AN: This one is… heavy. Be warned: This chapter alludes to and deals with the horrific possibilities of mind-altering magic. If you're a victim of gaslighting and other mental abuse, this could be triggering for you. Also, gore.
It also adds a plotpoint I am not sure about. Once you're finished, if you find yourself having a strong opinion about it, leave a review or PM me. I'm not sure about it myself. You'll see what I mean.
Relaxing had not worked for Agatha. She had given it an honest try, but once more confirmed that wasting time doing nothing was not her idea of a day well spent.
Once she had digested her emotional breakout, Agatha had sat down with herself, in front of a mirror, and gave herself the tough talk. One week, at the very minimum, she would only think of Fleur if she'd see the ashes of a feather in the air. She had a job to do, and there were too many eyes on her to half-ass it.
Hence, why she had grabbed a Hogwarts Timeturner, and spent a week, compressed to two days, jumping around the British Isles, address by address, to catch up on visiting her students. With the help of the Timeturner, she worked through a good quarter of them. Forty-four students were especially high on her list. She wasn't quite sure about the morality of doing so, but she had gathered the identity of them from the Hogwarts archives, and if something was so easily accessible, how bad it could it really be?
Really bad. Really. Really. Really…
Bad.
"You cheated on me with a what?!"
So, as Agatha was currently learning, not every halfling is born from the womb of a witch. In truth, her own existence should have clued her in, but alas, here she was, listening to a marriage melting down, because she thought speaking to the mother first was smart. She should really work on her patience with these things.
She sat on the couch, hands folded in front of her on her lap, and very careful not to make eye contact. Right next to her, leaning into the pillows of the couch as if they didn't just see her parents have the biggest fight of their relationship, were Layla McLaggen and her older brother, Cormac. Apparently, such spectacle wasn't anything overly original for either of them.
While the parents, Tamara and Marcus, were already running around the house, shouting, screaming, crying and throwing stuff made of glass around, Agatha dared glance over to the children.
Cormac leaned over to his sister once the sound of fighting had dulled. "So, you're a half-whatnow?"
"Oni," Layla sighed, and pointed at her braces. "You think dad would make me wear these if I could just fix my teeth?"
"What else do you have them for?" the older boy asked.
"My tusks," Layla gestured two slightly bowed lines in front of her mouth. "Hiding them is why my jaw hurts all the time."
"Oh," Cormac breathed out. "Why'd you hide them, then?"
Before Layla could hope to answer, a painting came flying through the living room. The woman portrayed on it was screaming bloody murder as her frame shattered on the wall.
"I should have always known! Who goes to the bloody pub with a portkey?! Fucked your skank, demon mistress, while I sat at home with our boy!" The following house-shaking explosion spoke of the spells starting to fly. The stammering of Marcus McLaggen was barely audible through the sound of debris hitting and ricocheting off the walls.
"Right," Cormac nodded. "No need to answer that." He leaned over then to look at Agatha. "Well done, professor, by the way."
"I'll take every single one of your detentions and all you'll do there is play Exploding Snap and eat chocolates, if you never, ever lose a word about this, alright?"
"Deal," both of them nodded.
"Honestly, it's been long overdue, anyway." Cormac sighed as another vase was flung through one doorframe, against the hearth in the living room. "This is an especially bad one, though."
"Your parents fight a lot?" Agatha asked.
"All the time," Layla rolled her eyes. "It's mostly because dad, well…"
"Dads a bloody loser." Cormac grunted out, trying to sound as if that didn't bother him. "I guess we know why he's always broke, now. Portkeys aren't cheap, and I doubt the women he meets there are on a budget."
"I'm not the child of a whore." Layla ground out, with a slap against her brother's shoulder.
He slapped right back. "Are too,"
"Hey," Agatha kept Layla from delivering another slap, and felt the demonic strength in the girl already well established. Given the sheer power behind those unassuming muscles that worked against Agatha's own, if she wanted to, she could probably press her brother's skull in with a slap. "Alright, that's enough. Layla, chances are not zero that you've been brought to term by a sex worker. Cormac, even if that's true, that doesn't make your sister tainted, or whatever you think." Then she focused only on Layla. "If you want to, I could go look for your mother. The Oni are my more civilized cousins, after all. I'm sure I could ask around, and find her?"
"You would?" Layla asked, almost too scared to hope.
"If you want me to."
"I…" Layla looked back over to where her parents fought. "I have to think about it."
Suddenly, a large trunk slammed onto the living room floor, conjured out of nowhere. A little houself stepped out behind it, and gave both of the kids a sad, small smile. "Master has order Trilli to pack his things. Trilli is afraid, this is goodbye."
"He's taking you with him?" Cormac asked, and for the first time the boy's voice cracked, while kneeling down to the little elf on the floor. "But, what's with us?"
"Master Cormac and Mistress Layla will be fine. Trilli has nothing left to teach them." the little elf sighed, and gave the fight another glance over her back. "Trilli is afraid that Master Marcus is going to need her help more. He doesn't know any household spells, no, no."
"You know you're too good to him." Cormac protested weakly, but relented when Trilli put her tiny arms as close around him as she could. "He doesn't deserve you," Cormac mumbled into her, his voice breaking slightly.
"That's right, he doesn't." came the angry growl of Mrs. McLaggen. The witch stood in the doorframe to the kitchen, with her clothes partly ripped and her breath going fast from exertion. "Trilli, you stay here. Marcus," she called back into the kitchen," if you order her to follow you again, I'll hex you until even Mungo's can't make you human again."
Tamara McLaggen swung her wand, and the trunk in the middle of the room flew straight through the large window, facing the pathway outside. From behind her, beaten to a pulp and heavily limping on one foot, Marcus McLaggen stumbled after it. His face was turned away from his kids in shame, and not even a goodbye was said between them. There was just the slam of the door, like the curtain to a play.
"And you," Agatha whirled back around to Mrs. McLaggen and saw the woman point her wand at her. "How dare you waltz in here, turning our lives upside down, and just- just- ." she gestured towards Layla. "Just…" she trailed off, her wand sank, and her words slowly turned to wordless pleads.
"If it would help, I could get Layla to…" Agatha tried, but a sickly purple spell came flying towards her. With only the quickest, most trained reflexes could she summon a small shield.
"Don't you bloody touch my daughter! Ever!" The woman practically sprung in front of Agatha, holding her wand between the tiefling's eyes. "Executor or not, you take my daughter, you're gonna regret it."
"I just wanted to…"
"Leave my house!"
"I'm sorry, I…"
"NOW!"
Agatha jumped from the couch, and as fast as she could without running, she made for the door.
Still, she couldn't leave without knowing what would happen to Layla. She turned around, ignored the wand between her eyes this time, and way slower than Tamara would have liked, walked backwards to the door.
"Go!" Tamara shouted again, but much of the force behind it was gone. Instead, she was visibly trying to keep standing; keep going.
"I'm so sorry," Agatha began. Slowly lifting her hand, she grabbed Tamara's wand, and moved it to the side. "I had no intention of hurting your family, quite the opposite. I apologize for the pain I caused here today."
She could see how little of those words reached Tamara. The woman stared at her with an increasingly blank stare, as if life left her little by little. The small pleads had stopped, only to be replaced by a silent stream of tears.
"If there..."
"I don't know what to do." Tamara whispered. "I- I had dinner planned for us and now..." she trailed off, and helplessly waved a hand towards the utterly demolished kitchen.
"Mrs. McLaggen?" Agatha came closer to the crying woman. With the utmost caution, she laid a hand on her shoulder.
"What do I do?" she pleaded, again, but directionless; asking the universe or herself, or anyone who would have an answer. For all her fury, once her husband had left the house, Tamara folded in on herself.
Agatha saw the wavering stand of her first, and immediately caught her when her knees gave in. It was easy enough to set her down on the couch, between her two kids.
"Trilli?" Agatha found the elf, already popping around the house with potions in her hand. In the blink of an eye, Tamara had a potion placed to her lips, the serene turquoise blue of a Calming Draught shining through the glass.
The potion worked quick. Seconds after, the tears stopped. Tamara's breath slowed, and the shakes in her limbs became controllable again. With her eyes closed, she took another deep breath, before she focused back on Agatha.
She stood in the front of the couch, waiting to be addressed once more. To send her away, to ask her help - anything the McLaggens needed, she owed them.
Tamara was at the end of her strength. Only because Cormac held her up, was she kept from flopping onto the couch.
"We should probably let uncle Tiberius know that his brother is on the way." Layla broke the silence with her quiet voice.
"By Merlin, Tiberius," Tamara let her head fall into her hands. "What am I going to tell him?"
Agatha furrowed her brows, but given the slow shake of Cormac's head, refrained from asking why it would be her who'd have to explain. In any case, it was only a smaller question she asked herself. Agatha had the sneaking suspicion that something sinister was behind the family crisis.
Because, why didn't Tamara know Layla wasn't her daughter? Why had that come as a surprise? Why didn't she notice hundreds upon hundreds of galleons over the years, going to the coffers of the portkey makers?
Love potions? Simple memory spells, strategically placed? Magic allowed for a few dozen possibilities. How cruel and skilful was Marcus McLaggen, was the true question. Was it soft love potions and simple, every day gaslighting? Bad enough. However, on the other side of that spectrum of mind-altering magic was the Imperius, and at this point, Agatha couldn't be sure what Mr. McLaggen would be capable of.
Cormac tore her from her thought. "Uhm, Professor?"
"Hmm?"
"You're... smoking?" he pointed at her, then around his own face.
Just then did she realize that she'd lost a bit of control over her body, while her mind had tried to build a case against a potential thought thief. Black smoke came from her skin, caressed it before vanishing into the air. "Sorry, Cormac. No reason to worry, that's just my anger manifesting."
"Oh, just that." Cormac whispered with a good portion of sarcasm.
"Why are you angry, Professor?" Layla asked. "I mean, except the obvious?"
"I think your mother has figured out why, already." Agatha answered.
Indeed, Tamara McLaggen clutched her wand so tight, her knuckles were white. She still shook, but with rage - unadulterated, unfiltered and righteous rage.
"Mrs. McLaggen, if you want to press charges, I could handle that for you."
"Charges for what?" Cormac asked confused. "He's an arse, sure, but I don't think what he did was illegal?"
"The cheating? No. That's not illegal, just low. It's the matter in which he did it." Tamara answered her son with a croaky, raspy voice that wavered with the amount of control she had to keep to not shout. "I remember giving birth to Layla."
It was clear as day when each of the children connected the dots.
"Bloody hell," Cormac breathed out. Layla stared at her mother with horror.
Tamara looked up to Agatha. Her bloodshot eyes were a frightening sight to behold. Beaten, yet with such force, her eyes spoke louder than words could. "Can you guarantee that the investigation is thorough? My not-yet ex-husband is friends with Minister Fudge, if you understand?"
"Perfectly," Agatha nodded. "I know a few Aurors I trust." Her face grew even grimmer when she said, "If they gather no results, I have some other friends. I owe you justice, at least."
"Justice?" Tamara laughed without humour. "I won't be getting my memories back. I'll never know what's real and what is just a cover-up memory."
"I think you have at least two real things here." Agatha nodded at Cormac and Layla.
Tamara seemed to remember, just then, the reason for her turmoil. With one swoop, she had her daughter in a tight hug. Agatha couldn't understand what mother whispered to daughter, but given Layla's head sinking deeper and deeper into the hug, it couldn't be bad - quite the opposite. Agatha felt no need to be quick about finding Layla's Oni mother. Eventually, after they've embraced each other for a while, Tamara pulled back, but not before placing a little peck on Layla's forehead.
Tamara stood, wiped away her tears, and faced Agatha once more. "You got any more families to destroy today?"
"No, one is plenty." Agatha answered, trying to sound as apologetic as she could.
"Then you got time." She nodded towards Layla. "We gotta get rid of the - I can't believe that was what I believed for thirteen years - the obscure, unhealable toothache curse that afflicts my daughter."
Agatha smiled, nodded and held out one hand to be grabbed by whomever. "Let's go to St. Mungo's then."
Agatha couldn't help, but shudder with the memories of the section of they were about to enter. The Saint Toran ward, aptly named after the first werewolf hunter of Britain, dealt with the "impure". Those ill with lycanthropy, vampirism, Zombie-necrosis and other such ailments, were brought here to be medicated, given a treatment plan and then forgotten on the street, ready to be picked up by werewolf packs or vampire clans.
Every inch of this ward was encased in easily cleaned white tiles. The cold white light made sure that every last drop of infected blood would be seen by the cleaning crews. It was a disorienting walk through it, with white corners and edges blurring with white floors, walls and ceilings. The uniform light left almost no shadows for contrast.
The only room with a door that wasn't white, was the one she and Layla walked to by habit. The door was made of dark wood, and as Agatha knew, soundproof. Nobody wanted to hear children scream as their body formed and moulded to hide their true selves.
Tamara and Cormac followed behind. For them, it was the first time walking these eerie hallways, and their almost surreal surroundings made them walk closer to each other.
"Just here," Agatha knocked at the wooden door. Some papers and parchments were audibly arranged and managed before heels clicked on the floor of the office. The door opened, and Agatha saw the familiar face of Healer Feldwick. He was older, but still the tiny man, with a broad face filled with oddly circular shaped scars.
"What can I…" he started before realizing who stood in front of him. "Ms. Dumbledore? So good to see you. It's been almost a decade since the last time now. What can I do for you?" he asked, smiling, while not making a secret out of his roaming eyes that took in every last aspect of Tiefling nature he could see on her.
"I no longer have need for your services, Feldwick. My student here has," she stepped aside to let Feldwick see Layla behind her.
"Ms McLaggen?" his brows furrowed. "We just had the procedure last month. You don't have to be here until next summer."
"I-" Layla stared at the man, wide-eyed. Her mouth open, and closed without a sound. Agatha didn't need to smell her panic to know. It was the easiest thing to spot that Layla had doubts. She gave Feldwick a nervous smile, before turning and running off like a scared deer.
At least, she tried.
She hadn't even taken the first step, when she collided with her mother and brother. Softly, they kept her from sidestepping, pushing through or otherwise escaping. Tamara quietly hushed to her daughter, held her cheeks, and kneeled. What they spoke, Agatha didn't hear; didn't try to listen to. The only thing she couldn't help but overhear was Cormac saying, "You'd finally be cool," only to receive another light slap from his sister.
"I know why you're here, of course." Feldwick had walked back into his office. "Miss Davis made headlines, after all."
Agatha followed, to give the McLaggens some privacy, and Feldwick her attention. "I've never known you as slow." she agreed.
"You're going to get one of these kids killed soon enough, Dumbledore." he said as he sat back into his office chair.
"Poachers?"
"What else?" Feldwick rummaged through a stack of parchments, until he found one under a good foot of folders and documents, and pulled it out for her to see. "I am no Executor, but I do have my informants. Werewolves - patients - have reported a hunt in Cornwall not too long ago. During the last full moon."
"Not even one hint of Auror activity in the area that night, I assume?" she asked, while flying over the patient's statement. "Even though the spellwork must've been quite something."
"Of course not. Word is that some of Fudge's cabinet have been part of the hunt." Feldwick shrugged. "Although, unconfirmed."
"Boasting about killing a werewolf went out of style, no doubt. But I see what you mean. They're establishing a base, and train recruits by hunting peaceful werewolves. How long have they been here?"
"Since you arrived," Feldwick answered with a conspiratory undertone.
"They're too smart to go after me, again." she answered. "I think the last time they tried still remains well remembered in poacher circles."
"Your parents did leave an impression with the poachers, indeed." Feldwick chuckled. "I've heard the crater is still visible."
Agatha remembered it well, too. The day she had almost been killed and rendered down for her horns and bones. It was the day she had decided to become an Executor, even if she hadn't even known the job existed, then.
What she wanted to become was that force of nature, that cosmic hammer only second to the gods themselves, which an Albus Dumbledore and Anes'Rath who believed their daughter dead by the hands of poachers, had become.
The names of the poachers were unknown. Their existence only referenced by their last crime. Everything else, down to the last atom of their bones, had been forcefully removed from this reality by the hands of a heartbroken father and a demonic mother. One of the few times both had worked together.
Agatha had sat, shackled to a stone and gagged, in a cage at the edge of the poachers' encampment. All she had been able to do was watch her parents bring the righteous flames of Armageddon upon the world. It had been the first time she understood what it meant to be a powerful witch; what it meant to be a powerful demon. She had also understood that she could either be neither, or both. She chose to become both.
"Seems to me, the way to approach this is to publicly state - or show that these kids are under my protection, and the protection of Hogwarts."
"They won't care," Feldwick said. "But what do I know? I'm just a Healer."
"That's all I can do without an official case."
Feldwick didn't look impressed by her statement. He lifted an accusing eyebrow at her.
"Neither are you just a Healer." she quipped. "But speaking secrets is foolish in the walls of Mungo's, isn't it?"
"Indeed. Maybe a house visit, come the weekend?"
"Sounds good." Agatha nodded towards the man, and opened the door behind her. "I'll leave you to your actual patients, now."
Agatha looked up from the ancient issue of Transfiguration Today she had managed to grab, and couldn't help but immediately develop a face splitting grin. While Layla's human form had been rather pale, her true body shone in a pure white, almost camouflaging her so placed in front of the tiles. She was also tall. Ceiling-scratching tall. Cormac seemed to struggle with having to look up to his sister, who towered a good four heads above him. She had to slightly kneel to fit through the door, and did so with the most nervous expression on her new, real face. Her three blood red eyes, two in the sockets, one on her forehead, saw the entire entrance room fall silent, and focus on her.
Seeing a huge, at least seven feet five tall Oni blush grey in the face of attention, and being stopped from running back into the ward by her barely five feet tall mother, made Agatha vow to keep a camera on her from now on. This would have been one for the album.
"Oh, you look gorgeous!" Agatha cheered with some extra emphasis. It was very much meant as a warning for everyone present. She looked gorgeous. Period. Differing opinions would be met with dire consequences.
"Thanks, Professor." Layla mumbled, with a surprisingly light and gentle voice. "It's…"
"New. It's new. You'll get used to it, honey." Tamara patted the enormous hand of her daughter, though the words felt like she was more talking to herself. Layla's claws, on her slightly elongated, lithe fingers, were the size of Tamara's entire thumb. Layla's physique was intimidating. Even through the haphazardly enlarged robes, one could see the slender, powerful muscles. However, the most awe-, or fear-inspiring feature must've been the horns. Great, thick, white horns curved in a wide arc to the back, where they came to their pointy end in an upwards curve. Their visual parallel, the tusks standing upwards from Layla's lower lip, curved slightly outwards, reaching almost to the bridge of the nose's height.
Agatha took her time to take Layla in. Truth be told, she had only ever seen one Oni in her life, and that had been a miserable, dwarf sized pest. Layla, on the other hand, stood there like the Queen of Hokkaido herself, in all her demonic glory.
Eventually, she had eyes for Tamara and Cormac again. Tamara had large bags under her eyes, and Cormac was staring into empty space with exhaustion. They were both laughing and smiling for Layla, but the hardships of the day were unmasked on their faces.
"Come now," Agatha grabbed Cormac's hand. "Let's get back to your house. Alright?"
Agatha sat outside, on the sun chair that by now had become her favourite for the mornings, and enjoyed the aftermath of her actions.
Magical Britain's polite society had an absolute meltdown, and if Agatha had anything to say about it, this would only be the beginning. She had sent her imps to Cornwall, hoping they'd find the poachers. They had plenty of support from three Hogwarts houselfs, who seemed personally offended by the possibility of Hogwarts students being hunted. Once she knew where they were, she'd stretch her cloak and dagger muscles again. With any luck, some of the cabinet would join the hunt again, and find an unfortunate end.
However, for now the Daily Prophet, a well brewed cup of coffee, and the slow shifting of the public's mood was enough. Skeeter couldn't keep her pen in check, as always. The first page was filled with vitriol and venom against the Dumbledores and given the circumstances, the many new halfling children that would be in Hogwarts, come September. She wasn't quite at calling for their expulsion, or worse, but Agatha was sure it wouldn't take much more pressure to get Skeeter to say the quiet part out loud. The woman thought herself smart, but was rather predictable, truth be told.
These people never understood that they're not revealing anything, but their own heart's darkness. Who would deny a child to be who they were, for the sake of their own comfort? Their excuses of propriety and social norms were but masks for the ugly visage of their soul.
Their base was already brittle. Some smaller articles and commentaries - page eight and onward - sounded quite neutral, with one even genuinely interested in the causes and effects of this new development. Which meant the powers that be, were no longer in unanimous agreement.
She drank the last bit of her coffee, and made to leave. There were Aurors to recruit, and more mayhem to produce.
Tonks and Kingsley were ready, even eager, to take on the case of Marcus McLaggen. The man was small fry in the ministry, but could get Fudge nervous. The beauty of it all was that the Minister could never publicly cancel, or even so much as be suspected of hindering, an investigation into thought thievery. There were very few things holy among magicals, and the integrity of the mind was one of them.
Agatha found herself in Grimmauld Place, having delivered the case to the authorities, with nothing pressing left to do. Naturally, that meant she could work on her new hobby. Investigating Bellatrix Lestrange or Black. As luck would have it, she was in just te right place to do so. Grimmauld Place, while not the center of Black arcana, was the centre of the family's records.
Agatha rummaged through the study of Grimmauld Place, trying to find something, anything that could give her a hint as to what Bellatrix had done. The study had been left as it was since the death of Sirius' parents. There was nothing interesting for the Order here, and only bad memories for Sirius. Every now and again, Agatha swished her wand to remove grime and dust from old parchments and books.
Her fingers glided over the backs of a row of tomes. "Taxes, taxes, taxes, taxes, financial statement, taxes, marriage contracts, oh?" She took the book wrapped in red leather from the shelf, and started rummaging through the documents of the old, and thankfully no longer en vogue practise of contractual marriage. Contracts were next to notes, and protocols. The Blacks had kept a meticulous play-by-play of courtships and agreements, with details ranging from the colours of dresses, to the flirts and smokey eyes seen at balls and galas.
All of that was politics, of course. Especially Elladora Black seemed to have been a mastermind of social engineering. According to the notes Agatha had before her, Elladora was more or less responsible for half of the Sacred 28's current family bonds. By marriage alone, she had moved the Blacks into a position of incredible wealth and power, to the point where she had been able to dictate marriages to other families. Only when blood purity began to play a larger political role, did the star of Elladora Black slowly wane.
"Huh," Agatha's idle browsing had brought her to newer contracts. Of course, some Blacks would have still been players at this dead game, she mused. Sirius had a few, all cancelled when he had been imprisoned. There was one for Narcissa, seemingly handwritten by herself, with Lucius. Andromeda's was ripped into shreds, then badly spelled back together for documentation. Bellatrix' contract made her pause. "Potter?"
Agatha read the document several times, not entirely believing what she saw written on it. According to the contract, Bellatrix had been promised to James Potter, via Dorea Potter's recommendation. Again, she reminded herself, the practise was out of fashion even back then. There was no hard legal consequence for James marrying Lily Evans instead. On the other hand, there was still some significance to a promise like this, and especially when such a promise was broken.
Her eyebrows furrowed. The slight must have been especially hard to swallow, given the following marriage to Lestrange. Rodolphus and Rabastan were not exactly known to be refined gentlemen. Never were, never will be.
"So, what do I do with this?" she mused. It definitely was a puzzle piece, but Agatha couldn't be sure where to place it. How did the woman think about marrying James Potter? Maybe she liked Rodolphus and was glad the contract was null and void? What role did the doppelganger play, and when did it even get into the game?
Agatha took her wand, and copied the contract onto some spare parchment, before placing the book back into the shelves. The next one, right beside it, was newer. The leather cover was still a bright red, instead of the more dulled burgundy of the older book.
"More contracts?" Agatha flipped through the first few pages, until just after a good dozen, the pages were blank. Obviously, someone in the black family thought the tradition of contracts wouldn't go out of fashion for quite a while.
The few pages that were filled, dealt with the next generation. It was odd, seeing whom the Blacks felt they could marry with a contract. It spoke volumes about the mental decline of the Blacks that last lived at Grimmauld Place. Draco Malfoy was promised to Nymphadora Tonks, according to a deal made by Walburga Black with herself. There were other kids promised to disturbingly closely related peers. Agatha had to chuckle when she saw that Harry Potter had been promised to Pansy Parkinson, with a lengthy explanation as to why Walburga thought she could even make this deal. Oddly enough, Zarastro Parkinson, the girl's father, had signed the contract, making it at the very least not completely inconsequential. "This could become a problem." she murmured to herself.
True, all of this was Old Traditions, held up only by the most reality-denying members of society. However, they were never officially declared illegal, or at least non-binding. While no one would be married via contract if they didn't want to, it could be used to drag Harry into the public eye.
With a quick whirl of her wand, she cast her Patronus to summon Harry. The wolpertinger hopped through the room, and vanished behind the door. Not long after, Agatha heard Harry's footsteps quickly approaching.
"You wanted to see me, Professor?"
"I've found something you should know about." she stated without looking up from the book. "Your hand in marriage is promised to Pansy Parkinson."
Harry stared at Agatha, mulling over the words he had just heard. "Excuse me, what now?"
"Here, look." she said and held up the page to Harry. "Your cousin a few times removed, Walburga Black, has taken it upon herself to promise you to Miss Parkinson."
"This is mental." he whispered, reading the convoluted explanation of why this contract was legal.
"It is," Agatha agreed. "It's also a waste of parchment, if no one ever decides to act on it in time."
Harry looked up to her, and Agatha knew there wasn't much explanation needed any more. Harry understood well. "Which means, this is going to be used against me, somehow."
"Umbridge couldn't drag you to court with a case of underage magic. Maybe she'll try to get you with this. All contracts of this sort are within the Ministry archives."
"Are you saying they could force me to marry…"
"No, gods forbid. None of this is binding. The problem is that you'd at least have to show up and say no to it yourself. She won't need more."
"Won't need more? For what?"
"That woman wants you dead, Harry." Agatha took the book, and let it sink onto the desk next to her. "If you send out a Dementor against a teenage wizard, you expect the wizard to die. Every other expectation would be laughably naive."
"With Voldemort now revealed, all she'll need is me stationary somewhere, and a scapegoat to point a wand at me."
Agatha nodded. "Well deduced. Umbridge would have no issue finding someone in her debt that would do anything to get out of it."
"What do we do?" Harry asked, but other than what Agatha had expected, his voice was calm, and collected.
"I'll look into it. It's usually pretty easy to get access to the Ministry archives." Crossed arms, she looked at the young boy before her. "I imagined you'd panic at the news, and I'd have to calm you back down. You're taking this well?"
"I suppose you're right." Harry agreed. He shrugged. "I guess the lessons did work, after all."
"Lessons?"
"Narcissa," Harry smiled. "I'm her new pet project."
"Pet project?"
"It's great, honestly. I'm surprised, myself." Harry glowed. "I feel like I'm preparing, you know. Not just for a fight, but, as Narcissa put it, for what comes after."
Agatha nodded again, with a clear image of what Miss Black would mean by that. "That's why this doesn't shake you."
"Narcissa said that the only way they get you in the Wizengamot is when you panic."
"Wise words."
"I try not to get too Slytherin, though." he laughed. "She'll be around if I need her, as per her promise. She's the expert."
"I say we ask the expert, then." Agatha smiled, took the two books, and gestured him to follow her. Their way led them up into the lounge, where, as always, Narcissa spent her day reading, smoking and gossiping with whomever came to her hideout.
"Oh, Agatha. Harry, dear." Narcissa greeted them, spread across the green velvet couch in the room, with a glass of whiskey in one hand, and a cheap romance novel in the other. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I've got some more interesting literature here for you."
Narcissa let the novel drop to the floor, and grabbed the books held out by Agatha. "The contract books?"
"You know them?"
"I've written my own contract in them. So, yes, I do."
"Then could you tell me what you think of this one?" Agatha flipped the newer book to the page on which Harry's contract was written. "Is this even anything?"
Narcissa quickly looked over the contract, and had to double-take a few times while reading Walburga's ramblings. Again and again, Narcissa shook her head, tutted in exasperation, and eventually just chuckled, but her expression told a different story. "It's not nothing, and that is a problem." she finally said.
"Not nothing?" Harry stepped up. "You mean, this is an actual contract? This is legal?"
"Well," Narcissa sighed. "How legal do you want it to be, is the question. You could go according to the contract and solidify the negotiations in an actual, separate contract, as has been done since these contracts became popular."
"I don't want it to be legal." Harry shot out.
"You're not the only one asked." Narcissa gave him a pitying look. "Zarastro has bragged about this insane contract since the day he had seen my aunt draft it. If he makes Pansy insist on the contract before you're seventeen, it's at least a court date."
"I'd prefer to have no dates of any kind with Pansy." Harry grumbled.
"You could do worse," Narcissa shrugged, only to have both Agatha and Harry give her the most unimpressed stare they could muster. "What? You could've been promised to a Bulstrode."
"Fair enough," Harry shrugged. "How likely is it that anyone insists on it?"
"Unlikely," Narcissa gave him another pitying look. "Although, your enemies have proven to care little about the suffering of the people caught up in their schemes. I doubt they'd care about Pansy's name being dragged through the gutter press. If they find the contract and think it would help them…"
"Bloody hell," Harry sighed. For a while he mulled things over, slowly walking up and down the lounge.
Narcissa kept perusing the two books of contracts, and lingered over the three contracts of her sisters and herself. Taking her time, she read through the legalese of marriage, as if it was a romance novel itself. First she read her own, then she deciphered the ripped apart contract of Andromeda, until eventually she reached Bellatrix' contract.
Most people wouldn't even have noticed, but Agatha saw the tiniest furrowing of Narcissa's brows, her slightly pursed lips and knew that the youngest Black sister saw something Agatha hadn't.
"I have to talk to Ron and Hermione." Harry declared, nodded his goodbye and left the room in a hurry.
"You've done good work." Agatha watched Harry walk off with confidence, and drive. It was odd to behold, but she smiled at his progress regardless.
"There is still much to do." Narcissa answered without looking up from the contract. "Once we can enter the Alley again, I'll have him spend an afternoon at Twilfitt and Tattings. These oversized muggle rags are an eyesore, I won't suffer longer than I have to."
"You don't have to."
Narcissa gave her the most exasperated look she had ever seen on the regal woman's face. "Who else will dress the boy in clothes befitting of his character and status? Molly Weasley? Sirius? Lupin? You?"
"I could,"
"You'd give him three battle-robes and tell him to let them grime up for camouflage." she mocked.
Agatha picked on her robes - black dyed, reinforced shimmerworm silk with dwarven steel lining, in Auror cut. "Fair enough," she said. "What did you see?"
"A woman that needs to go on a holiday."
"Not me, the contract." Agatha huffed. "I don't need a holiday."
"Sure, darling." Narcissa patted the spot next to her on the couch, and turned back to the contract. "I'm not good enough with such Charms to know what I see. However, I'm sure that there is something."
With her finger pointed at the text, Narcissa let it slowly change the angle at which she pointed at it. Agatha followed with her head, coming closer and closer to align her eyes with the edge of the book, until she saw it. The faintest of shimmer across the text could be seen, almost delicate enough to be mistaken for a trick of the light.
"Interesting." Agatha murmured. "The spellwork is incredible, just from what I can see with my eyes. Let me just…" she trailed off, and began to let her wand stab and swish over the parchment in the various patterns of the large list of analytical spells Agatha knew from the top of her head.
Her demeanour grew darker and darker as more and more became clear to her. "This is dangerously complex, but I'm sure under all that spellwork lies a secret."
Narcissa rolled her eyes. "I think we all agree that it is a secret, Agatha."
"Not what I meant." she looked around the room. "I'm talking a secret like this house."
"A Fidelius over… information?" Narcissa's scepticism was plainly present on her face.
"I know it's not meant to be possible, but the adjective 'impossible' mostly just means 'extremely unlikely' when talking about magic. Case in point: you share a house with such an impossible exception."
"Well, that is true enough." Narcissa pointed at the contract. "Does this have anything to do with the doppelganger?"
"I don't know," Agatha sighed. "We can't be sure until we confirm what's beneath the spellwork." She let out another, deeper sigh. "The one I would like to ask about it is in Oyo."
"What about your father?"
"Well," Agatha couldn't quite meet Narcissa's eye. "I'd rather not have him find out that I am not currently relaxing."
Narcissa just gave the Executor a tired shake of the head, grabbed the Floo pulver and threw a handful into the chimney. She waved Agatha into the green flames. "Go. I'll be right behind you."
"That was not what I meant when I said enjoy yourself." Albus really tried, but he couldn't muster the disappointed look he wanted to give Agatha. After all, it was his own foolish assumption that his daughter would do anything in a resting position.
"But I am really enjoying myself." Agatha shrugged, and smiled. "When was the last time you saw something so expertly enchanted?"
Albus took the book of contracts, and looked at the one pointed out by Narcissa. The former lady Malfoy was entirely uncomfortable around him, and given her involvement in the last time his daughter almost got herself killed, he decided to let her stir a bit.
However, the contract they showed him truly was covered in a magnificent, horrifying layer of enchantments. "You have done well to come to me with this." he pointed at a few points on the contract, where neither Agatha nor Narcissa could see anything special, but Albus was focused on those points. "These are vicious defences. If triggered, they would annihilate your mind as thoroughly as a Dementor's Kiss."
Thinking back, Agatha was glad that she didn't attempt anything. "Can you break them?"
"Easily," Albus answered, never looking up from the parchment. "Once understood, the charms work can be unravelled almost as easy as…" He waved his wand over the parchment, murmuring words in a language Agatha didn't recognize. "As easy as a shoes ties."
"That's it?" Agatha looked at the contract. It was unchanged, as far as she could see.
"It looks the sa- the sa- the sa-" Narcissa stuttered with weakening voice. "Id loooo de sa- the sa-"
"Narcissa!"
"Miss Black!"
They both watched as Narcissa's eyes, ears and nose began bleeding. She grabbed her head, with rising panic in her eyes. She opened her mouth in a silent scream. Her nails bit into her scalp, drawing even more blood, as she began to tear her skin from her skull.
She screamed louder than a banshee; blood curling and tearing asunder her vocal cords until all that came from her mouth were blood gurgling with the air from her lungs.
Agatha immediately brandished her wand, and with a quick "Morpheum!" sent Narcissa to sleep. She crashed onto the floor, where Albus quickly conjured a mattress for her to fall onto. Even in her sleep she screamed, and if anything the blood pooling out of her got worse and worse.
Agatha held her wand to her throat. "We need medical assistance right now, Poppy. Witch. Adult. Mind or brain related magic. Headmasters office. Run! Expecto Patronum!"
Albus did the same. "Severus. Narcissa Black is dying from the effects of a mind-altering spell. My office. Make haste."
The Wolpertinger and the phoenix patroni shot out from their wands, into the walls and down the stairs.
"Agatha, help her." Albus commanded, just as he himself began to cast healing magic. "I'm stabilizing her body. You need to stabilize her mind."
She nodded, pointed her wand at Narcissa's forehead and said. "Legilimens."
Agatha waded through darkness. Sometimes she saw or heard something that broke the nothingness in which she stood. Light, like mirror shards. Images, like caricatures. Sounds, disconnected and distorted.
"Fuck," Agatha murmured. "Narcissa, what happened to you?"
She took a deep breath of relief, when the darkness shifted. Narcissa's mind wasn't completely annihilated, if she could still associate.
The scenery shifted. Agatha came to stand in a garden, wild bushes next to empty flowerbeds. She turned and saw Black Manor, which as she knew had been levelled at the end of the last war. It had been where Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa grew up.
Narcissa herself walked across the lawn, apparently driven by something, judging from her gait. Her form jumped between her present self, to a version of her that was fourteen, or fifteen years old.
Agatha followed her, over the many winding paths leading through once magnificent gardens, that hadn't seen a gardener in years. The broken archways and pavilions had been buried under ivy and wild wine. Narcissa walked deeper and deeper into ever more wild sections of the garden, until she reached her destination.
Agatha had to hold back a few curses. Of course, it would be a crypt, and of course, Narcissa opened the creaking, wooden door into it and vanished in darkness. Agatha made haste to follow her, and the magic of the mind more or less apparated her right beside Narcissa.
Eyes wide open, Agatha witnessed Narcissa slowly walking towards her oldest sister. Bellatrix stood next to a sarcophagus that had been reused to be a workbench of sorts. Hundreds of enchanted candles lit up the subterranean hall.
In the same tempo as Narcissa's mind remembered the details, Agatha saw them. Even through the veil of the Legilimens spell, she could feel her stomach turning.
"Bella," the fifteen-year-old version of Narcissa breathed out in horror. "What have you done?"
Bellatrix no longer stood over an empty workbench. The memory came back, and she witnessed as the body of a child began to appear on it. Narcissa's scream echoed through the memory - a faint shade of her real suffering.
"Holy shit," Agatha couldn't help but blurt out.
"Who is that?" Narcissa asked her sister, tears in her eyes and shaking all over with fear.
Bellatrix just shrugged, and gave no answer. Instead, she took a silver penknife and began cutting into the chest of the child. With a few, well-placed cuts, Bellatrix took out the heart of the girl.
The girl began to gain features, now that teenage Narcissa looked at her in earnest. Red hair, laid over pale skin. Green, shining eyes that stared at Narcissa with the cold stare of the dead.
"Some muggleborn," Bellatrix finally said.
"How?" Narcissa stammered, her voice wet with tears. "Why?"
"How was easy. Aunt Cassie had the list of muggleborn Hogwarts beginners on her desk. I just picked one at random." Then the older witch gave her little sister a cold look of calculated, weaponized anger. Rage that had cooled, and sharpened over a long time. "You know who they found for me?"
"I- I- I heard. It's Rodolphus. You were friends with him…"
The penknife flew at Narcissa with deadly precision. Just as fast as it flew, it stopped right in front of Narcissa's left eye.
"Friends? Sure." Bellatrix scoffed. "He was useful enough. No morals."
"Bella, please." Narcissa begged, frozen in place by the penknife threatening to pierce her eyeball.
"But Rudi is no husband. Not to a woman, anyway." She kept talking, calm and relaxed, as she continued to gut what Agatha could only identify as Lily Evans.
"Bella, please. I didn't mean to. Please." Narcissa was crying. Large tears ran down her cheeks, while she kept herself from shaking with all her might, lest she'd shake into the penknife.
"You didn't mean to?" Bellatrix looked up from her gory work. "Well, I mean it. I mean all of it. I don't care for continuing this life. I'm checking out." She looked to her right, somewhere in the deeper, dark corners. "And this is checking in."
Agatha gasped. There it was, the doppelganger, in what seemed to be a womb turned inside out. The silhouette was twisting and changing, writhing with random nerve endings sending signals. Its form pressed against the outside of the womb, ready to burst.
"What are you doing Bella? Please, stop this. We'll fix it, I promise."
"No. I've gotten enough promises. Oh, Bella, of course we'll pay for the duellist circle. Oh, Bella, of course we support you going to the Academy. Oh, Bella, of course we'll find you a kind and supportive husband." She laughed a dry, humorless laugh. "We've seen where those promises go. Less than nowhere."
Bellatrix took the liver out of the body of the girl, and softly placed it amongst the heart, and the lungs. "I guess I can tell you. After all this is done, none of us will remember anyway."
"What do you mean? Why won't we remember?"
Bellatrix looked at her little sister. With a wave of her wand, the penknife dropped. "I want to try again, you see. I'll be her," she nodded towards the girl's body. Then she nodded towards the doppelganger in the womb-sack. "And she will be me, marrying Rodolphus, and he'll never even suspect a thing. For that, you'd have to be interested in someone else than the man in the mirror."
Agatha couldn't help but notice the profound sadness in Bellatrix' voice. What had been old, cold rage, now became old, cold, sadness, that was tired, and sick of it all.
"You want to become a - that mudblood?" Narcissa shook her head. "That is insane!"
"No. You know what's insane? Begging on your knees for any future whatsoever, and doing it over and over and over and over and over again, expecting the answers to change." Bellatrix spat at her sister. "This family; this world leaves me no other choice. You know why I hate mudbloods? Do you truly know why I despise them so?"
"N- No."
"Because they're free, and I am not."
Agatha suddenly noticed that Bellatrix had cut along the skull for the entire time. Legilimency did have the one weak point of only showing what had been remembered, and Narcissa had been entirely focused on her older sister. However, the distinct crack of bone breaking, and the disgusting, wet sounds of a skull being cracked in half, couldn't be ignored.
The fifteen year old Narcissa puked, but didn't move an inch. The sick just ran down her chin, alongside her tears, onto her clothes. Her eyes, unblinking and wide, were glued to the scene of Bellatrix removing the brain. She cut the stem with a large knife, and laid it to the other organs.
She brandished her wand, and the body, and all the organs began to hover around her. With soft steps she walked over to what Narcissa now recognized as a complex, ritualistic circle.
Agatha knew what it was. She had seen arcana like this amongst some of the most depraved dark wizards. The difference? The brilliance behind it. Agatha took in the circle, and quickly deduced what it would do. Fifteen year old Narcissa did not.
"What? What are you…"
"This is goodbye, sister. I'd ask you to give my best to Andromeda, but you won't remember. For what it is worth, I am sorry for putting this on you. I would have preferred for you to be elsewhere when I cast these spells, and when it is born to replace me." Bellatrix let the organs hover to 4 points around her, on the circles. The body she placed right underneath herself. "These three spells will make me free. The first will make me into this mudblood, into Lily Evans. The second will make us forget who we were and hide our secret, even from ourselves. The third will send me back to the woods where I found her, so I may be found."
"Bellatrix, please, stop this." Narcissa begged. "I need you."
Agatha thought that the smile Bellatrix gave her sister, may have been the only genuine one she ever gave to anyone. "Nobody needs me, Cissy."
White light was all Narcissa remembered, and all Agatha saw.
She burst out of Narcissa's mind, fell backwards onto the floor, and despite herself began to cry. She felt hands on her, but couldn't recognize the faces. Something was said to her, but all she could think of was Bellatrix last words. "Nobody needs me, Cissy."
Her breath slowly calmed. The tears stopped, leaving only the feeling of burning eyes behind. One last, shaking breath she took before the world came crashing down upon her again.
"The acromantula venom, Severus." she heard Poppy say. "Now, wait…"
"Three counts,"
"Keep the mouth open. Spasms. Some Lankaster drought."
"She's stable. We need to get her to St. Mungo's."
"The Floo. Quick."
Agatha heard the flames roar, softer with the special Floo powder for medical transport. Instead of green, the flames burned a soft pink. Agatha only saw it from the edge of her vision. She stared at the ceiling, and waited for her mind to settle.
Just when the face of her father appeared above her, did she move at all.
"Agatha," he whispered. "Are you alright, my dear? What have you seen?"
Agatha stared at him. How does one speak the unspeakable? How does one tell someone that they'll have to rethink everything they thought they knew?
"Harry," she croaked.
"What about Harry, Agatha?"
"He doesn't know… he…"
"Know? Agatha, calm. What are you trying to say?"
She took another deep breath, and let it out in a shaking exhale. She swallowed the bile, spit and guilt for a second. "Bellatrix Black is Lily Evans - was Lily Evans. I don't know."
"Agatha. Dear. You are not making sense."
"In the memory… Narcissa caught Bellatrix preparing a ritual…" Agatha growled, and fought herself to sit upright. "You got a vial?"
Albus conjured a small crystal vial, already knowing what she was about to do. Her wand reached to her temple, and a fine strand of memory tethered itself to it. She moved it into the vial. "Just so you're warned, this is up there with the most disturbing things I've ever seen."
The sun began to set, when Albus Dumbledore came out of his pensieve for the sixth time. He turned, deep in thought, to face his daughter.
Agatha had been asking for blankets, and hot chocolate to cleanse - to purge her mind of Bellatrix' depravity. Curled up on her father's large armchair, only her face and horns could be seen sticking out between the blankets.
"I am at a loss." Albus admitted. "How do we proceed from here?"
"I hate to say it," Agatha answered. "You may want to reach out to Akirazael. He's searching for someone who hasn't existed for over a decade, and even that prick is too valuable to chase ghosts."
"You believe her dead?" Albus took a seat next to her. Unprompted, he too was served hot chocolate by the invisible hands of the houselfs.
"I believe that whatever Harry thinks he remembers of the night of the attack isn't the whole story. In truth, all we know of it, is that Dementor induced vision Harry had." she sighed. "I also think he ought to know"
"What would him knowing achieve? For all he believes, Lily Potter was his mother. It is a memory that sustains him, among others. Why take that away?"
"I would want to know." Agatha took a sip of her hot chocolate, letting the thoughts of her own birth's circumstances play in her mind. "The truth sustains, long-term. Lies eventually crumble. Always." her eyes were glaring at her father, trying to convey the same lesson she had tried to tell him at the beginning of summer.
"No matter what I say, you will be telling him, won't you?"
"Yes,"
"I understand," he nodded, and every single decade lived could be seen on his face. Not even hot chocolate could get the tiniest smile on his face when he said, "I agree."