Narcissa's plan to free Sirius was complicated, and relied on him becoming the politician she envisioned him to be. He rubbed his face, every time he thought of his many blunders, awkward gestures and snark. Why did Narcissa even include him in this plan? His skills in the political arena were, at best, theoretical.
Narcissa had been right about one thing. He needed help. Which was why Harry began to gather his circle of the willing, and capable. His first stop was, of course, the cave in which his most studious friend had gone after Agatha Dumbledore sicced her onto a wild chase for knowledge.
The Grimmauld library had never been an inviting place, but Hermione had made it into at least somewhere people could study. Where there had been an outrageous, pompous statue of Eudwin Black - an early ancestor - now stood a large, oaken desk, transfigured to be round to fit the round mosaic of some historic scene beneath it. In its middle, surrounded by towers of books, and currently reading a scroll, sat Hermione Granger. The bit of light shining from a reading lamp, barely illuminated her face. When she looked up to see Harry approaching, her face was lit from beneath, as if for dramatic effect.
"Sorry, for the interruption." Harry laid down a small folder onto the last bit of empty space on the desk.
"You are forgiven," she quipped. "What brings you here? I thought you'd be playing chess with Ron, or something, while Miss Black isn't keeping you in lessons."
"Now, that's where you're wrong. Lessons are always in session."
"Well said, Elder Potter."
"Nobody actually calls them Elder, you know?" Harry smiled, but given the glare he was receiving, that quickly faded. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No," she huffed. "It's not you. It's…:" she gestured vaguely over the rows and towers of books around her. Harry took a closer look, and found such riveting titles as "Forced Change : Society-breaking curses - a history", "Geography of wizarding Europe", "A short history of wizardkind - Part 1 - 130.000 BC to 15000 BC".
Harry knew her well enough that no question was needed. She'd start her rant on her own time.
"You're muggle-raised. You get lessons in wizarding politics. You have to know what I mean. These systems are mental!" she eventually started. Her voice was rather high-pitched, like she was on the edge of a panic attack. Given the rings under her eyes, and the bit of red in them, Harry at least prepared mentally for Hermione breaking down.
He chuckled to take out some of the pressure. "You assume I knew anything about politics before."
"My point is, you are, or rather will be, an Elder." she shot back at him. "You'll eventually be asked to role-play a democracy, when the government of magical Britain really is a tribal council with a mask on."
"You're deep in it, aren't you?" Harry flipped open some of the books. Just as their titles would suggest, most of it was as dry to read as the Sahara. Protocols were followed by chronicles, and only sometimes was there any amount of creative thought behind the words. What all of them had in common, was that they were material for post-Hogwarts history lessons, at the earliest.
"The magical world is unfathomably different to the muggle world. I never even realized what an impact the Statute made. I just assumed it would all be a… copy? Some mirror image of the muggle world, but no. Look at this," Hermione grabbed one of the scrolls she had on the desk and opened it up before Harry. It was a map of the world, but even with his limited knowledge of borders and countries, this map looked like it came from a parallel dimension. In some way, he thought, it did.
Hermione pointed at Europe, right where Germany ought to be, and circled a bunch of tiny states, as well as a few large, but unfamiliar countries with her index. "The Holy Roman Empire is still alive and well in the magical world. There is an emperor sitting on a throne in the alps, and guess who it is?"
He just shrugged. "You'll tell me, anyw…"
"Charlemagne! The Karolus Magnus. Apparently he is a Lich? Apparently Liches exist and can govern an Empire? According to some history books, when the Statute fell, he rose from his grave and assumed the throne again. Then here…" her finger moved over to the United States, which weren't quite as united as their muggle counterparts. "The MACUSA? They will tell you they represent the Magical United States," Hermione circled the entirety of the USA, "but the actual area they have control over is a lot smaller." Now her finger only followed the east coast, as well as the Great lakes area.
"That's it? What's with the rest?"
"Those are native nations, who got pushed off the ICW because they wouldn't agree to the Statute. They still don't, but are forced to comply. Like a lot of people. Here for example." her finger went back to Europe, circling the Balkans. "This is still lawless, in terms of magical governance, after the ICW pummelled the Ottoman Empire's mages for disagreeing to give their powers to 'some monkey with a crown'. They meant the muggle Sultan."
Harry knew, in the back of his mind, that what Hermione said had weight to it. However, as much as he tried, he couldn't even try to think of the implications or ramifications of what she was saying. His schooling had not yet reached beyond basic british history, the second world war and Egypt. Hermione seemed to know that. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm just…"
"All you believed to know is being brought into question. Yeah, I got a good one for that exercise, as well."
She stilled, mulling over his words for a moment. Her voice became softer, almost a whisper, when she asked, "What happened, Harry? What's going on?"
Harry grabbed one of the few stools that stood around the library. Their build was more akin to a small ladder, but they could double as seating. Sitting in front of the mighty oaken desk and seeing her now from this perspective, made Hermione look like she was the Minister herself.
"It's about my mother." he began, his voice shaking when he released a breath. "I don't know if it's true. It's absolutely mental, actually, but Narcissa said it, so I don't dismiss it right away."
"Your mother?" Hermione was taken aback. She put away the map and the few books that laid between them.
Harry couldn't help but smile when he saw her genuine worry, even on her exhausted face. "From what I could gather, the reason why Narcissa is in St. Mungos is because of a memory that had been - how to say - violently released. In the memory, she saw how her sister, Bellatrix, murdered an eleven year old muggleborn in order to take over her body, and life."
"Oh, Harry..." Hermione slapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide in shock. It didn't surprise Harry that she immediately made the connection.
"That muggleborn was Lily Evans, but you guessed as much. Which means..."
Hermione was close to tears, until something hit her mind, and her entire demeanor changed. Her brows furrowed, "You're not on the tapestry, though?"
"The what, now?"
"The Black family tapestry. It's a family tree of the Blacks. Bellatrix Lestrange is on it, but you aren't."
"If Bellatrix Lestrange is on it, then that's the wrong Bellatrix on the tree." He pointed out. "Lily Evans married James Potter. That is still true."
Hermione leaned back into her luxurious office chair, more resembling an armchair. It leaned back with her, while she stared, wide eyed, to the ceiling. "I need to think about this."
"Take your time." he said, also deep in thought about the situation. Once again, the question struck him of consequences. He could not think of an immediate threat to him. Then again, that was why he wanted Hermione and Ron to know.
"Is she still alive?" Hermione asked after a while.
"Lily Evans died."
"That wasn't the question. Is Bellatrix Potter alive?"
Harry shuddered from hearing the combination of those two names. "Narcissa thinks there is more than zero chance that she is, which is worrying enough."
"I would be surprised if she wasn't." Hermione mused, still watching the ceiling. "If we think about Lily Potter as someone ruthless and selfish enough to kill a child to take her place, why would we assume the same person to make a sacrifice like the one the wizarding world praises Lily Potter for?"
"Doesn't add up, does it? In some way this whole thing feels like Bellatrix tried to take what she thought belonged to her, including James Potter via contract. I doubt she let that go without a fight."
"A fight she may have lost." Hermione shrugged, and leaned forward again. Her serious eyes, met his. "Would you even want to know?"
"What I want hasn't played a large role in my life, yet, and it doesn't now. I feel like I need to know, no matter if I want to or not."
"Miss Black really left a mark on you, Harry." Hermione said, not with accusation, but with something sounding like pride.
"We didn't have a lot of time, but I feel like she is the first one to, you know, not pull her punches?" he sighed. "She definitely didn't when she gave me my current task."
"Current task?"
"That's what I came here for." Harry grinned. "Ron is already on board. Now, to you: How would you like to prank the entirety of magical Britain?"
"Oh?"
"Narcissa has a plan to free Sirius," Harry began. Hermione leaned forward in anticipation. "It all hinges on two things. One, we need to establish that Pettigrew is alive. Two, I need to convince at least one Elder that isn't part of the Phoenix to petition the Wizengamot to deescalate the prosecution of Sirius Black, back down to a criminal investigation, not a kill on sight manhut."
Hermione had produced parchment and quill, and was noting down the variables as Harry spoke.
"How much do you know about the current groups in the Wizengamot?"
"Not much," Hermione thought for a moment. "This library doesn't really have contemporary literature."
"Alright, crash course." Harry stood up. His body felt energized, and he needed to walk as he spoke. While he dreaded the politics, all the subterfuge involved made him feel like they were under the cloak again, roaming through a nightly Hogwarts. "The largest group of Elders is the House of Black Alliance, or HoBA, closely followed by Dumbledore's group, the Phoenix and Amelia Bones' Naturalists. The HoBA is led by Lucius Malfoy, who is the kingmaker for Fudge, who leads the small but influential Free Mage Court. The more fringe groups are the Rockmourn Circle Coven, led by Lyssandra Ollivander, and the Mages of the United Kingdom, led by Dirk Cresswell, but both of them wield quite some power in their niche."
"The Mages are the muggleborn party, right?"
"Yup," Harry nodded, though not with great enthusiasm. "We won't have any luck with them, to be honest."
She frowned. "Why?"
"Well, they're not exactly, uhm... let's say, they're uncomfortable with the existence of halflings like Agatha Dumbledore, or Hagrid, and anyone known to be sympathetic to them."
"No. No, please, don't tell me the only muggleborn party in the Wizengamot is..."
"Against halflings? Yes. They're not my first choice of company."
"I meant to say xenophobic arses, but you're right, let's stay diplomatic." she grumbled. "Who is your choice of company?"
"I figured that my greatest chances are with either a member of the Naturalists, or the Coven. The Naturalists are known to be pragmatics, and keeping the hunt for Sirius going while Voldemort is out there seems like a waste of resources to me, at least. The Coven could be convinced because they still hold respect for the legacy of the Black family, and maybe that's an avenue of approach."
Hermione tipped her chin in thought. "What about the Hoba?"
"Who in the Alliance would even listen to me?" Harry snorted a laugh. "It's more likely they'll sell me out to Voldemort."
"Parkinson," Hermione replied with a smug smile. With a wink, she added, "You're supposed to marry his daughter, after all."
"Don't remind me. I really hope nobody forces this contract before I can speak with Pansy about it. We're not even sure if she knows. She's a harpy, but even she doesn't deserve to be dragged through the gutter press."
"You still want to speak with her about it?"
"I want to know if she knows, at least."
Before Hermione could answer, the door to the library was kicked open. Ron wrangled the door open with his shoulder. His arms were filled with all sorts of snacks, a large jug of pumpkin juice and an entire roast platter of beef, pork, bread, potatoes and veggies. "Sorry, sorry. I'm late. I figured if we're going to make a plan, we need snacks."
"No complaints, but that is not a snack, that's a full dinner for ten." Hermione answered, while she freed up space on her desk for the small feast Ron brought in.
"Well, since neither of you were at breakfast, you have to eat two meals worth for lunch." Ron retorted, only half joking. "Honestly, you two need to calm down a bit and think about your well-being. You can't live off politics and history books."
"Yes, Mr. Weasley. Thank you, Mr. Weasley." Harry and Hermione chorused. Ron rolled his eyes at them, but took the bit of banter with a smile.
Harry knew that he was maybe a bit overzealous when it came to the prospect of his adult life. He heard his stomach grumble and twist from being empty, and Hermione's could probably be heard from the downstairs. While that had been a somewhat regular occurrence, so had Ron's food deliveries. Both of them had noticed their best friend stepping up to be their little group's dad, always making sure the kids are fed, rested and well.
Despite them joking about it, they did agree that it was a good colour on him.
Ron slapped together a sandwich for himself, sat down and gestured for them to give him the rundown. Harry and Hermione went into their information, their hints and thoughts and theories. Ron munched on his sandwich, listening. Just when Harry and Hermione began to spin theories on whom to contact, and why, Ron spoke up. "Whu nt Bns," he held his finger up for them to wait, took a forceful swallow of his sandwich, and began anew. "Why not Bones?"
"The Director of the DMLE? I don't know," Hermione mused, fingers scratching her temple.
"She doesn't seem like the one who would de-escalate an investigation?" Harry asked, more than stated.
"She's the only one, really." Ron replied. "Dad has a lot of respect for her, and he always says that she doesn't do things just because they were always done that way, or because they would look good."
"She's pragmatic, is what you're saying." Harry threw in.
Ron just shrugged. "Pragmatic, maybe. Whatever. Fair, is probably what we need, I reckon? If Bones is anything, she is fair."
"The problem still remains. How do we even start convincing people?" Hermione asked the two boys.
"Make up a story, I suppose. Well, not even that. Just tell the truth?" Harry shrugged. "The truth is on our side."
"But all we have is hearsay," Hermione sighed. "Nobody is going to believe three teenagers."
Harry and Hermione leaned back, arms crossed, thinking hard on the problem before them.
"The truth," Ron murmured. "Ya, why not just the truth?"
"Again for the peanut gallery?" Hermione grinned at him.
"The what gallery? No, doesn't matter." Ron waved his hand, shooing the stray thought away. "I was thinking, why don't we just tell her what happened? Sirius wanted to convince you that he wasn't the traitor, right? We tell her that you're convinced; that he reached out to you to explain."
"Better yet, we say he provided a memory." Harry shook his finger at Ron, knowing that his ginger friend was onto something there.
"We should have those memories, should she request them." Hermione added. "We should get Sirius."
That was an easy task. Harry got up and looked around the three regular spots where his godfather usually spent his days, trying to kill the boredom. Harry didn't even say what they were doing. Sirius was bored enough to follow any invite to anything.
"Woah," Sirius took a step back when he saw what Hermione had done with the library. "I should come here more often."
"I'm always open for company." Hermione said.
"Bollocks," Ron coughed.
"Lies," Harry said under his breath.
Sirius laughed, and also got one of the ladder-stools to enter their little circle. "Harry tells me you're planning something. Shoot."
Harry took a deep breath, and launched into the explanation. He left out no detail, except the fact that his mother may be Sirius' cousin. That was a discussion for a quieter, more private place. The more Harry talked about their plan, the more Sirius started to take them serious. He leaned forward, rubbed his chin, and nodded a few times.
"You're aware this only has a chance of working because they know you didn't lie about Voldemort, right?" Sirius asked his godson, ignoring the other two for the moment.
"And because being in my good graces is a good long-term investment." Harry answered.
Sirius shuddered in exaggeration, rubbing his shoulders as if he was freezing. "The cold breeze of Narcissa's influence." he whispered.
"Oh, sod off," Harry rolled his eyes at him. "That's just a fact."
"It gets even colder. Merlin!"
"You like her as well, do not pretend you don't."
Sirius chuckled, raised his arms and shrugged at them. "You caught me. Narcissa has grown on me. I won't deny that."
"So, what do you think? Will you give us the memory?" Hermione prodded further. "Should they ask?"
"I…" Sirius let his arms fall. His eyes narrowed, as he thought. Sitting in silence, the Trio saw him becoming tired, visibly sagging. He leaned his head into his hand, face down, to hide his deepening frown. "You know what? Sure. What's the worst that could happen?" he whispered.
Agatha woke sooner than Fleur, or any of the cursebreakers, by the small sound of chimes. Her alarm charm. Two hours were plenty for her to keep going, even though she wasn't looking forward to hearing Styx' opinion on the matter, and knowing them, she was sure her Imps had already snitched on her.
She righted her clothes, looking at the still sleeping Fleur, leaning against a small outcropping of the wall, brows furrowed and lips frowning, she looked restless in her sleep. Agatha couldn't help but wonder if she was to blame for that.
She quickly wrote down a note for them, telling anyone interested that she was on her way to continue cleaning up the mess. Messes, to be accurate. On the small desk where she found the parchment to write the note, she also spotted a few newspapers. The Daily Prophet was amongst them, and the headline made her blood boil.
"The Demon's Victim" it proclaimed, with a picture of a smiling Marcus McLaggen on an Abraxan of all things. He postured on the winged horse like a Lord. The article that followed was painting Marcus as the victim of demonic allure, and manipulation, not to mention slander and shaming. Somehow Skeeter managed to insinuate that Layla must have kept the enchantment going, and that somehow the Dumbledores master planned it all.
"Can't have your lackeys dirty laundry unfold, huh?" Agatha mumbled, thinking about Marcus' connection to Fudge and his circle. As if she needed further proof, the article confirmed that Fudge would rather kill a bunch of kids than have his power-base damaged. Page two provided a large picture of Layla, right next to the article that painted her as if she was the Lightbringer's right hand, and not just a fourteen-year-old girl, trying to be herself. The investigation against Marcus was made out to be a farce, and merely a political play by Albus Dumbledore.
Thinking back to the Triwizard, Agatha wasn't surprised either. Skeeter had shown that she had no problem dragging children through the mud, if it brought her paper some readers. In the case of a halfling, she probably even enjoyed it.
She turned the page back to the title again, and took a good look at the picture. The Abraxan moved back and forth, left and right, seeming a bit nervous. There were others in the background, and although they were blurred, Agatha could see the rough outlines of the gear they wore.
"You little fucker." she cursed. Those were hooked spears, on self-fastening ropes. Poacher equipment. She couldn't know if it was intentional, but did it really matter? Agatha's blood boiled, as she accepted the challenge issued. They could only hope that the Aurors got them before her. However, such violence would have to wait. When her father had heard of what dark corners Voldemort creeped around in, he called in a meeting of the Executors. She was sure the fact that he had chosen Hogwarts as the location for the meeting wasn't at all because it would show Fudge the middle finger.
She rolled the Prophet up, let it vanish into one of her many bottomless pockets, and quietly left the room. She didn't even leave the Inn proper, before apparating back to Hogwarts. Her father had agreed to host the coming meeting, and she would be a fool to miss it.
Her apparition spit her out right in front of the gates of Hogwarts. One, two spells later, she looked like she had enjoyed a full eight hours of sleep. Well, at least she didn't smell like two hours, anymore.
Looking up she saw the flag of the ICW being flown over Hogwarts. There were the "Sage" and the "Rosmarin" anchored in the Black Lake, also flying the ICW colours. The two massive warships employed by the maritime Executors. The Sage was the first of its kind, and resembled a victorian ship-of-the-line. However, instead of cannons, this ship had goblin ballista installed as its main weapons. The Rosmarin was an interesting piece of equipment, salvaged by an ambitious crew of Procurers and merfolk from the North Atlantic. Formerly the pride of the german muggle navy, the Rosmarin had been repaired, and its cannons enchanted to make it the most effective Deep One killer on the planet.
She loved the feeling when meetings like this were called. Some of the mightiest wizards and witches of the planet came together to debate on how order and peace could be assured in a world that struggled against both with all it had. The air felt loaded with arcana.
She already saw a group of three Executors in front of her, almost at the gate. Two brooms shot past over her at breakneck speed, only to slow down and dive into the inner courtyard.
She groaned when she saw a six winged silhouette against the sun. Akirazael had arrived. Even though she knew he would come to the meeting, she always held a little hope that he would be unavailable. Alas, the Ardling had a reputation of reliability.
"Dumbledore,"
Agatha turned around at the familiar, but unexpected voice. "Director Bones? I doubt you joined the corps. What brings you here?"
"Your father invited me, amongst others." Bones caught up to Agatha, and both fell in step with each other. "He was concerned about the apparent snail's pace of our investigation into the Dark Lord's whereabouts."
"Fudge?"
"Umbridge, mostly. Fudge is in a panic, and doesn't know his head from his arse, right now." With an angry huff, Bones continued. "You could have picked a better time to unleash the menagerie onto us."
"Language, Director."
"Apologies." she gave a small, apologetic bow. "It wasn't meant as an insult to you or your students. The point stands, though. Umbridge is... manic."
Agatha frowned. "How so?"
"The poachers you reported?" Bones voice came down to a whisper. "My Aurors reported back. They're here by invite."
Agatha stopped walking. The first wisps of black smoke danced around her face. "What?" she hissed.
"Umbridge invited them. Their hunt was legal. It was on the books as a counter-werewolf offensive, meant to target Greyback's pack." Bones shared Agatha's furious expression. "I don't need to spell it out to you, do I?"
"No," Agatha knew that Umbridge's end goal would inevitably be a purge of Hogwarts. "She will strike before the school year starts. Otherwise, her band of poachers won't even reach the gates."
"Most likely," Bones agreed. "Which is why I offer you a deal."
"Oh?" Agatha was intrigued. Bones wasn't one for handshakes and off-the-books agreements. She stood in opposition to how most of the Wizengamot handled its business with that attitude, and was known to keep her politics rather transparent.
"The spectrum of motivation amongst my Aurors is rather broad, if you understand. Kingsley and Tonks couldn't be more motivated, while Yaxley, Dawlish and Savage drag their feet. Now, why would that be?"
"Because your Aurors get orders from other sources than you." Agatha decided to just say the usually quiet part out loud. "They're agents, not Aurors."
"Precisely," Bones held her arms behind her back, her head hanging in thought. "I can't afford to fire them, because I have too few as it is, but I also cannot afford to keep them around."
"We're almost at the castle. You should come to the point."
"I'm not sure what will happen in there, but if I don't get one or two Executors to clean house...?"
"Am I hearing you ask for alliance?"
"The Phoenix and my people are the last sane groups in the Wizengamot." Bones faced Agatha, and her eyes told her what she needed to know. Bones was done playing by the rules. She had understood that she was the only one who did. "The Dark Lord cannot be ignored, and I won't have an insane Undersecretary build up an army on my turf because she can't deal with a few hooves and horns in the classroom."
"She can't do that alone, though. Who is helping her? Malfoy?"
"Cresswell," Bones growled. "Not too long ago, people like Umbridge called for muggleborn heads, but now that its against," Bones gestured quotes, "'abominations', they're happy working together. I swear, muggle sensibilities are a blight on this country."
"Dirk Cresswell is an arse, sure, but he never struck me as the type for outright purges."
"Me neither. Yet, here we are. With the muggleborns in the 'gamot showing some true colours, we also have to keep the Coven in sight."
"The witches never liked the Mot-UK. Do you think they could move..." Agatha stopped, when she first smelled, and then quickly spotted Hedwig flying towards them. The snowy owl carried a letter with her. Agatha already held out her arm, but Hedwig aimed for Bones.
"Whose bird is that?"
"Harry Potter's."
"That boy. What now?" She freed the letter from Hedwig's leg and read it with the speed of someone who read dozens, if not hundreds, of them every day. Her face changed from annoyed, to confused, to an odd smile. "Tell me if I'm wrong, but Narcissa is around Potter, right?"
"She took it upon herself to inform him of his future duties."
"She informs him well. Hmm." Just a few more meters in front of Hogwart's gates, Bones stopped to think. She stared at the letter, and rubbed her chin. "You were after Black, right?"
"I was," Agatha nodded, curious where this question would lead.
"Did he ever strike you as a Death Eater?"
"No," Agatha shrugged. "He's an arse, no doubt, but there was a reason I tried to get him alive."
"I see," Bones pocketed the letter. "Would you be willing to state that as a witness in the Wizengamot?"
"Gods, what did Potter write in that letter?"
"He asked to be listened to." she shrugged. "Reasonable, in my opinion. After all, had we listened to the boy sooner, the Dark lord may not have become such a problem. He also reported that Sirius Black reached out to him, and that he has convinced him via memory of his innocence."
Agatha's entire face was forcefully kept neutral, lest her grin would give her away. However, she smelled Harry's plan from here, and made sure to help it along. "Now, if you want to kick up more dirt into Fudge's face, using your mandate to end the kill on sight would probably do it."
"Hmm," Bones rubbed her chin, still staring at the gates of Hogwarts. "Nobody has more reason to hate Black than Potter. If he is convinced..."
"As I said, he never seemed like a Death Eater."
"A delicate matter. However, given the harsh lessons we endured lately, I'm willing to give Potter the benefit of the doubt." With that, she moved on, and opened the gate. The moment the wooden gate revealed the Entrance hall, a hustle and bustle of people greeted them.
Meetings of the ICW were common, but meetings between the Executors were something only occurring every blue moon. Even then, the ones in attendance were at most half of the entire Executor Corps. The rest made sure the world didn't combust in an immediate state of anarchy.
Looking around, Agatha found none of the Executors in the Entrance Hall. The casual mingling must've already been done and over with. "This is where the guests get to wait." She held her hand out to Bones. "The meeting will be in the Great Hall. Make sure you promise some good hunting when you petition your case. For motivation." she said with a wink.
Bones gave her hand a solid shake, "I'll keep it in mind. Thank you, Dumbledore."
"Don't thank me too soon. It's going to be a long day."
She left Bones standing amidst some norwegian talking wizards, and tried to make her way to the Great hall as fast as possible. She remembered the first time she was at such a meeting, and made the mistake of not looking busy. People thought their petition would be helped if they pitched it to her in the hallway.
Just with a quick glance, it was clear that at least half of the assembled guests would be denied. People always believed that their issue; their problems were the most pressing. Half of the assembled people didn't look nervous enough for that to be the truth. No, people like Bones, that were usually so collected, and now pacing up and down a set of armour, were most often those with a legitimate case that required Executor attention.
She was almost at the gate to the Great Hall, when her path was blocked by a wisp of a woman. Agatha could barely stop herself from running her over, so suddenly had she appeared before her.
Before she could say anything, or do more than stopping, for that matter, the woman bowed and kissed Agatha's hand. She was a good two heads smaller than Agatha, with white hair that hung down to the floor, framing an equally pale face. She was glad in a wide, white summer robe, reminding one of roman cuts. One green and one brown eye looked at Agatha with a remarkable calmness. "Agatha Dumbledore," she said so quietly, it was almost a whisper. "I longed to meet you since you arrived in Britain."
"You longed to?" Agatha smirked at the odd choice of words.
"Indeed. It is a private matter, hence why I dare stop you before you enter the Hall. Would you spare me a moment?"
Agatha nodded. "I'm already late, so only a moment."
"Then I shall make it quick. I am Lyssandra Ollivander," she bowed lightly again. "In the interest of time, then, I want to make my intent clear. I would like to ask you on a stroll through my gardens, and a more in depth conversation about your political role in the country. I endeavour to forge friendships in these trying times and would like to know you among my friends."
"That sounds agreeab... wait," Agatha's eyes widened. "By gardens, do you mean...?"
"The Ollivander Grove, of course." Lyssandra answered with a soft smile.
"Well, wow, that is hard to say no to. I agree. Send me an owl with a date and place. I'll be there."
"Wonderful," the ethereal woman said, spun around and walked off into the crowd without much of a goodbye. Agatha shook her head with a smile, and took the last few steps to finally enter the Great Hall.
The loud rumble of voices changed to the subdued, quiet conversations between the Executors.
The Great Hall had changed its decorations. Banners and flags of the ICW replaced the flags of Houses and Hogwarts. Today this hall belonged to the Confederation. If anyone doubted this claim, the people in attendance would surely relieve them of that notion. Of the forty-two Executors operating worldwide, Agatha saw twenty present among the crowd.
People were in the process of finishing their conversations and finding their seats among the oval table that stood in the middle of the hall, instead of the four tables dedicated to the Houses.
Her father sat at the peak of the oval, as his station as Supreme Mugwump demanded. To his left and right were the Mugwumps responsible for the six regions of the ICW. There was the ancient witch and priestess Marie Laveau for North America and the Carribean. The rather young Chief Aapo of Yucatan for South America. While he was clad in mayan robes, instead of his imposing crown, he only wore a small, green feather, bound by golden thread in his hair. Xi Wu, the Mugwump for Asia and world renowned potioneer, sat next to Alim bin Salahadin, the Mugwump to Arabia. The last of the leaders of the ICW made Agatha smile the moment she saw him.
"Baba!" Agatha cheered her greeting to her former Professor, and now boss. Babajide Akingbade was a master of enchantment, hailing from a travelling merchant tribe that roams the Ivory Coast in search of trinkets they could make into treasures with their Charms. He was an imposing older man, with a white beard framing his face that rivalled her father's. His deep black skin was contrasted and complimented by his colourful, patterned robes, so typical for his homelands. As Mugwump to Africa, he had a reputation for fashion to uphold, after all.
"Agatha," he greeted. "I feared you'd miss the assembly."
"I came right from your homelands, Baba. I'm sure you heard, already."
"Indeed, I did. I'm looking forward to a first-hand report." he looked her up and down, his easy smile becoming a concerned frown. "If you feel unwell, you don't have to be here, today. I have the reports. I can brief our friends."
Agatha waved off. "I'm alright."
Babajide looked at his gold and platinum watch. "You couldn't have gotten more than four hours of sleep."
"Two." she answered, while sitting down next to him. "I'll pass out after this, promise."
Babajide massaged his temples, but couldn't keep a smile off his lips. "Do not forget to eat." he advised, otherwise just shaking his head at her.
Tapping his glass, her father stood up and in an instant, all attention in the room was on him. The light dimmed, and the oval table began to glow in a soft blue, emanating from small engraved lines. The light formed in the middle, and created a translucent representation of the solar system. Finally, the windows and candles extinguished, and everything in the room was illuminated only by the blue light from the tables and the solar system model. Just then, images of large groups of people appeared all around them. Each of these groups sat in front of ICW symbols and flags, listening over the magical connection of their respective ICW buildings to the meeting of the Executors.
"Esteemed Mugwumps, honoured observers of the Directorate, Procurers and of course, Executors. Welcome to Hogwarts," Albus spoke with an enhanced, calm voice. "We of the inner council have called this meeting to discuss the worrisome happenings across our world. Threats we believed dead have risen once more, to haunt our societies. Fights we deemed fought once more require our attention. In light of the many points of order today, let us begin without any more delay."
Polite applause. Albus sat back down, and only gestured to one of the oldest Executors still in service. How old, nobody truly knew. There have been guesses and assumptions, but there was every possibility that even he didn't know himself. "Executor Ardelean, when you're ready."
Standing up was a handsome, pale man, of a height just shy of her father's. His black hair was slicked back. On his youthful face, he wore round sunglasses, even in this darkness, that had leather blinders on the side. He was clad in an expensive, light grey muggle suit, befitting the summer months. Before him laid a hat, a walking stick and a leash, leading down to his white-eyed Dobermann hound. Before he spoke, he smiled, showing his colleagues his long, thin fangs. "Thank you, Supreme Mugwump." he began speaking in a silken voice, that almost stroked your ears. "The last few years had me tending to the wars of muggles, and I regret to inform you that we may have to take some control, once more. Observe,"
Ardelean held his hand above the light that came from his part of the table. The solar system slowly changed, twisted, and showed the assembled members of the ICW a scene from long ago.
"To refresh everyone's memory. This is what we observed on the fields of Verdun, 1916." Ardelean used his wand to send a mote of light into the illusion. It drew a circle around one part of the memory. As artillery and fire doused the sky into ash and clouds, the faintest of silhouettes could be seen above. It took a while, but eventually the clouds and explosions timed themselves just right to allow them to see the enormous titan of shadow looming above the battlefield. With elongated tendrils, like tentacles, it tried to grab onto the material plane, but every time it tried to grab a squad of soldiers, the smoke couldn't materialize. Still, where it touched the soldiers, they flew into a battle rage, charging across the fields, guns blazing. Even those who lost legs, or arms, kept running as fast as they could, only ever stopping when a bullet ended their lives.
"Demogorgon," Agatha whispered in shock. She had never seen those images, but she would recognize the Demon prince of Chaos and Destruction anywhere. Judging from the gasps and hissed whispers all around her, she wasn't alone.
"Correct," Ardelean gave her a small smile, as if her shock amused him. "The Prince of Chaos almost materialized then, having been summoned by the staggering amount of violence, and I had hoped that our combined effort in the late forties would have been enough to thicken the wall between the planes. Fortuna's curse to the fool, it seems. Here,"
Once more his wand rose, and instead of Verdun, they now saw across lush, green fields of beautiful, Mediterranean landscapes towards a city in flames, surrounded by tanks and soldiers unleashing upon it. The image shifted, and the members of the council now looked upon a mass grave being covered with earth. It was obvious that this memory was Ardelean's himself. They saw him in disguise, wearing camouflaged fatigues, holding a muggle rifle, and observing the atrocity committed before him with stoic calm. Above the land, above the burning city, between thunder and explosions, he looked upon the shadowy, two-headed titan again, as it gazed back from the Abyss.
"The muggle nation in question is called Yugoslavia. It is breaking apart. The violence is breathtaking. Even the Count recoils from the bestial nature of this war. Our interventions, I regret to inform you, have created even more turmoil before they brought in results. The threat of demonic invasion draws ever closer, and I feel our forces are ill prepared for such interplanar wars."
Agatha leaned over to Babajide, whispering, "And I thought I had bad news, today."
Babajide's gaze was locked onto the shadow in the sky, frozen in an expression of sorrow. "This world longs for our guidance." he whispered back.
Discussion broke out across the council. Agatha herself had little to say about it to the crowd, but listened with rapt attention to the many opinions shared across the Executors. Just as always, most stood behind her father's more hands-off approach. Ardelean himself had lost his easy, soft smile. It was obvious that he had wished for a more direct mandate.
"What of your contacts? Are none capable of forcing a peace?" her father asked Ardelean.
The Executor took his time with an answer. He took a sip of his drink, and Agatha could smell the distinct stench of human blood. "All my contacts have achieved is retaliation, I'm afraid."
The raspy laugh of Marie Laveau cracked the solemn quietness. Agatha grinned at the black woman, with her trinket-decorated dreadlocks and long, flowy summer-dress. She lit a cigar, and talked through the pleasant smoke. "What da boy needs, is control over da political force of de american empire." she puffed out a large cloud of smoke, "Albus, let our dear Ardelean assume more direct command, will ya? I 'ave a presidency to offer."
"Indeed, Marie. Maybe this presents a compromise to full intervention." Albus nodded. "Executor Ardelean, would you see the deployment of polyjuice as well as," Albus leaned back from his chair, towards one of the assistants that hid behind the chairs in the shadows. After a few words, he continued, "As well as two metamorphmagi, as sufficient to appease the region?"
The vampire scratched his chin, once more taking his time to think. Another sip of blood, before he eventually nodded. "Acceptable. I have a few ideas, Supreme Mugwump. Polyjuice should suffice, as long as I am not restricted in my use of mind-magic. I'd rather not risk valuable metamorphs in a muggle war. Bullets may stray, yet."
"Agreed. I trust you shall use it wisely." Albus wrote a few notes onto parchment, while Ardelean understood that his case had come to a conclusion. The vampire sat back down, petted his hound, and leaned back to witness his colleagues bring forth their grievances.
"Next, our dear Akirazael has asked to be heard."
Agatha rolled her eyes, even before she saw Akirazael in his undisguised form. From his seat, a small, mousy man in the robes of a monk stood, and spread his arms. His skin cracked, and from the cracks, bright light streamed into the room.
"Showoff," she grumbled, as six, large, white wings spread from his back. Six smaller ones sprouted from the back of his head, from between his short blonde hair. Four of them stretched out, presenting golden, glowing eyes gazing out from the feathers. The other two smaller wings laid across his angelic face, to cover his true eyes. His robes had changed to be flowing bands of fabric that never touched his body, hovered around him, but always covered the parts the audience would find inappropriate. The room was illuminated by his golden glow, coming mostly from the condensed magic, formed into a halo over his head.
When he spoke, it sounded like soft echoes; as if his voice created reverb by itself. "Friends, I fear I bring dark tidings as well. Much has been said about the witch known as Bellatrix Lestrange, with the latest revelations just scratching the surface of her depravity." One of his eyes, sitting in the feathers of his small wings snapped to Agatha, and stared at her with those fiery, golden irises that burnt into one's soul. "Executor Dumbledore has been a tremendous help though her discovery of Bellatrix Lestrange's, or rather Black's, true form."
Agatha's eyes narrowed. Akira usually didn't compliment her, or mention her in any way, if he could avoid it. In fact, him looking at her was already unusual. Just with her glare she asked him what he intended, and all the answer she got was his eye averting her.
Akirazael went on and on about the story of how Bellatrix became Lily, and how that informed his investigation. Agatha took the time to look around the crowd. Bellatrix Lestrange was a name that had echoed throughout the world. Manic, sadistic and extremely powerful, she was a witch even some Executors preferred to never meet. Which is why the mood in the room darkened as if the sun set, when Akirazael came to the present day.
"It is my complete conviction that Lily Potter, that Bellatrix Black is still alive. I have traced the few hints I gathered to deep forests in Yakutsk. Her excellency, the Tzar, has granted me a platoon of royal guardsmen. All I would need are some of my esteemed colleagues to accompany me. With our combined forces, we shall find her and bring her to justice, inshallah!"
Xi Wu, with his quiet, wheezing voice - his throat long burnt by acids and cauldron smokes - spoke up. "I have not received communications by the hags of Sakha. The region is hag territory. I will not support unauthorized intervention."
"The Tzar…!" Akirazael started to protest, but was quickly silenced by only Albus's raised hand.
"Tzar Anastasia, despite what she might claim, has no recognized authority over Yakutia. If the hag covens are not consenting, this investigation will halt until they agree to ICW intervention." Xi Wu shut him down.
"You'll let Bellatrix Black walk free because of some heathens?" Akirazaels halo began burning in earnest, just like his golden wing-eyes glowered at Albus and Xi.
However, Agatha's father was familiar with the Ardling's antics, and not impressed. "We will not risk a war with the covens, when we already fight on so many fronts. The hags respect our agreement, and so shall we. So will you, Akirazael."
It was an open secret that Akriazael disliked, even despised, the fact that Albus Dumbledore was the Supreme Mugwump. Too hands off, for his taste. Agatha just thought that Akirazael must be hoping for holy crusade, or something. However, even knowing this, it was a rare sight to see the Ardling's temper flare like it did. She wondered what had him so riled up that he'd lose his composure amongst his peers.
She wasn't the only one noticing. The Executor corps, collectively, shifted. The mood darkened, and trained eyes analysed their colleague. It was never a good sign if an Executor showed unusual behaviour. Akirazael, regardless of his own convictions, was not known for subordination.
The tension was broken by the small, shaky voice of Oyuun Batsuuri. The tiny mongolian woman sat up slightly to be seen by all as she spoke. "I feel like we should maybe not dismiss Akirazael's worry so soon? It may be just because it is close to my heart, but I would rather not suffer Bellatrix Black in my ancestor's backyard. I have thin, but good relations with the hags. Maybe I can help?"
Oyuun was a remarkable witch, known for flying on a Rukh eagle she had tamed. Yet, whenever in the presence of other humans, she got a bit nervous. Her eyes roamed the room until they found Agatha. She couldn't ignore the pleading look from Oyuun, no matter whom it would help.
Agatha's own gaze flicked between the mongolian witch, and the enraged Ardling. Maybe it was her sleep deprivation, or a bout of fatalism, or the chance to become part of the hunt for Bellatrix Black, but she decided to help. Before she spoke, Agatha mouthed a silent "You owe me," to Oyuun, who only smiled at her as an answer.
"I have a favour with a sakha hag named Mönkhtsetseg. Well, not a favor, more an understanding," she hummed, remembering that particular mission with a fond smile. Her great bout of diplomacy then was surviving a night of drinking with a hag coven without being eaten. "I mean, I had a few drinks with her. Anyway, I am willing to accompany them, and see that our holy hothead over there doesn't create an international diplomatic crisis."
Holy hothead would have usually gotten some sort of rise out of Akirazael, but to Agatha's great disappointment, and surprise, he just nodded at her, if her eyes didn't lie to her.
Xi Wu shrugged, and gestured towards Oyuun. "Executor Batsuuri, you are given lead over this mission. I trust it is in your own interest to keep the peace in the region. The Khans would be most displeased with us, would we jeopardize it." As if to emphasize his point, Xi Wu gave both Agatha and Akirazael a last, warning glare.
"We shall be on our best behavior, Mugwump Wu." Oyuun bowed.
"I'll try," Agatha whispered, more to herself than anyone else, but Baba snorted, yet gave her a serious look. He didn't have to. Agatha knew, maybe better than most, that you didn't mess with hags. They were dreamwalkers, and uncomfortably close related to Fae folk. The curses of one hag could ruin your life, and the curses of a coven, the lives of thousands around you.
She also caught her father's eyes. His disapproval was plain to see. She only shrugged. He had taken this case from her in the first place, and shouldn't be surprised that she didn't agree with that choice.
She leaned back to witness the rest of the Executors report their adventures, investigations and findings. Apparently the goblin Captain Clearblade, as well as Captain Degermark had teamed up to keep some sea monster at bay that had woken, and had been roaming the Pacific. Once more, Japan had requested and received a large scale memory charm of Tokyo, as well as an emergency repair team of the ICW to mend what had been destroyed.
Castelobruxo, the South American school of magic, had reported a larger than usual number of Quetzalcoatl in the area, and Joanna Smith, the ICW's dedicated pest control, also known as the world most renowned monster hunter, was sent out to deal with the issue. One student being eaten by a winged serpent was enough for a school year, holy creature or not.
Executor Namgyal becried the increase in muggles looking for thrills in the Himalaya and the inevitable Yeti population explosion that comes with more food readily available. His protest didn't just limit itself to his own homelands. In fact, he protested his "demotion" to a mediator between muggle expansion and native populations of magicals.
It went on and on. Agatha was too tired to concentrate overly much on the details and nuisances of magical geopolitics. The carefully crafted system of the Statute was in need of constant maintenance, and the leaks and failures were legion. The Directorate could barely keep up with the hitwizard squads to discredit or outright remove muggles who looked too deep into the rabbithole. It was cruel, but necessary. The father of a muggleborn in the US who went through the institutions to find out what happened to his daughter? Painted a conspiracy theorist and lunatic. The muggle chemist who stumbled upon alchemy by chance, once again? Removed from the scientific community. However, since he wouldn't stop his experiments, he eventually was visited by a pair of hitwizards that deleted the man's entire knowledge of chemistry and the sciences as a whole. Those cases were many. So many, in fact, that the ICW has stopped keeping detailed records. Those people were a name, a number, and a risk index classification. That was all that remained of their lives before magical interference.
Her father fell into himself, more and more, as the morning went on. Since she understood the concepts, she always wondered why he propagated these methods, if they pained him so. In many ways it felt like the practical application of Grindelwald's plans. It was only the fact that they did so in secret that separated the two ideals. Then again, what was the better choice? Lording over the muggles like gods? Having them kneel before you, having them take up arms in a desperate attempt to fight for their freedom, only to inevitably be slaughtered by the millions? Is it a form of mercy to let them think they rule, when all they do is play a curated game, in a designed arena, overseen by those who truly formed the world? Ignorance is bliss, even if it was forced?
Grindelwald had a point. That was a truth no one spoke aloud in the halls of the ICW, but everyone agreed on, anyway. The twentieth century had made the muggles magnitudes more problematic to control, and their technology kept on making it worse.
The shores of Japan are attacked so much, because the ships and boats, the incredible amount of rubbish, the toxic wastes dumped, wakes the monsters lurking in the depths. Once they wake, they seek out the brightest spot that smelled the most like food. Tokyo. Sometimes California. The Sage and the Rosmarin were almost always on the hunt for one or more Deep Ones.
Castelobruxo wasn't the only place that sought help. All around the world, large magical creatures found their habitats destroyed. Enraged, they take to the sky, the lands or the waters and slaughter the intruders, trying to carve out territories in what was left.
When it wasn't about their commerce, it was about their leisure. Muggle destruction was endless, and never slowing. Their machinery hungered for resources to fuel their methods of creation, to sate their own desire for an easy life. Hubris and egoism, in her opinion, but she was amongst those least sympathetic to the magic-less masses. Her father tried and tried to square the circle; to balance the bottomless maw of the muggle's hunger for more, with the ancient rights and claims, homelands and holy sites of magicals. He was failing. He knew this. Eventually the decisions would be made for him, one way or another, if he couldn't get himself to make them.
It was close to midday, when Albus finally gestured to her. "Executor Dumbledore. I presume that many in this hall today have heard of what happened, already, but please, provide us with a report of your findings."
"Thank you, Supreme Mugwump." She stood, and for the first time today, felt her sleep deprivation. Her legs were cramping with exhaustion, and her eyelids were almost too heavy to keep open. "As many here know, my current deployment did not lead to these revelations. It was me following a cry for help from a friend that led me to Africa."
"Aye, we fuckin' heard." Captain Clearblade growled over the assembly. "Traitor scum, your friends."
"Look, I know he is your cousin, but if Ragnok wants riches, he has to hire better warriors. Simple as." she immediately shot back. She was not in the mood for goblin sensitivities. "An entire excavation crew, and they couldn't deal with a Grootslang? Amateurs. You're just mad the wizards wouldn't die for goblin honour."
"Pah!" the Captain spat back, but she knew as well as he did; as anyone did, that the goblins had made the bed they laid in themselves. No goblin would ever die for a wizard, and the wizards were taught that fact at every given chance, for generations.
"As I was saying, my deployment was a private one. Therefore, let me express my thanks and gratitude to our esteemed Mugwump Akingbade, the Aurors of Lagos and the council of Oyo, for treating it with professional and effective responses." she bowed slightly towards Baba, who in turn nodded to her.
"Next to a Grootslang that had found its way through no natural influence this far in the north, I also bested an Archfey, who had been woken from some form of punishment that had laid him to sleep. Zugura, self-proclaimed Lord of the Shine, had been forgotten after the Ascension of Man, and only recently woke from his prolonged punishment. To my surprise and dismay, the one who woke him seems to be Lord Voldemort. He had posed as the Lord of Snakes, convinced Zugura that he too was fae-folk, and gifted him the Grootslang. What this alliance was meant to facilitate, I have yet to discover. However, it seems clear to me that Voldemort seeks alliances beyond his former recruiting grounds. If he doesn't shy away from Fae, what others could he try and allie with?"
"He has been known to deal with devils." Ardelean whispered just loud enough for all to hear.
"He has," she gave him the smirk he no doubt expected. "Otherwise, I would not stand here."
"I just don't see the extended danger?" Ardelean said. "If he allies with Anes'Rath, or this - Zuguro? Zugura? So what?"
Agatha's brain was slow, today. It took her a moment to come to a response. Enough time for her father to cut in. "Executor Ardelean, I am surprised at your apparent gap in knowledge." Albus Dumbledore waved his wand over the blueish light of the table, and a bust of her mother, Anes'Rath was shown in the middle. Not her disguised, or palatable form, no. What Albus Dumbledore showed the assembly was nothing short of a horrific, perverse mockery of lust and passion. The horrid writhing, barely humanoid mounds of flesh, adorned with thorns and spikes, always in a somewhat flexible, fluid form until it reacted to the desire of mortals, was her mother's true demonic form. "Anes'Rath was dangerous as long as I wasn't aware of her nature. Demons have a linear hunting path. They seek, they ensnare, they strike. Hinder one of those three steps, and the demon is defeated."
Albus waved his wand again. This time, the face of a beautiful woman, half human, and half butterfly, adorned with a crown of twigs and gold, was hovering in the middle. "Queen Titania, and her Court of Fey, have always eluded us. Their intent is always unclear, their motivations seem whimsical, their final goal may not exist at all." He waved his wand again, now conjuring the image of a handsome man, with blackened eyes and jagged grin, that spread his black and white locust wings wide. "The Unseelie Court is only distinguished by their tendency for malevolent ends, but in essence, remain the same threat."
"Voldemort was, in some form or another, rather predictable." Agatha took over again, seeing that her father threatened to fall from teaching into reminiscing. "Elusive, powerful, extremely violent, but ultimately predictable."
"I know. I understand." Ardelean waved off. "But he still ranks average on the list of problems, doesn't he? The man is powerful, sure, but in my years I've seen much worse, with less of a response from our side. Is this too close to home for you, or what is it?"
"Now it is," Agatha nodded. "The moment he set foot on african soil, he knew he'd get my attention, even if it may have coincidentally been before his intended timeframe."
"You know my feelings on the matter, Ardelean." Albus replied. "Many of you know, from your research or from my own words, that Voldemort has proven to be the greatest mistake of my life, and I am personally interested in ending the threat he poses. However, I will respect the council and the Executors, in whatever assessment of, and reaction to the situation they feel is appropriate."
Ardelean's easy smile returned, when he leaned back to once more pet his hound. "I think this remains Auror business for the foreseeable future. The local Director is waiting, is she not?"
"Director Bones has been invited to plead her case, indeed. I will leave it to her to present the details."
"In short, the british Aurors are flying a broom without brush, and we'll be asked to put the bristles back on." Agatha made sure that even through her lack of sleep, her voice stayed strong and clear. "Britain remains one of the most influential wizarding cultures, even after the war. If the council decides to leave this matter to the Aurors, I ask it to put their galleons where their mouths are and help Bones rectify the many shortcomings of the british Auror force."
She saw some nods, some whispering amongst the Executors, and only Captain Clearblade shaking his head with vigor. Because curse the goblin that forgives a slight. She was left standing a few moments, should some other Executor want to add to the report, but they seemed content having Ardelean speak for them.
The day proceeded, with more reports until lunch, and then a wave of invited guests that were allowed to petition in front of the council and the Executors. Agatha had a hard time keeping up, and keeping awake. One case was duller than the next, and most, she was sure, were brought in as an example of what happens when an Auror force doesn't function well. Once Executors were petitioned to deal with thieving thugs on some potion ingredient field, you knew that the Aurors simply didn't bother any more, weren't trusted and ultimately failed as the upholders of law and order. For the sake of the Statute, the ICW starts taking over, then, which in turn always became a threat to the sovereignty of the state.
"Go home,"
Agatha jerked up from her comfortable position, with her head leaning on her arm. The current petitioner droned on and on about the licences for the enchantment of muggle items that apparently were months in delay. Agatha simply couldn't keep her eyes open, and eventually fell victim to her exhaustion. "I promised Bones I'd speak for her."
Baba leaned closer to her, with his exasperated smile. "You did, already. I promise, if necessary, I shall do it for you."
"I just need a coffee." she already wanted to grab the mug that the houseelves sent up, but only caught air. Baba was quick with a wand, and even quicker with a Vanishing spell.
"What you need is a bed that you don't leave for at least eight hours. That is an order, Executor." His tone had her do a double take, so close it was to an actual order.
Agatha let her gaze wander over the oval table. She wasn't the only one showing signs of fatigue. The only ones still attentive and focused were the Mugwumps, who had experience with these sorts of meetings. Executors weren't in their natural habitat among the bureaucracy. She let her eyes wander more, until she met the eyes of her father. The twinkle, that little bit of mischief Albus Dumbledore never lost, which was usually absent at the ICW, returned for only a moment. With a simple shooing gesture, a nod and a smile he told her all she needed to know. She was dismissed from her duties for the day.
"I'll excuse myself, then." She mumbled, while suppressing the yawn that forced itself onto her. She stood, nodded to a few of her colleagues, and made for the side-entrance of the Hall, where she entered the small chamber, from which she could walk through a few portraits to get to various places in Hogwarts. There was one that had some centaurs dance on the front lawn of Hogwarts. Agatha knew from her summers here, that this one led to the gardens, and onto the footpath home.
Just as the door fell shut, it clicked, and opened again. The absence of footsteps, and scratching of claws on the stone floor, preceded Ardelean's entry. She turned to him, and tried not to look annoyed.
"Only a moment, Agatha." He walked up to her, his hound stood back a bit. It had never liked her much.
"If you need help with this whole Balkans thing, just send me an owl."
"That is not what I want to talk to you about." He waved it off, like he himself didn't even want to think about Yugoslavia right now. "Good work, down there. First off."
"Zugura wasn't really an archfey, in power."
"Also not what I wanted to say." he grinned at her. "You handled it well, afterwards. I was surprised to see you here at all, given the last days."
"Oh," she shrugged. "Well, fights come with paperwork."
"Not one for compliments, still. Very well," From an inside pocket in his suit, he produced a small ledger, full of parchment and paper. "This is what I could gather about Voldemort while he was on my turf. Nothing much. Some witness statements, some sightings that make sense in retrospect. Unfortunately, he was able to hide right underneath my nose."
Agatha took the ledger, and started to quickly browse over the headlines, and first words of those documents. "Thank you. That will come in handy, no doubt. His twelve years in hiding are just one large black spot for us."
"It becomes barely grey with those hints, I'm afraid." He laid a hand on her shoulder, encouraging and steadying. "I didn't mean to minimize the threat Voldemort poses, in there." He nodded to the Great Hall. "I just feel like you and yours have more pressing matters to attend to. That horrid Undersecretary, for one."
"Hmm," she hummed. "Assess and prioritize, was it?"
"I still stand by those words. If you don't anticipate and schedule your battles, you are bound to be surprised by them. Surprised armies win no battles."
"They may only survive them." she finished the old lesson's words. "Don't worry, I remember your tutelage."
"Oh, you better, I take pride in it." he laughed. With a last, light tap on her shoulder, he turned to return. "The Professors are right, though. Get some sleep. You look worse than me, and I'm dead."
"Undead, you drama queen." she laughed as well, and just confirmed with a nod that she had every intention of following good advice. "Can you do me a favour?"
"Anything, kid."
"If Bones petitions active Executor presence, could you see if your husband would be willing to do the job?"
"Oh, what wonderful ideas you have." he purred, almost making the room vibrate with the sound of his voice. "Gregorius may very well be willing. I promise to ask if he is in the mood. I would be surprised if he wasn't. He so worries about his flock."
Hey there. Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this little excursion into the wider world of Agatha, as well as the tee-up for more Trio action. Let me know in the reviews ;)