaned her head to the side, waiting.

"Afraid, I suppose." Agatha leaned forward, and stared at her boots. Her fingers began to pick on her thumbnail. Her foot began tapping the floor.

"You have shown great control and care, in your past, and I am sure also in this case. Afraid seems an odd choice of word?"

Agatha sighed. "Afraid I'll never know if it is real."

"Real?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I understand."

"You understand perfectly, metamorph. The mechanics are different, but you know what I'm talking about."

Thirteen frowned - her first real emotion since the session started - and wrote something in her notes with more pressure on the quill than necessary. "Ah."

"I wish you couldn't understand, for what it's worth."

Thirteen sighed. "Sometimes I wish so as well."

"Men? Women? Other? I don't know who you are, but what's your preference?"

"Both," Thirteen answered, maybe a tad too quick. She paused, thought, and then spoke much quieter. "I don't know, really."

"Don't know, huh? There are days when I think you're lucky there."

"There are also days when it hurts more than I can handle." Thirteen now also looked out the window, and her quill laid still on the book. "I am afraid as well, I suppose."

"You, or one of the others, told me to face my fears, to make them real, and by doing so, less scary. I abided by that."

"Good advice, I - or the others - still feel."

"I suppose. Still, there are plenty of horrors left to find once you lift the curtains."

No matter the amount of potions, getting spell-punched through a building gave you one hell of a sore muscle problem. Despite the pain, Agatha had a schedule to keep, and students to visit. Although, she did take one of the rather boring lists, of average students just trying to make it through Hogwarts. She had doubt that any of them needed push, or purpose. All they wanted was a passing grade, and no troubles while getting that. That was fine by Agatha.

Hopping from short conversation to short conversation left Agatha plenty of time to reminisce. Yesterday had been a wild day. She couldn't remember when she last felt such a broad spectrum of emotions.

When was the last time she had cried like that?

While walking down the alley to a fifth year Ravenclaw student's house, she took her time admiring the large herbal garden, sprinkled with some more magical plants, and an artfully laid out field of flowers. Just like that, the face of Fleur came back to her thoughts for what must have been the thousandth time that day.

She stood watching the flowers dance in the wind, and smiled, remembering their tipsy gossiping. Her injuries, her fight and if she was honest with herself, her near death, had long been banished to the back of her head. After a bottle of wine, and copious amounts of sweets, their topics had become about everything and nothing. Agatha had just felt good, talking about the world and all thats in it with Fleur. The smile faltered a tiny bit, thinking about when the topic shifted towards Fleur's new job. Agatha had been ecstatic to hear that she had indeed taken her advice.

Fleur had been hired as a Cursebreaker, and as she had reported with glee, right into the squad of Bill Weasley. Shivers ran down her spine when the same feeling she had felt last night came back with a vengeance. Ugly, disgusting jealousy.

She kept on walking down the field. It was more annoying than anything, really. She had talked about this with many a Legilimens. It was typical for her. The slightest show of kindness, and her mind already conjured up the images of happy ever after. Bollocks. Bullshit. Bollocks and bullshit, she hated the feeling.

"Oh?" Thirteen raised her eyebrows, further than a normal human could have. "You haven't mentioned there are feelings for Miss Delacour?"

"Yes. The same fleeting feelings I had for Mister Fortescue for gifting me an ice cream. It's the reaction of a love starved little girl when receiving unprompted kindness. We've been over this."

"We've never…" Thirteen slapped a hand over her mouth.

"So there are more of you. Interesting."

"Please don't tell anyone." Thirteen begged. "I'm actually a bit new here, and I don't want to mess up."

"Chance of a lifetime sort of situation?"

"More than you know."

Agatha mimed locking her mouth and throwing the key away.

"Thank you," Thirteen leaned back into the pose she had kept for the entire time. She released a small breath, closed her eyes, and then snapped them open as if to reset herself. "Let us return to why you feel the need to diminish those feelings. I have seen you shed a tear when you spoke of that night - of that kindness. Your voice becomes very pleasant when you talk about Miss Delacour, almost as if it relaxes your body. I don't believe these are the same feelings you had for an ice cream peddler."

"No,"

"So?"

"So, I was done visiting my students for the day…"

Thirteen sighed.

Agatha was almost at the threshold of her house, when a snowy owl landed right in front of her. "You're Potter's bird, aren't you?"

The owl hopped a bit towards her, and stretched her leg out. The letter was definitely not in a young man's handwriting, but in a fine script bordering on calligraphic precision.

Dear Agatha,

I have tried to bring my thoughts into writing, but such eloquence eludes me right now. My life has been turned upside down in a matter of a day, and I have yet to come to a decision about how I feel about it, or you and your involvement in it.

If you can find it in you to talk, I am at my cousin's house.

Love,

Narcissa

"Oh dear," Agatha said when she looked at that damned word, "Love". She took a deep breath, and disapparated into a small park, in the middle of London. There was no use in postponing this encounter.

She hurried up the small flight of stairs, and opened the door hidden from the world. Grimmauld Place welcomed her with the smell of dinner, and the sound of people enjoying it. The kitchen was filled to the brim with the Order, the kids, and back in the corner, Narcissa.

"Professor," Harry greeted, starting a cacophony of greetings all around. Narcissa didn't. She stared at Agatha for a moment, stood up and walked past her up the stairs.

"Sorry, everyone, I did not mean to interrupt. I'm here on," she nodded to where Narcissa had gone. "well… private matters."

"Private matters," Sirius snorted, earning himself a death glare from Agatha.

She found Narcissa in the lounge, setting down two glasses of whiskey on the small table between two armchairs. Narcissa, with a little smirk on her face, walked over to a bookshelf, pulled on an especially large tomb, until a quiet clicking sound could be heard. She pulled on the shelving between to reveal a drawer filled with cigars, tobacco and a large collection of more interesting dried leafs to smoke.

"My uncle loved muggle spy movies, if you can believe it." she said, holding two cigars and the utensils needed for a good smoke. "He ordered a mechanism to be built into this shelf. His own little secret drawer."

"A Black loving anything muggle? Color me surprised."

"It came in handy during the first war. This was where he had stored documents the Aurors weren't supposed to find."

"Clever. No magic, no trace of a secret." Agatha took the cigar, and took in the aroma. It was staggering in its rich, earthy smell. "Aurors have since changed doctrine and spells to find hiding spots like this."

"Good to know," Narcissa chuckled. "So…"

"So…"

"We had sex. We almost died."

"We had, indeed. We almost did."

Agatha snipped her finger and cut the cigar just right. Another flick of her finger let a small flame dance on her fingernail. Narcissa followed suite, and soon the two women sat in a light fog of smoke, smelling dryad tobacco and dwarven whiskey. Both looked at each other, and let the moment carry on for a while. There was something satisfying smoking some rich man's cigars, drinking his whiskey, all while sitting in his spot like Queens.

Agatha puffed a few times before asking. "I dread the answer, but where is Draco?"

"New Zealand," Narcissa puffed out smoke rings. "He is with distant relatives, who own a dragon reserve."

Agatha let out a breath of relief. "I feared he'd choose his father."

"He did." Narcissa's mood shifted in an instant. She angrily took a sip from the whiskey. "But mother knows best. He'll be attending Mahoutokoro, and be allowed to reasses his attitude. If I am satisfied at the end of the year, we will review and see if his return to Britain is beneficial." With an apologetic look she added. "Your father was a great help in this matter."

"You're a capable woman, but even you would have had problems, given that you only had one day. Mahoutokoro is very particular about accepting new students, and my father is just the right person to make them make exceptions." Agatha shrugged. "I guessed as much. I'm sorry I wasn't looking to see if you were alright, I got…"

"...intricately familiar with my outer walls. I saw. The only reason I could see it was because you kept him from killing me. You saved me." Narcissa laid down the cigar, and reached out to Agatha's hand. "Thank you."

"The least I could do after I exploited you that way."

"Yes, I felt very exploited." Narcissa replied, her words dripping in sarcasm. She leaned back into the chair, smiling. "Darling, that was the best sex I had in years, maybe a decade. Lucius wasn't a very selfless lover."

"Surprise, surprise." Agatha laughed. "Still, the consequences were severe, and I do apologize."

Narcissa just waved it off. "I'm confident now, in how I feel." She emptied her glass, and took two slips of paper from her robes. "Special permission for visitation, courtesy of Madame Bones. You asked me about the Blacks, and it got me thinking. It does seem… odd."

Narcissa took another puff of the cigar. "Once Draco was across the world, I visited Andromeda. She made me beg for it, but eventually we talked, and we came to an agreement. The timing, the sudden changes in the family. All began at the moment Voldemort became obsessed with the idea of finding the Black family libraries."

"The libraries, you say?" Agatha glanced at the permission slips. "I remember rumors. The british Blacks are said to guard one of the few libraries still holding Keys. Undiscovered magic. I know that quite a few people in the ICW are more than just interested."

"I wouldn't know. I have never been allowed to be in the know about the location of the libraries. Even within the family, those secrets were guarded. There were only ever one or two per generation who knew, and Sirius wasn't one of them."

"Ah. Which means these slips are for someone who you think knows."

"And someone I intend to ask why Voldemort never got this information," Narcissa leaned over to Agatha's glass, took it, and gulped its entire content down. "We're meeting Bella,"

Azkaban. One of only a few prisons in the magical world capable of holding the most dangerous wizards and witches imaginable. Even fewer held the same dread in their name; the same horror conjured by its simple mention. Azkaban meant prolonged torment, always in a state between life and death, until one day your entire being longed for the Kiss, to finally escape into the nothing behind the Dementor's maw. In this, all demons were the same. The hunt was fine, but true satisfaction came from mortals sacrificing their soul at your altar.

Narcissa and Agatha were transported into the lobby of Azkaban via portkey. Personal apparition was prohibited. The scenic ride by boat was for prisoners only. The only way in as a visitor was directly into a protective ring of Aurors who had their Patroni around them, and their wands trained on the visitors.

"You enter Azkaban. State your business." The large Auror Warden right in front of them stretched out his hands to take the permissions slips. "You chose an odd time to come."

"How so?" Agatha asked.

"People usually prefer daylight when coming here." He gave back the slips, and eyed both of them with a penetrating stare. "You're not the usual people, though, ain't that right, Executor?"

"Are we allowed to proceed?" Narcissa stepped forward, impatiently.

"You are, but…"

"But what?" she pushed, irritated and nervous. Other than Agatha, who wore a slight smile being so close to the Abyss, Narcissa shared any mortal's natural reactions. Humans weren't used to feeling like prey.

"But the Executor needs to promise to behave around the Dementors. They're still bloody mad because you decked one of them."

"I'll give them their space." Agatha smiled at the guy. "I think we've established some boundaries now."

"Right. Come this way, then."

The Auror led them through the dark, damp tunnels of the fortress, always careful not to run into groups of Dementors as they hovered by. Agatha thought about producing her own Patronus, but thought better of it. Even the walls seemed to seep the Dementor's disdain for her. It was to be expected, since she entered their lair without invitation. Always the Tieflings and their aggressive lack of demonic etiquette.

Screams and wails of prisoners echoed through the tunnels. Like dogs that gnawed on bones to release stress, the Dementors began torturing the prisoners. From their auras around her, Agatha was sure it was an insufficient substitute for ripping her apart.

"You weren't kidding." she quipped in a playful tone. She really felt cozy here among her kin. The promise of violent death was just like a warm welcome to the Abyss. "They're barely able to keep from murdering us."

The Auror and Narcissa turned to her, deeply frowning.

"What?" Agatha shrugged. "Demons doing demons stuff. Don't act surprised."

"Not everybody is among family here, Executor. Remember that." the Auror answered.

"Distant relatives, at best." she waved off.

"We're here." The Auror positioned himself next to a wall that seemed just like any segment of damp, cold stone. With a touch of his wand, the wall folded in on itself, and revealed a small room. In it, a table was placed, on which dozens of shackles waited to hold onto a prisoner.

"You go in first. The prisoner comes in after." The Auror entered after them, placed two chairs, and took a step back into the doorframe. "I'll be outside, but that doesn't mean you can do whatever in here. Check first if you're unsure. You know the drill, Executor. Abide by it."

"We'll be on our best behavior, Warden."

"I know your best behavior. Stick to the rules, Ember." the Auror left the room, a small chuckle in his wake.

"Ember?" Narcissa asked.

"My nickname, codename, or whatever you want to call it. I'm familiar enough with the wardens of Azkaban. I've brought in quite a few occupants, after all."

"I see," Narcissa said, but it was clear to see that she barely listened. Shivers ran down her body, and nervous eyes betrayed her discomfort.

"Nervous to see your sister?"

"I haven't done so in years."

"From what I've heard, she has completely gone off the bend. Not that she was a very stable personality before."

"Could you, please…" Narcissa hissed.

"Sorry,"

Minutes went past without much noise or movement. The small room was only lit by magical torches on the walls, and the only sound was water dropping from the ceiling once in a while. The silence was broken by the shackles beginning to rattle. Agatha pulled Narcissa slightly back, just before one of the shackles tried to snap onto Narcissa's wrist.

"They're not very smart enchantments." Agatha stated.

The opposite wall opened, and in hovered two Dementors holding an unconscious Bellatrix Lestrange. Their rattling breaths created a terrifying dyad with the shackles that immediately wrapped around Bellatrix' neck, wrists, ankles, legs arms and hip.

Agatha looked at the Dementors, and felt them looking back through their maws. Waves of malicious force crashed into her, and she felt the rage in them as she just smiled back. "Keep the peace, boys." she said in the tongue of the hells.

"The peace has been broken. The circles will determine the limits of war."

"The circles will determine that you ought to be less of a little bitch."

"We shall have our vengeance. We shall feast on the stag denied to us, and we will devour the halfbreed. As the masters commanded, as the circles permit." they rasped, but yet, they left them to their own devices. After all, they were still on the clock, so to say.

Narcissa was torn between the infernal tongue being spoken next to her, and the horrible state in which her sister was.

Haggard would be the understatement of the year. The woman looked dead; a barely walking corpse. Sunken cheeks, parchment like skin, thin and thinning hair, missing and rotten teeth, all came together to paint a picture of someone Agatha would have given maybe another week in Azkaban. Yet, there she sat, shackled with several pounds of magical steel, and grinned at her sister.

"Sister of mine, how good of you to visit." she rasped through her pneumonia riddled throat. "You brought a friend as well!"

"Bella," Narcissa gulped. Several times she opened her mouth again to speak, but no words came. Instead, there were just some tears shed, looking at the miserable shadow of a once great, powerful, horrifying witch.

"I'm sorry, dear, the spa was closed for months now. I'm afraid you gotta look at ol' ugly Bella until further notice."

"Bella, I'm so sorry…" Narcissa leaned forward, trying to grasp the hand of her sister, only to be held back by Agatha.

"No contact with the prisoner." they heard the voice of the Auror from outside.

"Sorry? Why would you be sorry, dear?" Bellatrix put a finger on her lips, and hemmed and hawed back and forth, until she lifted her finger as far as the shackles went, and screamed: "Must be because you didn't show your skank arse here in five bloody years, leaving me alone with those brainfucked manchildren!"

Narcissa shook her head, helpless and at a loss for words. Her tears had becomes sobs, and her head was slumped forward. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." she repeated again and again.

"Lestrange," Agatha leaned back in the chair, already fully in investigator mode. There was a reason they had sent her after Sirius. Agatha loved maniacs. She wasn't afraid to admit that psychopaths had a magical draw to her. She feasted upon their inner fears, while they thought she would grant them their deepest desires. What had been a careful, and sensible approach with Narcissa - something Agatha tried to withhold from her usual behavior around anyone, came out in full force now. Sirius turned out not to be a psychopath, but Bellatrix Lestrange would succumb to her with ease, she was sure.

Suddenly, with one whiplash of magic, the room was filled with her aura. Shadows grew darker, lights redder, and the rattling of steel on the table got an odd echo to it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Narcissa shaking for a moment, but remaining in control.

Bellatrix just smiled.

"Odd," Agatha quipped, quite happy in her voice. That was when Bellatrix began to look suspicious.

"Odd, indeed." Narcissa leaned forward. She connected the dots. "I struggled with that. Bellatrix should have ripped her hands out trying to get into your lap."

Agatha nodded. "Should have," She turned towards the wall with the entryway, and said loud and clear. "Warden. I won't touch her, but I'll have to get close. Alright?"

"Your funeral, Executor."

Narcissa, cleaning her face off, squinted her eyes. "Why?"

"Because," Agatha started, and leaned forward, right in front of Bellatrix who had grown calmer and calmer. Her nostrils flared, breathing in the awful smell of an unwashed Azkaban prisoner, but also the essence of any person. Agatha knew how a soul smelled, but all she tasted here was damp skin, sweat and wastes. No soul. Instead, the soft smell of fall and glass. "Because that's not a human."

"What?!" came the voice of the Warden. Immediately, the entryway opened, and the Warden stormed in. "What by Merlin did you just say?"

"Yes, what exactly do you mean?" Narcissa added.

The person shackled to the table fell into herself, mumbling and tearing the bit of hair she still had, more like an animal than human. Agatha mulled the smell over. Fall and glass. No, leafs and glass. Fall was the changebringer season, the harvesting season, the season to prepare to hide. Glass had her stumped, though.

Agatha learned forward again, to look at the thing in front of her, while rummaging through her mental archive of foes and fiends she knew. Her eyes turned black, and her fangs shone in the dim light as she tried to taste the air around the being.

"Bella," it hummed, then whispered, then shouted into its hands, then mumbled again. "Bella, Bella, Bellatrix. Bella, Bella, Bellatrix,..."

Silver was in the air, as hidden as a singular thread in a tapestry, but still there. Silver and glass. "A mirror," Agatha whispered to the thing.

"Would you be so kind and fill us in, Agatha?" Narcissa had her hand on her wand, just like the Warden next to her.

"I doubt any Auror could have found out. If my suspicion is correct, I'll proclaim your sister one of the greatest witches to ever walk this earth." Agatha smiled, her fangs showing. "But she didn't, or probably couldn't prepare this construct for the arrival of someone with senses like mine. And why would she? The chances were nigh on non-existent. Also, this one probably already bought enough time, and is now just left here."

"Agatha," Narcissa's voice made clear that she was done listening to riddles. "Explain. Now."

"Warden, do you have iron here somewhere?"

"Merlin,..." Narcissa sighed.

"Oh," The Warden just grabbed onto his belt, and produced an iron mace. "There you go, Executor. But…"

"Yes, yes, no violence. I probably don't even have to touch it." Agatha took the weapon, weighed it, and asked: "What do you have an iron mace for?"

"Kelpies," he answered. "They're going for the occasional jumper."

"I see," Agatha let the mace swing a bit in her hand, feeling the weight. Then she just dangled it next to the thing still chanting "Bella, Bella, Bellatrix,..." only for it to suddenly stop, and stay as still as a statue.

"Oh, you don't like that, do you?" Agatha mocked. She let the mace hover closer, and chuckled a bit when she saw an angry welt boil up on the thing's skin. It hissed in pain, but kept eerily still.

"A fucking fey!" the Warden shouted in anger. "Miles of paperwork that's gonna be, I tell ya."

"Fall and glass and silver. Not just a fey. This one's a doppelganger." Agatha's wide grin faltered when she saw Narcissa's pale, horrified face. "A very - a very good one."

"What does that mean?" Narcissa asked, quiet, her hands wringing her robes.

"That means your sister, at some point, checked the fuck out, and left this behind."

"You mean she is out there? Free?"

"Can't say for sure. Maybe she just sits in Nurmengard? The only thing we know is that she isn't in Azkaban."

Thirteen shook her head for quite a while, slowly left and right, until she opened her eyes again to look at Agatha, who at this point laid sideways on the armchair, feet dangling over the armrest towards the metamorph.

"So, then I asked the Dementors how long the doppelganger was here already, and they said - get this - since 1981!" Agatha sat up, wrapped her arms around her knees and grinned at Thirteen like a loon. "Since 1981! They kept her around because she tortured the other prisoners so well!"

"Why does this make you so happy?"

"Why?!" Agatha almost shouted. "Because Bellatrix bloody Lestrange, serious contender for the title of most dangerous witch on the planet, is out there and free. This is - hooo boy - this is the hunt I dreamed about. Cold trail. Psychopathic mass murderer with skills just second to Voldemort? Sign me up for that one. Double sign me! Woo!"

"But you're a Professor."

"What?"

"You're a Professor at Hogwarts?" Thirteen made a note in her book, suspiciously far off to the side of one page she had already written on. "You won't have time for such a hunt."

"I - but- No, I-" Agatha stuttered.

"You have taken on such an honorable task this year, and I think it would do you good to..."

"Who is going on the assignment?" Agatha interrupted. "If I'm not assigned, who is?"

"Again, I think your position…"

"Who. Is. Going?"

"As Professor, you have the opportunity…"

"I'm not asking again."

Thirteen sighed, gave Agatha an apologetic look and whispered "Akirazael."

Agatha's legs slowly moved from the armrest back onto the chair proper. Her heels connected to the floor. Clack. Clack. Her hands rested on the armrests, perfectly straight, just as she kept her back against the chair. "I see," she said. Her left eye twitched and every glass surface, every window, every crystal vase and glass shattered into a thousand pieces, spraying shimmering shards of glass through the room like a blizzard of sharp edges.

Only Thirteens quick reactions kept her from being torn to shreds by shrapnel. The sphere shaped shield-circle around her was the only place left in the room without glass littered on it.

Agatha herself was covered in fine cuts, all across her body and face. Only the eyes behind her sunglasses were saved. The sunglasses were broken by the onslaught, and a few black tinted shards mixed in with the crystal in her lap. Blood streamed from her, but she didn't move an inch. The only thing moving were her lips. "That holier-than-thou Ardling fuck is taking my assignment?"

"It was never your assignment." Thirteen was back on the stool, shaking, but unharmed.

"I discovered it."

"And the Executor Choir thanks you for it." Thirteen set down her pen into her book, shut it and let it fall to the ground. "Enough of that. I think we've reached a point where tempers have to cool again. How about we meet again next…"

"My father knows." Agatha hissed, interrupting Thirteen once more. "He must have known."

"Executor Dumbledore, I must insist that…"

"Next week, same time," Agatha jumped up, and walked to the door, glass shards gnawing against wood under her heels. "I have to go. I am late to a spontaneous meeting with my father."

The door slammed shut, and the angry crack of apparition came muffled through the doors. Thirteen looked around her, and bristled at the cold glacial air now coming in from the huge, broken windows. She took in the floor covered in glass, that shimmered like newly fallen snow in the sun.

Her hair slowly switched to a bubblegum pink, her face became heart-shaped and her eyes a dark brown. Nymphadora Tonks sat in her Legilimens stool, laid one hand over her mouth and fell into herself. "I shouldn't have agreed to this. Merlin dammit!" she mumbled into her hand, alone in the middle of the hall.