Harry had sat in the lounge, waiting for her, when the news struck that Narcissa had almost died, and was recovering in St. Mungos. He had sat there, going over the notes he had taken on political parties of the Wizengamot, the deeply ingrained ideologies that govern the magical world, and how to use them to steer them.
Narcissa had taken it upon herself to teach Harry in matters of politics, and society. Never had she done so with any amount of belittlement. She delivered some harsh truths, without seeing the need to hold back for him. Maybe that was why he had taken a liking to her as soon as she had finished the first lesson, he mused. Maybe that was why it shook him so that she almost died.
Narcissa Black had never once given him advice on Voldemort, or Death Eaters, or how to survive. She always gave him advice for what came after. The thought that he could die, that Voldemort could win, was utterly absent from her teaching. All she saw, so much had she told him, was a young, soon-to-be Elder of the Wizengamot who had enough of a name to stir up an institution that had become stale and stagnant, if only someone prepared him for it.
Nobody had told him that there was every possibility, more or less a certainty, that the Wizengamot would decide to invite him to join the moment he came out of Hogwarts. Dumbledore, Mrs. Weasley, everyone, even Sirius had thought he had enough on his plate. No need to put more stress on the boy, right? Nobody had understood that mere survival was not enough of a motivator in his darker hours. Narcissa, through a deeper understanding, or just a lucky shot in the dark, told him about a life after surviving.
So he sat next to her bed, in a private room of the Janus Thickey ward of St. Mungos and waited for her to wake up from potion induced sleep. Because he didn't want her to be alone, after surviving.
The great, first outing should have been her long awaited, and his dreaded shopping tour through the alley. Instead, the assembled security detail had brought him to the hospital. Harry had put her novels down beside the bed, and a bouquet of roses in a vase next to her on a night stand. Sirius had asked him to get her some flowers, and had drilled it into his head that whatever he'd do, not to buy narcissus. Apparently, she hated her namesake flower.
With the lessons, Sirius and her had found some common ground. Who knew the man who could not be kept from slandering his family whenever he got the chance, remembered so well what they had taught him? If he wanted to, Sirius could transform into "the spitting image of uncle Arcturus", as Narcissa said to rile her cousin up. He loved to pretend to be hurt by it.
Her rattling breath made him look up at her again. Some of her blonde hair was still pink from the blood it had soaked in, even after being washed. Exactly ten angry, red scars from her temples, and her forehead, to her chin showed where her nails had cut and ripped through her own skin due to the immense pain she had felt. The magic unleashed through such pain was responsible for them still remaining on her face, like a macabre caricature of a veil. They would likely never be fully healed. Their stubborn nature was akin to his own scar, the healers told him. He had asked them to remove the two mirrors in the room, for now.
It wasn't like she could use them, right away, anyway. Her nails had not only scratched her skin, but damaged her eyes as well. There was a chance they would be healed, but she would have some days ahead of her without eyesight, as the salves and potions did their work.
She coughed. Droplets of blood flew out of her mouth. Her throat was still suffering from something they had called "banshee's throat". Screams of sufficient intensity, and intent could create the tiniest scars from mouth to stomach. It took some time to heal. Magic, as much as it helped healing, could also make wounds so much worse.
Harry took one of the few linen rags next to her bed to at least clean up her face some. He could do little about the bloodstains on her bedsheets and patient's robes.
"Thank you,"
Harry halted his cleaning efforts, when he heard her croaking voice. Her breath, rasping and deep, was laboured after only two words.
"You didn't show up to our lesson."
"Harry? Oh," Narcissa managed the tiniest smile, while slowly moving her head somewhat into his direction.
"Whom did you expect?"
"Agatha," she answered without missing a beat. "I saw her in my thoughts. Or my dreams?"
"She hasn't been around. Moody said something about them 'cleaning up Cornwall', but I don't know what he meant."
"Harry, would you be honest with me?" she asked. Her voice shook, even as weak as it was.
"Of course,"
"Am I blind?"
"Only for a few days." he answered, and grabbed one of her hands for her to hold onto. "They are not sure if they'll heal. You, uhm… your nails cut through them."
"My nails?" she stilled.
"Something about a memory being released, that made you tear through your face with your nails. That's really all I know. Sorry, Snape briefed us."
"So, no dream." she seemed to sink even further into her pillows, like a weight settled on her that hadn't been there just a moment ago. "I had hoped it was just a nightmare."
Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. They've all been in the dark about what happened. Snape came, and informed them all of a horrifying scene that had happened in the headmaster's office. Narcissa had almost died. Then, just a few hours later, Agatha just walked into Grimmauld Place, gave Moody and Remus a look, and the three of them walked off into the early evening. No one told them what exactly had happened, or why Agatha looked like she was about to commit cold-blooded murder.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he tried.
Her hand looked for his again, patting the bed until she found his. "My dear, I have seen something in my memories that is… difficult to explain. It is a painful memory, for me, but…"
Harry gave her time. He waited patiently for her to find words.
She sighed. "Let me tell you about your mother. I was fifteen when Lily Evans came to Hogwarts. Even in her first year, her brilliance became clear. Poor girl."
"How so?"
"Outside Hogwarts, arcane academia had a problem with her, being so dominated by the House of Black alliance in the Wizengamot. Can you guess what it was?"
Harry knew the answer, of course. It had been the easiest to remember fact about the party founded by Elladora Black, and now led by Lucius Malfoy. "She was a muggleborn."
"Exactly. Tojours Pur. In family, in society and in magic." Narcissa paused, letting the family and party motto hang in the room like a nightmare itself. "To think, a muggleborn would not only outclass all purebloods, but outshine even the academic endeavours of some of the most esteemed researchers by her OWL years. She was an uncomfortable question asked, in a time when the logical answer could paint a target on your head. Muggleborns are equals in magic, and have the potential for greatness."
"Voldemort didn't like that, I suppose." Harry shook his head. "What does my mum have to do with the memories that got you here, though?"
"Lily Evans, in retrospect, was better than anyone can be. She learned faster than Dumbledore had, she mastered spells years ahead of her peers, and even then had time to garner the information of how to move and act in magical society. It was as if she had forty-eight hours a day. Well, I think I know how she did it, now." she sighed again, while two large bloody teardrops rolled down her cheeks again. "Because Lily Evans entered Hogwarts, truly being a nineteen-year-old, grown and fully educated witch."
"Uhm, you lost me." Harry took back his hands. Instead, he held a glass of water to her mouth, given her increasingly more croaking voice. "What do you mean, my mother was nineteen… at eleven?"
"In my memory," Narcissa began, but it was as if she had a cork in her throat. She swallowed hard, before speaking again.
"Bellatrix created her doppelganger at the age of nineteen, for it to take over a life she despised, and murdered an innocent muggleborn - Lily Evans - to take over her life."
One could hear a feather drop in the room. Harry was smart enough to make the connection immediately, but there was a large difference between understanding an implication, and accepting it. His voice shook when he asked, "It sounds like you're implying Bellatrix Lest… Black is my mother?"
"Yes," Narcissa whispered.
"That is insane."
"Yes," she tried to reach for his hands, but those were close around himself. "It was insane, the crimes she committed. In the memory, she said the ritual would make her forget who she was. Having known Lily Evans, I don't believe that was true."
"You know I can't just believe that." Harry's shook his head almost too hard. His nails bit into his arms, just to grab onto something.
"Of course," Narcissa, despite it all, gave a light laugh. "I would be most disappointed in you, if you would take information such as this at face value."
"I believe that you're telling the truth about what you remember. But…" Harry trailed off.
"Memories are inherently subjective. I understand your doubt, Harry." Narcissa let her hand roam again. Eventually, Harry forced himself to have her hand meet his own again. With a light smile, and a squeeze of his hand, she said, "However this mystery resolves, I want you to know that I will be there along the way."
"Thank you," he chocked out. Even though she was blindfolded, he couldn't meet her eyes. Just knowing that under the pure white linen there would be that understanding look on her face, made him squirm, and he didn't even know why.
She slapped his wrist. "No brooding."
"I'm not…"
"I know you are." she cut him off. "Tell me."
"I don't know. Who my mother really is… you almost died, yet I feel… I feel like none of it matters." he sighed. He truly didn't. He didn't know how he should take the news, how he could try and see for himself what the consequences of all this were and if it was even worth it. So many other things threatened him, and his. Voldemort, though weakened, still lurked in the dark. The Ministry wanted him gone, by lethal force if necessary. "I feel tired." he finally whispered to her.
"No wonder." she answered. No more words needed to be said. Her tone alone said "I understand, I can't help, but I am sorry" and what else did one really need to hear, from time to time?
"If some of this stuff could just - I don't know - go away?" he sighed. "None of it is going away with me just sitting at home."
"Hmm, you're right." Narcissa tapped her lips with her pointer. "Lessons are fine, but maybe our approach was too passive?"
"What do you mean?" Harry couldn't help, but smile as he saw the wicked smirk on her face. "What did you just think of?"
"Oh, I think we're no longer going to wait for something to resolve itself. I think we're going to get a bit more active, and the first course of action will be very much to your liking."
Harry rolled his eyes at her, knowing by now how much she loved to let the anticipation grow. "What's your plan?"
"Get your friends together. Hermione and Ronald." she had a wicked grin on her face. "We're going to free Sirius."
Somewhere in a forest in Cornwall, Agatha kneeled in front of a little Hogwarts houselve, and found herself feeling lucky that it would be today that they'd call her. They had found the poachers, and dutifully reported back to her as soon as possible. It was a small win. She desperately needed one today.
She had quickly gathered Lupin and Moody for a scouting mission. The first because he would be a good envoy to have, should they find werewolves. The second because he was a skilled enough wizard to keep her in check, should things escalate.
She didn't kid herself. Escalation, tonight, would most likely be the case if she lost her patience. She reminded herself that she had been reprimanded, and needed to be careful. The Aurors, once given a tip, would have to react. It was her job to make that tip as accurate as possible. If they still didn't show up? Well, werewolf hunts were dangerous business, and fellows like Greyback still roamed the lands. Blame could be quickly misdirected.
"Riley, was it?" she asked the little elf. She was a precious little one. Rosie cheeks, blond curls of hair and large, trusting eyes. She was quite new among the ranks of the Hogwarts elfs, if Agatha guessed right, but the fiercer in her loyalty for it.
"Yes, Mistress Dumbledore, miss." she answered with an eager nod. "We have found a camp with your dead critters help."
"Can you show us?" Agatha held out her hand to Riley.
Mad-Eye and Lupin also stretched out their hands to the two other elfs, standing next to them. Bogi was an older, wrinkled elf who's back bent in an almost ninety-degree angle. The third was Suki, an equally old, female elf with a hair-bun the size of her head. Both were respected seniors among the mostly unseen, but most steadfast defenders of Hogwarts.
The next moment they all stood atop a hill, looking down onto what seemed to be a quiet, muggle village. It had the typical, cute way of its white houses rolling along the green hills, like white ships on green waves. Some lights were on, and a car drove along its winding paths. It was definitely a muggle village. Outside the village, on some farmers field, she could see the small poacher camp. As usual for them, they seemed to use the colours and gear of the local military to blend in, and make it easier to fool the locals. For anyone not in the know, it would seem like the British Armed Forces had a little field exercise.
They stood within a small forests. Around them, in the bushes and nestled between the roots, and twigs of the trees, were swarms of her imps. "Whisper to me." she hissed in the tongue of the hells.
Lupin shuddered at the sound of the language, and even Mad-Eye shuffled uneasy.
One fox-shaped imp jumped out of a bush, up to her shoulder, until it had its skull next to her ear. "They have the scent of blood. They crave the wolf's blood, but even more, the blood of the mistress. When the silver eye opens once more, they will strike again."
"How many?"
"Fifteen. Yet, they seek new, untainted ones to join each day."
"You have done well. Thank you." she said, and gave the fox-skull a little peck on its half-rotten eye socket. The entire swarm jittered, and those who had one, wagged their black, silhouette tails. Legion demons were many, but also felt as one.
"Fifteen poachers, and counting. They plan on going for another full-moon hunt, it seems." Agatha relayed to Lupin and Mad-Eye.
"Two weeks, three days." Remus didn't need to count. He always knew.
"What's the plan, Ember?" Mad-Eye watched her with his good eye, while his magical one did not move away from the village. "Bones, or our way?"
"Bones. For now." Agatha twirled her wand in her fingers. It itched her to just go down there and clean up, but alas, this wasn't land on which she could do as she pleased, judge, jury and executioner-style. Director Bones had shown her quite some patience already, and as things stood now, she'd rather not test it.
"Pah," Mad-Eye grunted out. "You're going soft." he said, not without some humour in it.
Remus snorted a laugh, but sobered up quickly. His eyes were slits, his jaw tense. This was personal for the werewolf. "I'll spread rumours. Maybe the," he paused, thought about his words. "Maybe the right ones may try to see if they're true."
"Greyback?"
"Aye," Remus growled. "Fire with fire. Maybe we're lucky, and both problems solve each other."
"Let's scout out the area. If we report this to Bones, she'll appreciate some details. Don't get close. Don't underestimate them." she whispered to them.
"I'll see if we can expect muggle casualties during a frontal assault." Moody said, while his eyes scanned the village, house by house. His right hand's fingers counted along with his eyes, while the left hand made marks into the forest's ground for every five muggles Moody saw.
"It's night. Good camouflage for me." Agatha began to cast an Disillusionment on herself, when the remnants of a burnt feather appeared before her, and vanished just as quickly. "Shit," she hissed out.
Moody, old veteran that he was, knew what it meant. "Who's in trouble?"
"My housemate." she answered, while her wand already moved in complicated patterns, retracing the path the feather took to alert her. "I'm sorry, but..."
"It's alright." Remus stepped forward, gave her a light pat on the shoulder, and knelt down into the underbrush. "It's just scouting. We can handle it. Go."
"Thanks," Her imps gathered around her, like a dark shroud of hellish caricatures of wildlife. The night became even darker around her, as light bent around the spell she was creating. Apparition would be too loud. Instead, she opted for a path only she could walk. "I'll check in tomorrow."
Heat and the smell of sulphur surrounded her for a second, until she vanished in a dark cloud of smoke, leaving the old Auror and the kind werewolf behind.
For a split second, Hell surrounded her. Heat followed frost, despair followed wrath, as she glided through her own little shortcut around the world. She felt her own demonic nature rejoice as it felt so close to home. In the back of her mind, the thought of just stopping here, and staying in the other world where she would only fit by half, was always present. In some ways, hell was easier to navigate than earth.
There was no time. With her claws and will, she ripped another portal between the world open. Heat and sulphur streamed out onto a concerning scene, burning some tropical ferns and grasses in the process.
It immediately became clear to her why the goblins would send an expedition here. The temple she saw before her was as awe inspiring as it was ancient. In fact, given how much historians knew about the civilizations before human civilization, one could say the temple was pre-historic. The excavation site was huge, at least three Quidditch fields in size, and four levels in depth. Still, the digging team was barely done with only the entrance of what must have once been a massive temple.
Gringotts would have to invest in some new manpower, she thought as the dozens of Goblin corpses littered among the wooden scaffolding came into sight. Ugly, deep piercing wounds could be seen on each and every one of the goblins. There was little pattern to them. Whatever or whoever did this slaughtered their way through them. They had been massacred. The few who, apparently, had drawn crossbows and swords didn't fare much better than those who had tried to run.
"Find Fleur," she hissed to her imps. "Hurry!"
They swarmed down into the hole, like living blankets of black and skulls, moving in the odd dance of swarming creatures. Agatha let herself fall onto the first level of scaffolding. Level by level she dropped lower, always looking for whatever had ripped those goblins apart. Some part of her hoped they had found some sort of guardian of this place, because it would mean nothing would go roam the Ivory Coast for more victims. On the other hand, she didn't look forward to meeting whatever could murder an entire goblin expeditionary team.
Given where she was, the options were almost limitless. From the Gambia River to the Kongo, an almost uncountable number of dangers awaited the careless adventurer. The thicker the canopies, the greater the threats lurking beneath it. She had heard countless warnings during her time in Uagadou. Whenever the school decided to reside within the jungles, only sixth years and above were allowed to leave it at all. Even then, only for short strolls, never alone and never further than shouting distance.
Soon enough, she had reached the ground level of the excavation. It was colder, and the humidity changed to the cold moisture of soil and rocks. Her imps swarmed into the entrance, always trying to scout ahead for her. However, as they were a few feet in the large hallway, some invisible force stopped them.
"Wards," they whispered from a thousand mouths. "We cannot pass, mistress."
Interesting. Something had apparently guarded this place against her kin. Agatha stepped forward to where the invisible wall seemed to be, her imps pooling around it like a mime acting it out. She laid her own hand on it, and felt for the magic.
"That's quite something," she murmured. It was clever magic. Rudimentary protections against devils, angels and everything in between, but elegant in its simplicity. Agatha felt further, looking for some weak point, or oversight. None was quick to make itself known. It was a simple, but effective web of unfamiliar magic.
She pulled her wand, and began to slowly dismantle the defences. Cold beads of sweat were on her forehead. On the one hand, she could not hurry her disenchantment, lest the ward would lash out. On the other hand, there was still Fleur somewhere in there, hopefully still alive.
The thought that she could not be, that whatever lurked in these depths had already found her and ended the Veela's life, froze Agatha's blood. She banished the thought. Her wand moved quicker, just as her breath became more frantic.
When out of nowhere, the enchantment was gone. Her imps swarmed inside, eager to fulfil their mistress' orders. Agatha, however, stood still as she looked into the darkness of the temple before her. She certainly hadn't finished disassembling the enchantment. Something or someone had deactivated it.
There was really no choice. If she wanted to have a chance to get to Fleur on time, she would have to move fast, may traps be laid or not. "This day..." she cursed, and took the first step over the threshold.
"Lumos," she cast, and with another swish of her wand, altering the spell, a few dozen motes of light flew out around her like fireflies. Even her fiendish eyes could not penetrate the darkness of this temple without aid.
Looking around, she saw the artful reliefs of a civilization long dead, and forgotten. For the uneducated eye it would look egyptian, but Agatha knew that these temples were, if at all, only ever inspiring the Egyptians. The style and architecture had its own elements, patterns and iconography, much older than the Nile-bound civilization.
Something small and hard, like a pebble, pressed against the sole of her boot. She directed one of the motes down to the floor, and even before it reached the stone tiles, Agatha could see dozens, maybe hundreds of raw, uncut diamonds lying on the floor. The further in, the more diamonds lay there, until they formed large mounds pushed to the side of the hallway.
"That far north?" she whispered to herself. Diamonds on the floor and corpses at the doorstep could only mean that a Grootslang wasn't far away. The great snake of the south usually didn't appear far outside of Southern Africa, and she had never heard of one being north of the Kongo. They usually found enough diamonds for their nests the moment they came across the Kalahari or Namib deserts. No, something had brought it here, and Agatha had the sinking suspicion that it was the same thing that opened the enchantment for her.
"Mistress," the voices of her imps echoed through the hallway. "Old Blood lies in the air."
Agatha herself stood still and let the air flow freely into her nostrils. Moisture and wet stone, the distinct aroma of precious minerals formed into nests, tangled in an overwhelming bit of mold and animal refuse, was most of what she could smell. Yet, as her imps said, there was something strange and old in the air. It was foreign in its smell, as if someone had given aroma to a colour or sound to a taste. It came from deeper within, the smell itself acting like a line of breadcrumbs.
Agatha's frowned. She did not like what she believed to await her inside. Somewhere in here was a Grootslang, there was no doubt about that. However, around that great snake was something of dangerous whimsy, violent trickery and insidious promises. "Fey." she hissed out.
Her imps growled, their thousands of voices making it a haunting orchestra of echoes. She felt them becoming restless. There was a fight around the corner, and the legion hadn't indulged in bloodshed for quite a while, now.
She growled herself, her fangs showing and her aura manifesting as black smoke, dancing on her skin. She adjusted her wand-grip, and moved onward in a slow, sideward fashion, minimizing the size of the target she made.
The further in she went, the clearer became the smell of Fey. Fleur herself had but a hint of the flowery, fanciful smell on her. Whoever awaited her inside the temple, reeked of it. They also didn't care about being found, it seemed. Agatha let the many motes of light vanish the moment she saw a soft, orange glow around a far corner.
She stalked closer to it. The hallway itself ended at a gigantic gate. Each of its sides depicted long-eared, elegant warriors, fighting against hordes of what she could only assume represented humans. She remembered that Fleur had said that they would be searching for something made by original elves. Now extinct, these elves had waged war against the ever more powerful force of humanity, at the end of their empires; at the end of the horrors of the arcane imperiums and the beginning of the age of mankind.
Back to the wall, she creeped onward to the corner, where some sort of servant-corridor led past the large gate. In her head, she already laid out strategies against Fey, or an immortal elf, as well as their pet Grootslang. Her heart beat fast, both in fear for Fleur and in excitement for the fight that was to come.
While she sneaked through the corridors, always towards the light, she cast an arsenal of spells on herself. Starting with a disillusionment charm, she began to hinder the senses of her enemies to spot her. The Grootslang had two senses it mainly relied on - smell and sound. Silencing charms and Air cleaning transfigurations let the sound of her steps be still, and the smell of her be replaced with the same moist and moldy smell of wet stone.
Her imps stayed behind. No order was needed. They knew by now that when Agatha became invisible, that they were to stand back and wait.
The corridor didn't stretch on for much longer. Soon enough, Agatha heard movement. Some of the diamonds got kicked over the floor by uncaring steps. Heavy items were moved around, and from time to time she heard the murmur of voices.
Careful not to kick any of the littered diamonds, Agatha sneaked around the last corner into what must've been the largest dome-like structure she had ever seen.
The round hall of the temple was easily as high as the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts, and its diameter easily as long as the Great Hall was. The heavy objects she had heard were all artefacts, made of gold and decorated with all sorts of precious gems, moved around by none other than the group of cursebreakers she was supposed to rescue. She did a quick headcount. The entire team was there, sans Fleur. Bill was kneeling on the floor, putting gold coins into golden crates. They seemed to be in a daze, but overall healthy and safe. Their eyes were empty, unseeing, but still they moved with precision and purpose. Who controlled them was an easy guess.
In the middle of the temple, on top of a large pedestal, sitting on a throne of gold and finely cut diamonds, sat the source of the smell of Fey.
He was a breathtaking sight, as was common for the fey folk. Even in the low light of a few torches, his perfect dark-brown skin shone as if polished. He was clad in a breathtaking array of yellows, reds and black, mirroring the colours of his beautiful, large butterfly-like wings. In his right hand he played with jewellery, and coins, letting them fall to the floor like a child playing with dirt.
She felt her heart light with the fury of all nine hells when she saw his left arm around Fleur's hip, grabbing her behind. He held her like he held the coins - like a thing to play with. Instead of sturdy explorer robes, she was clad in elvish finery, and instead of her cursebreaking gear she wore an amalgamation of jewellery and golden chains that framed her beauty as much as it kept her in place.
Still, a smile crept up Agatha's face when she saw her housemate whisper into the Fey's ears, her lips sometimes touching his earlobes, her arms stroking over his chest, all while her eyes darted around the room, looking for opportunity. Her eyes were clear, other than the milky sheen the other cursebreakers had in theirs. She was playing the guy.
Agatha continued into the hall, always careful not to touch anything. She fought herself not to immediately jump at the Fey in fury, and kick off what could be a deadly fight for the mind-controlled cursebreakers. Agatha practised patience, as hard as it came to her. For one, the Fey didn't look like your run-of-the-mill fairy. His presence alone was quintessence, the very core of Fey. Erring on the side of caution, she prepared to fight an actual, powerful Archfey - nobility of the Seelie Court.
She also missed a certain huge, dangerous, ravenous snake. Grootslangs were not known for being shy. Especially not when they were protecting a nest. Agatha felt the sweat on her brow when she saw the large, diamond-covered eggs laid close to the gate. Five of them, and looking through the finely sanded diamond surface, all of them with live brood in them.
It was, however, Agatha who had time constraints. She knew not how long the Archfey would need the cursebreakers, and neither did she know how long Fleur had until he got bored with her. The quaffle was in her hands. Which meant, she had to make a play. Not ideal.
However, maybe she could make herself a bigger threat than she actually was? It had been so long since she had produced some goosebumps.
She concentrated on the sound of her imp's voices. With a little charm she had crafted herself, the one who had built her Executor reputation, her thoughts became echoes - whispers and hisses and growls - all around the Archfey. "Who dares enter?! Do you seek refuge, little fairy? You shall find none here."
The archfey jumped up from his throne. Gold fell down the pedestal on his right, Fleur fell down on his left. He shouted something in a hissing language she couldn't understand.
"There you are." she thought, as the Grootslang shot into the hall from an opening in the ceiling. It's odd elephant-shaped head, with large ears and tusks looking as fine and long as snake-fangs, drew with it a massive, greyish-black body of a snake. It weaved itself around the throne, stood high behind it and stretched its ears. Its tongue was flicking out in quick succession, tasting the air for any intruders.
She saw how Fleur used the distraction to pocket something, and seek cover. She looked around for any sign of the voice, but her small, mischievous smirk told Agatha that Fleur knew that the feather had worked.
"Enter? Refuge? This is my palace, fool! Show yourself. Face me!" the archfey shouted through the hall, now in Sylvan, the language of the Seelie Court.
Agatha never quite got the hang of Sylvan, as the language itself seemed to refuse to come from a demon's tongue. She knew just enough to understand the man. It was of little concern, though. Her infernal tongue seemed to give him the creeps, and that was the goal all along.
Him claiming this place as his own gave her quite a bit to work with. Archfey certainly weren't humble creatures, but the ones known to the ICW had their palaces in the Feywild itself. Humans have taught them better than to claim land on earth. An Archfey in an old elvish temple he claims is his? When was the last time he had checked his real estate? Twenty-thousand years ago?
It was time to give the snake something to look at. She ordered her imps to storm the hall. Their jittering and crawling echoed through the temple, giving even the archfey the shivers.
"Kingdoms crumble, little fairy. All will rot and die and become new. This in no longer a place of the feyfolk. It is of mortals, and those who rule them." Just as she growled the last part, her imps swarmed into the hall, covering the walls and floor with black and skulls, while their screeches and sulphuric stench made the Grootslang rile up into an attack pose. "Surrender, Seelie one. Leave the mortal souls. Leave the riches. Leave this plane. Survive this day."
"One sleeps for a thousand years, and the vermin takes over." the archfey answered, while he drew a long, golden sabre from his hip, facing the towering swarm of imps. "The last time I saw your kind, you were but animals; weak echoes of weaker humans. Now face me. Face Lord Zugura of the Shine."
"He says, crawling in the broken ruins of pointy eared corpses." she gave a long, grinding laugh that shook the walls. Meanwhile, she walked closer to the Fey-Lord. It was critical to have the first strike. If he could get her before, she would be at an incredible disadvantage. Good thing he was easily distracted by his own grandeur. Maybe even already beat by it? "Lord of corpses, Lord of dust, Lord of nothing. If death is what you crave, I shall oblige. But answer me this first, Seelie one: Why now? Why now, when all traces of your empires have been made to dust and dirt?"
"You do not know of the power I wield. Our empires may have fallen, but just wait for those that come under the Lord of Snakes." he boasted, turned around to the Grootslang and then hissed again in that language.
Agatha's eyes almost popped out of their sockets when she realized that the Grootslang listened to him speak, and seemed to answer. That Archfey was talking in parseltongue to it, and if she knew anything of that obscure language, it was the human exclusivity of it. In fact, it was one of the often quoted abilities only humans had developed. Hearing an Archfey speak it, was like seeing a goblin wield a wand. Bad news for everyone involved. Of course, adding to this, someone the Lord of the Shine refers to as Lord of Snakes gave Agatha the shivers.
"Whom do you speak of, little fairy? Who is this Lord of Snakes?" her voice had calmed. In fact, this whole fight had gotten layers of danger to it, that Agatha was hard-pressed to define beyond not liking it one bit.
"No more talk, demon! Show yourself and fight me!" the Archfey shouted through the hall, just as he flew up, and gave his Grootslang one last command. The gigantic snake reared its elephant head and made the dust fall from the ceiling by it's mighty roar-hiss.
"The cursebreakers. Protect them!" Agatha screamed in infernal towards her imps, just as she raised her wand, and aimed right at the Archfey Zugura. "Avada Kedavra!"
The green spellfire of the Killing Curse shot out to the flying Zugura. He raised his sword, and deflected the spell, just as it was about to hit his chest. Eyes livid, he stretched out his arm and collected ambient magic for whatever deadly spell he was thinking about.
"Well. Damn." she deadpanned. The guy had skills. Her Killing Curse was dead on, but his swordplay was fast and precise.
Zugura hissed something to the Grootslang, keeping it from attacking right away. He flew up, and sized her up, like one would look at an especially ugly attack dog. "A halfing? Here I was expecting a fight, and all I find is a mistake given thoughts."
"That assumption killed your people the first time. The assumption that human blood made one weak." She took a quick glance around. The cursebreakers were absorbed into the imp-swarm, and forcefully dragged away into the corridors. She couldn't see Fleur. However, that only meant she wasn't in immediate danger. Agatha, on the other hand, was. She prepared her wand, and thought of a few spells for her free hand before moving into a sideways duelling position. "Now unleash your pet, fairy. Let us fight."
As if the Grootslang listened to her, the snake with the elephant head sprung into attack. It leaped forward, its coiled body acting like a spring, and all Agatha saw was it's open maw, filled with fangs and grinding teeth.
Grootslangs were considered so dangerous because they had a peculiar protection against spellwork. Not even the Killing Curse got through their thick, magic-resistant hide. The way to kill one was by physical force.
She kicked one of the many diamonds on the floor, right towards the Grootslang. Her wand was a blur, as she quickly moved through transfigurations. The diamond became like steel, it's size that of a cannonball, and it's speed as if launched from a naval cannon. With the distinct cracking sound of the sound barrier being broken, it launched into and through the Grootslang's trunk and maw. It screamed and roared in pain, reeling up from the attack. Agatha whirled her wand again, and made the many golden coins on the floor grow roots into the tiles, before directing the metal, like a conductor, to form long, hooked spikes. With one final wide swish, they all rammed into the body of the Grootslang.
Its roars soon ended, when Agatha sent one last, well-placed diamond projectile into its mouth and through the brain to end its misery. Its body hung on golden spikes like a fish on spears and bled out over the sea of gold and diamonds. Just then did the Archfey come out of his stunned silence. She saw in his dumbstruck eyes that he had never seen such magic, and especially not cast in such quick succession.
"What? Don't tell me you slept through the last few millennia and expected magic to remain the same?"
She didn't like his smile when he brandished his sword with a flourish, making a show of it, and formed some spell with his hands. The hall became as if dead itself. Agatha felt cold, and oddly despairing. She reeled back from the effect, trying to make out where it came from, but it was universal; all around her. She aimed and tried to shoot a spell at him, but nothing happened. Her imps, just done evacuating the cursebreakers, recoiled from the oddly magic-less place. It was a place where they could not exist within, and their angry mass of skulls and black screeched in fury at its very edge.
"This is my palace, mongrel. Here, I make the rules." he proclaimed, echoing through the hall, before going into a nosedive right at her, his sword held ready for the attack.
Agatha let her wand drop into a pocket of her robes, and shrugged the upper layer off to get her arms and feet free. The trousers and a shirt beneath made for a better hand-to-hand combat attire. The Archfey believed himself in the decisive advantage by denying her magic. He would be disappointed.
He came at her with breakneck speed. His sword pierced forward, and Agatha tried to dodge past it, just as his quick hands turned the blade around into a slash. Screaming, she could only watch him fly past her again, up into the dome. The lousy punch she sent after him barely even touched him.
The cut wasn't deep, but it was bleeding, and a few more of them could just get her to simply succumb to blood loss.
Again he dove, his sword changing positions to confuse her.
She felt helpless. Agatha screamed, in pain and in frustration, as he delivered a blow over her chest, with another passing one cutting into her back. Her own punches found no purchase, and Agatha growled, knowing she would have to make this fight especially messy. She spread her claws out, unhinged her jaw to have her teeth ready to bite entire chunks out of the Fey. The time for honourable magic duels, civilized melee combat, or succubi seduction was past. Pure demonic savagery is what Agatha prepared for.
Once more, he dove down with an already triumphant grin on his face. This time she didn't dodge his piercing sword-strike. His grin quickly faltered when he realized she wanted him to ram his steel through her abdomen. He couldn't correct his mistake. Leaping forward, she felt the steel cut through her, but only used that pain to fuel her incoming rampage. Her claws found purchase on his face, and ribcage. Her fangs pierced into his shoulder.
The blood of Fey tasted like sweets and honey. She felt her claws press into his temple, and jawbone. His ribcage cracked and opened underneath her sharp claws. His collarbone broke apart, and the shards of bone cut into her own face as she bit down and through his shoulders bones and muscles. His panicked cries of pain only invigorated her. More. More carnage. More blood. Her claws began to rip and tear through his clothes, just as through his muscles. She tore at his flesh, and finally one rib cracked, and she felt her hand tearing away from him, with his bone in it. Her jaws closed further, gnawing into him with more and more pressure, blood squirting in her face. His fist bashing her head in with the pommel of his sword was but a sidenote. Her own claws gripped tighter around his head, and she felt as his skull slowly, but surely, lost the fight against her strength.
He roared, and with one, mighty swing he hit her own ribs hard enough to make her let go of her grip on him. She rolled over the floor, just to quickly come back into a fighting stance. Her voice echoed, as she laughed at her opponent. Zugura could barely stand, and with panicked eyes he tried to hold the gaping wound where one of his ribs had been torn out.
Agatha just waved the bone at him, grinning with all her teeth showing, like a chimpanzee about to rip a rival's face off. She didn't even feel the wounds she had suffered, just knew that she was on a timer. Her skull was cracked, and her hand lazily held the hole in her belly. Blood flowed freely, but she wasn't the only one at the brink of unconsciousness through bloodloss. Zugura tried and failed to press his luxurious fabrics into his wounds, to stop the bloodflow.
"With some magic, you could heal that." Agatha taunted, with her voice barely discernable from any animal's growl. She was beyond the fears of mortals. Her human side had taken a backseat, and let the demonic instincts have the controls. His smell, his fear, made her drool with hunger. Thick, frothing saliva ran along her fangs, and dropped into the mix of blood and grime beneath her.
She saw it in his eyes, as he calculated his next move. With magic, he could heal himself, but it would enable her as well. Without it, their fight would be decided by whose wounds bled faster, and given that an entire chunk of his ribcage was missing, he was loosing, and he knew it.
In the blink of an eye, Agatha felt magic return. Her hand reached out, summoning her wand. Zugura bound the surrounding magic into a healing spell first, and crafted lances of his own, solidified blood, to shoot out at her.
Just a moment before she would have been skewered by them, her wand flew into her hand, and with more a reaction than conscious thought shielded against them. Crystallized blood splattered across her arcane barrier, leaving a macabre circle of red behind her on the wall. She quickly stabbed her wand and screamed, pushing all her hunger at him with her natural magic. He was swept from his feet by a wall of black smoke, and demonic force. His only escape was up, lest he would be crushed against the wall by the unrelenting force.
She shook from the elation of the fight, and felt the euphoria of her imps as they swarmed back into the dome, now that they could once more feed on the ambient magic. With only her thoughts, she directed them to come at the Archfey from above. Torrents of skulls crashed down onto the Archfey, but the feeling of joy as they ripped him apart didn't come.
Her imps swarmed around the spot, but there was no fey corpse amongst them. Agatha let out a scream of rage that would shake a mortal man to the bone. Her eyes darted around the dome, searching for the seelie to show himself.
She grinned when she realized that the little fairy didn't count on her nose. He was sloppy in his panic. She smelled his approach, as he tried to fly at her invisible. Just when she heard the light buzz of his wings loud enough, she took a sidestep, held out her clawed hand and as she felt his body in reach, she grasped and slammed the Fey into the ground. His sword got stuck in her upper leg, but she didn't mind.
Stone broke, as his body got pressed into the floor by the unhindered force of her muscles. All human filters had been abandoned, and what was left was the mercyless, hungering demon. She leaned over Zugura, with black smoke almost completely covering her. Just her eyes shone red from within, and her fangs glistened with drool as she sensed that the kill was near.
Meat and bones were not what made her hunger so. What she - what any demon desired - was within. "Now, darling, would you kiss me?" she whispered with the sound of a thousand voices.
The spell around him vanished, and all that was left was his bloodied form, his broken body and a mouth that was gasping for air. Just his eyes told him that he knew what would happen now. He felt it in his chest, his mind, his very being. His soul loosened from mind and body, more and more, the closer her lips came to his own. A small smile graced his lips. Even in this broken state, the magic of a succubus still made him accept; welcome his end in the last bit of bliss he would ever feel.
Her lips already touched the Archfey's when she felt herself flung across the floor like a ragdoll, only coming to a halt when she collided with one of the Grootslang eggs. With fury she stood, and saw Fleur aiming her wand at her.
"I know you don't think so right now, but you'll thank me later."
A wall of imps built up, bristling with the anger of a demon denied their food. Agatha stabbed her wand forward, only hearing the scream of Fleur as she got flung through the air, straight into her hand. Agatha's claws closed around her head, and pressed. The soft finger of Fleur tried to pry them off, but could barely even scratch Agatha's skin.
Like a blanket, her imps came pooling around them. Skulls and black, the black smoke coming from Agatha and the swarm closing further and further left Fleur only staring into the deep, glowing red eyes that hungered for a soul. Any soul, at this point.
She screamed into Agatha's hand, her muffled voice doing nothing to get through to the hungering demon. The claws rearranged to let Agatha's lips close to hers. "Hush, hush, little dove. It will all be alright; it will all be over, soon." she whispered, a choir of voices repeating the words from all around Fleur.
Fleur visibly calmed, stopped struggling against the claws and the vice grip, and looked straight into Agatha's eyes, but it wasn't with the defeated acceptance of a succubi's victim. Fleur's eyes looked panicked, then serene, then panicked again. She fought against the effect. Through tears and shock, she struggled and touched Agatha's face. "Mo cheri," she sang. "Calm yourself. Mon chéri démoniaque, mon cœur et mon âme. [my dear demon, my heart and my soul]" she sang, and hummed to Agatha. "Calmez-vous. La paix maintenant. Viens t'allonger dans mes bras."[Calm now. Peace now. Come lie in my arms.]
Agatha let go of her grip. Her jaw set back into its sockets, and her imps fled back to the Fey, standing guard over him. She wiped the saliva from her face, all without ever taking her glowing red eyes off Fleur's shining blue ones. Fleur stopped singing, and just then both blinked, as if a veil was taken off their vision.
"Woah," Agatha breathed. She drew back her claws from Fleur's face, and her eyes went wide at the scars and wounds they had left behind on her. "I- I'm so-"
"Qui," Fleur stepped as much towards Agatha, as Agatha took steps back. She laid her hand on her shoulder to keep her from recoiling further. "I understand."
"I'm sorry." Agatha took her wand and tried to heal Fleur's injuries, just to have it slapped away.
"Mon deux, you idiot. Look at yourself." Fleur practically forced Agatha to pay attention to the still lazily bleeding hole in her abdomen, and the many slashes across her entire upper body. The sword still stuck in her right leg began to slightly itch.
"Oh," Agatha hummed, and began to heal her wounds well enough until she could ask Poppy for some potions. "Almost forgot about that." she looked back up to Fleur. "Fleur! I'm sorry. Are you alright, I mean, except for what I did? I was a bit… in the zone."
"Silly demon," she said, snipping at Agatha's forehead. "Yes, I'm well. Thanks to you. I dread to think what he would 'ave done with us had you not come."
Yet, Agatha saw her still shivering. She tried to keep calm, but the shaking of her wand, and her forced smile told Agatha everything she needed to know. It would be something to talk about later, until after a situation that would allow Fleur to leave and never talk to her again, if she wanted.
For now, Agatha focused on the task at hand, and burried her fracturing emotions.
"I have a pretty good idea what he would've done with you." Agatha growled, and pulled the sword out of her upper leg. With a quick spell, she closed the wound. Sword and wand in hands, she limped over to where the Fey still lay in the broken stone of his palace's floor.
"Is he still alive?" Fleur kept a distance to Zugura, with her wand trained into him.
Agatha knelt down before him. His breath was laboured, and weak, but he was still alive. Quickly discerning what would kill him in the next few minutes, Agatha healed those bits with sloppily cast spells. Wounds closed with ugly scars, and bones were practically spello-taped together. Just enough to keep the Archfey alive long enough for her to ask some questions.
Rudimentarily healed, Zugura awoke.
"You're lucky someone saw fit to remind me of my duties. May I introduce myself? I am Agatha Dumbledore, Executor of the International Confederation of Wizards. My task is to keep entities like yourself where they belong. Not on this planet. So, Zugura of the Shine, are you willing to answer me?"
When his answer was slow to come, she set his own blade, point down above his chest. "Unwillingness to cooperate leads to death. Choose your path."
"Your spells. Your power. How?" he croaked out in Sylvan, spitting blood over his chin. His eyes wandered over to Fleur, pleading with her. "Why?" he asked in accented English.
"The elves have been destroyed over eighteen-thousand years ago. Humanity, and with them all entities they spawned, have only gotten more powerful since the days they ended their elvish oppressors. You've been asleep? It would explain why I've not been made into bloody fairy dust on arrival. Oberon would not have been that easy to subdue?" Agatha leaned closer to him. "Why did you sleep, and what woke you?"
It was clear he despised her, but he chose to answer anyway, given the bloody scratches his own sword left on his chest. "I was punished for disobeying Queen Titania. I was to sleep for a thousand years. You tell me it has been... how many?" he shook his head slightly, as much as he could in his position. "The Lord of Snakes woke me. He said he had bested Oberon, taken his throne, and needed loyal warriors. He gave me," Zugura looked over at the slain Grootslang, and sighed. "He gave me this beast, and told me of traitors to the Court outside the gate that would come to steal from me."
"How did that man look?" Agatha already dreaded the answer, thinking back to what Voldemort had said to her in the gardens of Malfoy Manor.
"Pale, with slits as noses. His eyes shone red like yours, and on his shoulder he had a large snake he called..."
"Nagini," Agatha hissed.
"Yes," Zugura frowned. "You know him?"
"He is no Fey, and he certainly hasn't killed Lord Oberon. He is a wizard, corrupted and foul, but powerful beyond even your or my capabilities." Agatha stood, and pulled the sword away from him. "Your sentence has been prolonged for seventeen-thousand years more. I suspect that, as you slept, the Dawn of Man had killed or banished all who would have been able to wake you."
"What cruel fate," he whispered, and closed his eyes. His breath remained the same, but his body still seemed to fade.
"You're technically a free man. We have no punishment for Archfeys in this realm, only execution or banishment." Agatha drew her wand once more. "Neither will anyone heal you more than this. I want to make a deal with you, fairy. In exchange for being my faithful, loyal informant in the Fey realms, I shall banish you there to once more join your kin. If I need information, I shall contact you via a fairy circle, and you will always obey my summons. You will always be truthful to me, and you will never again speak to the one you know as the Lord of Snakes, nor help him in any way."
"What does it matter? My lands, my subjects, all is gone. I accept your offer, halfling demon. I shall be your eyes and ears, as I am nothing otherwise." he whispered, not even opening his eyes. Only the faintest of magic could be felt, yet Agatha knew that she had the Fey at her beck and call.
"You chose well," she said to him. "Exiles Seel." she intoned softly, and drew a portal around the beaten fairy-lord. All that was left as he faded through the planes of existence, were a ring of mushrooms, quickly growing around the edges of the spell.
She stood, cracked her neck and stretched her muscles to release tension that had nothing to do with her body. It was anger, and frustration that created this tension, and she knew of nothing short of beheading Voldemort that would ease it. "Fuck," she shouted, her curse echoing through the dome.
"Indeed," Fleur came next to her, and laid a hand on her shoulder. "What is 'e doing with Fey? The Dark Lord despises them, no?"
"I think he realised that he's outmatched with two Dumbledore's in town. Well, at least we now know what he's doing. Acquiring alliances he previously dismissed." She twirled the sword on its tip, deep in thought. Voldemort looking for things underground that could help him in his conquest did not bode well for the rest of the world. She would have to make a detailed report to the ICW, and an especially detailed one to her father.
The gods only knew what would happen if Voldemort found beings more inclined to limitless violence than an Archfey. She shuddered slightly when an image of her own mother, wrapped around Voldemort came to mind. Who would control whom in that constellation would be anyone's guess, but it did make for a good example for the perfect start to a global crisis.
"Fleur!?" they heard voices shout from outside, back in the corridors of the temple. "Fleur?!"
The cursebreakers, led by Bill himself, came into the dome. Their wands were drawn, and out of twelve of them, only one didn't aim at Agatha. Bill let his wand sink, braced his hands on his knees and took a deep, relieved breath.
His team was confused, but didn't stop aiming at her. Cursebreakers were, after all, no slouches. In fact, she was impressed that Zugura had managed to get them by surprise. Otherwise, he would've been a splat on the wall with twelve cursebreakers fighting him, Grootslang or not.
"Bloody hell," Bill wheezed. He looked up to Agatha, then over to Fleur. "Thank Merlin, you managed to burn that feather."
At that, the rest of the wands lowered. One arabic looking cursebreaker leaned over to Bill. "You wanna introduce us to..." he nodded towards Agatha.
She was still dripping wet with blood, her wounds still visible and her eyes still glowing red from agitation, holding the sword of the archfey, and her wand still at the ready.
Bill walked over to her, and thought better about slapping her on the back when he saw the still clearly visible scar from the fight. "This is Agatha Dumbledore. One of my best friends and... well..."
"Executor of the ICW." Fleur helped out.
Agatha had to hold back a grin at the collective groan of the cursebreakers. "Look, lads. All you lost with me being here is a life as a fey-slave."
She looked around, across the treasures the dome held, and especially the five eggs that were now without a mother. Somebody would have to manage this mess, and with the goblins dead, and the cursebreakers being prone to sticky fingers, that would fall to her. She sighed, already expecting this whole debacle clean-up to last hours.
When Agatha looked at her watch, she despaired as it told her that she had been up for almost fifty hours at this point. After the last meeting, with the last clerk needing her statement for something, she had returned to her rooms. She was standing on the balcony of the multiple bedroom penthouse they've been given in the magical district of Lagos. The district was neatly separated from the muggle side by the Lagos Lagoon. Five island, invisible to muggles, held ancient houses made of sandstone, teak wood and gold formed into ornaments. On smaller islands, or just hovering over the water, newer, stood more risque buildings created from glass and crystal, showing the region's love for their enchantments. They reached up as towers into the skies, like pillars holding the heavens.
Agatha and the cursebreakers were accommodated in the old town, in an inn made of the iconic sandstone, named "Ammit's Pit". Despite the name, it was a luxurious guest-house they've been placed in, and the yoruban Aurors had made clear that only their cooperation allowed them to be there, instead of in cells. Gringotts and the council seemed not in agreement, but since not a single goblin was left to claim anything, Oyo had confiscated their entire excavation. Gringotts was on the warpath.
That cooperation had also created the exuberant celebration of the cursebreaker crew back in the rooms. The council of Oyo had allowed them each to take as much ordinary gold as they could carry in two hands, as price, as bounty and as hush-money. After all, the sheer worth of the artefacts discovered dwarfed the value of whatever gold was found inside. Giving a little of the wealth to those who worked hard to uncover it seemed only right. Much gold could be loaded onto two arms. If none of the cursebreakers had any expensive aspiration or ambitions, they were set for life. Agatha had come back from her cleanup meetings to find them out cold on couches and pillows.
Agatha herself collected the official bounty for an Archfey set by the ICW, as always. However, it felt wrong to her, accepting it. Zugura was maybe an Archfey by title, but not by capability. He had been thrown into this new world, welcomed by Voldemort, and then beaten to the edge of death for existing as he had existed all those thousands of years ago. She pitied the poor fey.
One thing that didn't feel wrong was the price she had claimed. The sword of Zugura hung on her hip, in its sheath adorned with beautiful emeralds, diamonds and golden patterns. The weapon of the enemy she bested did feel right to claim. Not that she had much use for it. It would decorate her classroom for bragging purposes, right next to her other trophies. She'd have to find a good wall to mount the Grootslang skull as well.
Agatha sipped from the freshly brewed coffee she had been steadily supplied with, as she looked out to the dance of lights and colors across the entire magical archipelago. The sun's light sparkled and refracted in the glass and crystal towers, coloring the white-beige sandstone with the full rainbow spectrum. It was a stark contrast to her presence, and to the shadow of what she had almost done. The taste of blood and soul still lingered on her tongue. Every swallow she was reminded that she had almost eaten; had almost been fed. Each time she felt her mouth watering, as her baser instincts conjured the feeling of an archfeys soul's taste back up.
The anger - the hatred she felt for the blink of an eye, against Fleur for denying her this, was a familiar wake up call. In her past, these bouts only ever came through when the demon became too strong.
She looked behind her, where the aftermath of the cursebreaker party were all over the room. By looks and smell, it was easy to guess that only unconsciousness had been the limit, yesterday. Fleur was lying on a large, silken cushion, next to a table full with bottles and glasses from the nights celebrations.
As if Agatha's thoughts had tugged on Fleur, one of her eyes opened and glanced over the deep red silk. Quietly yawning, she stood up from her makeshift bed, and walked over to the balcony. Cursebreaker fatigues had long been exchanged for wide, flowing linen that mirrored the violets and blues the morning sun conjured onto the skies, and hung on her as lazy as the few clouds that could be seen above. Her hair was open, and a mess. Deep rings under her eyes told of the wild night of drinking and dancing she has had with her colleagues.
"You left me," she poked Agatha's side. "We celebrated, and you just vanished, mon cheri."
"Someone had to clean up the mess, and I get paid for it." Agatha smiled, tired but genuine. "I'm also not one for such debauchery."
"Sure, you aren't." Fleur snorted, rather unladylike, and started to pour herself some coffee from the large kettle in front of them. Sipping some, she sighed at the perfect brew. "Agatha," she began, her voice sad, but stopped.
"What is it?" Agatha didn't look at her, but out into the city. She dreaded looking over to her, afraid of ehat she would see. "Do you… Is it because of…" she just gestured to wounds she had left on Fleur's head. They were long healed, but their memory lingered. "Sorry,"
"Qui, in a way." Fleur sipped on her coffee, while massaging her temples. Even through her natural ability of elegance, the partying had left her some pains.
"What made you sing?" Agatha finally asked, when Fleur wouldn't speak.
"Instinct, no?" she shrugged. "I didn't think about it. It just felt… like I was about to die."
"You were," Agatha slumped, her shoulders hung and she felt the reality of what had happened on her conscience. Now that she had to put words to it, the shame was as fresh as it had been in the Zugiras palace. "I was about to kill you, and eat…"
"My soul."
"Your soul." Agatha choked out.
"So I sang, because that is what a Veela does when she is in danger." Fleur seemed to stare out onto the city, but her eyes looked at nothing they could see.
Agatha let her stay and gaze in silence. There was much she didn't know about the french witch, the prestigious daughter of the Delacours, the charms prodigy. It was in those moments, when the usual, trained soft smile turned to a soft frown that Agatha was reminded of the hidden depths in Fleur.
"I am not a Veela." she whispered. "I am the granddaughter of one, but I am not."
"Yet, you sang by instinct." Agatha had her hand hovering over Fleurs shoulder, but couldn't get herself to let it fall. The last time she had touched her, she had hurt her. Words would have to do. "I get it."
"I know you do." Fleur had no problem touching Agatha. Her soft hands took Agatha's rougher, slender, clawed fingers and held them up, as if to study them.
"I heard that Rho types can cancel each other out, but I never dared test it." It felt like permission, having her hand held, so she wrapped her hand around Fleur's, and held tight as she spoke. "Veela or not, I'm glad you can sing like one. Even at my worst, it calmed me down. I never… I don't know what I would have done if I woke from that state with you no more."
"'ave you done it before?" Fleur stared at her eyes, blue meeting red. "Have you eaten a soul?"
Like an electric shock had gone through her, Agatha let go of Fleur's hand. She wrapped her cloak around her. Her eyes focused onto some random tower, just to not look at those which so intensely stared her down with not a hint of judgment in them.
Agatha shivered at the memory, and hated the fact that once again her mouth watered so much, she had to swallow to speak. "Yes," she whispered.
"Who… no. I'm sorry, I won't ask."
"A no-name thief in Singapore." Agatha felt it pouring out of her, like someone had opened a valve. She croaked when she spoke, whispered with the raspy undertone of words that were hard to speak. "I caught him, running away with an artefact way above his paygrade. Poor guy wouldn't have gotten a chance against an Auror recruit, let alone me, young Executor with plenty of things to prove. I hunted him like a cat hunts a cricket. I played with him. I didn't know that,..."
Agatha paused, because words failed her. The feeling of power, of absolute control, was hard to describe. Without her truly noticing, she slumped down onto the cushioned bench on the balcony. Fleur sat down next to her, and gave her that encouraging look Agatha couldn't meet with her eyes.
"I didn't know what that would do to me. The sadism, it stirred up the demon. I lost control, ensnared him, and kissed him." She took a shaking breath. "Everything else tasted like ash for weeks. I didn't eat at all, but my body grew stronger, and when I smelled that archfey soul, something in me went crazy for the promise of power it held. When I smelled yours…"
Fleur smiled at her, and it turned Agatha's insides that she would even ask; even listen after all this. The quarter-veela just held her shoulder, and her hand, and gave her time and an ear to speak what she hadn't spoken before, to anyone.
"I can't describe the hunger I felt." Agatha began, "I think it is in my nature, to hunger after life, and good things, and their destruction. Its like seeing a litter of kittens, and my first instinct is to figure out how to make them into goulash. Its so…"
"Rubbish," Fleur spat out, with that heavy french accent of hers.
Agatha frowned at her. She tried to at least. Fleurs hand squeezing her face made it harder. Fleur leaned forward to look Agatha right into her eyes. "That is what you say when someone says something stupid, qui?"
"What is stupid about…" Agatha started but gave up since her face was still getting squeezed, and she just felt ridiculous. Her deadpan stare had to suffice.
"I know you're a big, scary demon for the audience, but the Agatha I have come to know is not. I saw the big softie that you are, and I think that's the true Agatha. Or was I fooled?" Fleur let go of her face, but not of her intense stare. "Didn't you abandon all else, just to go rescue the little idiot who didn't listen?"
"Rubbish." Agatha now spat back at her,
contrasted with the softest of smiles she could muster. "Don't call yourself an idiot. You're anything, but."
Fleur smiled, nodded lightly, and sat back next to Agatha, with her back a bit stronger, and her head held a bit higher. "I haven't thanked you yet, for bringing Bill the feather." she said, making it clear by her tone that she meant anything but the feather.
"You deserved to be there. You deserve to be a cursebreaker." Agatha looked down at her coffee, which had cooled by now, and shook her head at it. "You deserve to make your own mistakes, especially. Just… take feathers with you, alright?"
"I will," Fleur whispered her answer. She gave Agatha a nudge, while sliding a bit closer on the bench, to rest her head on Agatha's shoulder.
Agatha laid her own head on hers, too tired to think about the gesture, as they both gazed out into the colourful spectacle of a sunrise over Oyo's old magical district. She felt the last days take their toll on her, pressing her eyes close like they were weighted blankets.
Fleur began to hum a small melody, almost like testing it out to see if it would do something. It felt like a warm summer rain over Agatha's mind, in which she chose to stand, to let it wash over her. Agatha felt the stress and tension leave her body. She couldn't recall when the colours of Oyo became the colours of her dreams, but as she succumbed to her exhaustion, she gladly fell into a dream of colours and hummed melodies.
I hope you enjoyed this one. The first real fight we see Agatha in, giving a small glimpse into why criminals are so horrified of Executors.