Agatha Dumbledore

by Fulminanz

At the beginning of the fifth year, Albus Dumbledore decided to call for reinforcements in the form of his daughter, Agatha. Tiefling, Executor of the ICW, Professor of Defense, and proficient practitioner of multiple forms of chaos, she will change the war, and the life of many students, in ways nobody had anticipated.

13. Chapter 13 - Devilish Dealmaking

It was a bit like deja-vu.

The last time Agatha sat on a bench, with Fleur's head on her shoulder, looking out into a glorious spectacle of morning sun meeting magnificent scenery, she hadn't thought she would see the Veela ever again. She had convinced herself of that. She had been wrong, and thanked all gods for it.

However, such personal victory could not come without her mind conjuring the next array of disastrous scenarios. All defiance could not change the fact that they had painted targets on their back. The longer she thought about it, the more dangerous the situation appeared to her. When her mother had warned her, Agatha had just assumed it was one more attempt at torment. Devilish motherly love, one might call it.

On the contrary, though. Her mother had her ways of annoying or tormenting her, and they usually didn't involve appearing on the mortal plane, herself. No, her mother had enough reason to leave her cosy, hellish palace amongst flesh and pain. The situation warranted the attention of an archdevil, and Agatha could string together why that was the case, now that some peace and quiet allowed her to think.

Agatha had a theoretical claim to the throne of the Gardens of Flesh. In theory, as borderline impossible as it was in reality, she could overthrow her mother. Borderline impossible was still too much risk for Anes'Rath. Paranoid, and astoundingly good at making enemies, her mother despised any lack of total control, as was proper for an archdevil.

Which meant she was most likely worried that if Fleur had her enthralled, the Fey could take over a part of Hell. Interplanar politics, and they were right in the middle of it. it wasn't a healthy position to be in, to say the least.

On the other side of that scenario was the Mother Veela, probably equally worried that a devil could have access to the magic of her offspring, and bind her into devilish contracts to create a horde of thralls ultimately under the command of the Hells. It was the core motivation of their culture; the greatest fear of the Veela tribes to be enslaved again - used as servants and trophies - and adding infernal influence to it made it a nightmarish scenario to imagine.

Agatha hated that with every avenue of thought she came up with, her mother and the Mother Veela made more sense to her.

"You are thinking so loud, I can almost 'ear it." Fleur whispered into her ear.

Indeed, Agatha felt that her shoulders had tensed, and that one certain vein running down her temple pulsed. "I can't help myself. I'm sorry."

"What are you thinking? Tell me."

"I am pondering their threats." she took Fleur's hand, softly squeezed it and kept it there between her claws. "Unfortunately, maybe luckily, I think I understand why the Mother Veela is against this relationship. I almost definitely know why my mother is against it."

Fleur only raised an interested eyebrow, allowing Agatha to plunge into explaining her train of thoughts with as much detail as she could. The Hells were a peculiar hierarchy, full of ancient contracts that held massive gridlocks in place and ultimately sought to guarantee peace amongst the archdevils. Her ascension, as unlikely as it was, would be as catastrophic to this careful balance as the Vanishing of Lucifer, or the Death of Lilith. Theoretically, having a flock of Veela at her beck and call, made the chance of it slightly higher, and her mother would never accept that. She had barely digested; barely tolerates the fact that one Legion demon swarm, amongst millions, had chosen to swear allegiance to Agatha.

"Merde," Fleur groaned into Agatha's shoulder. "I did not wish for it to make sense."

"On the other hand, as long as it makes sense, it can be argued." Agatha pointed out.

"I don't think a pinky-swear shall be enough, non?"

"Hello, mother. I won't usurp your rule of the domain of Lust." Agatha chuckled. "Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"We would never!"

"Never ever!"

Agatha pulled Fleur closer, so she could laugh in her hair, and feel her own chuckles shaking her body. Eventually, though, the laughter became quiet, and despite the levity, they held each other close for comfort. They knew that consequences were only a matter of time.

"They will no doubt send the Marquise," Fleur said, her head below Agatha's chin, nestled between shoulder and head. "She does not care about those catastrophic consequences. She only cares about me not 'being safe'. Propriety."

"Not creating a harem of thralls, is what she means, is it not? Human thralls."

"Oui. My powers proven - awoken, they say - she demands of me to be Veela in all things." Fleur's voice became a low growl. "I 'ave chosen to not be Veela. Regardless of my body's changes and gained magic, I will not be."

"If that is what you want. You can be a Veela, and just ignore the tribes. Can't you?"

"It is more complicated." Fleur opened her mouth like she wanted to delve deep into an explanation, but spoke no words. With a forced smile, and a tender stroke across Agatha's chin, she instead said, "Another time. Soon. I want to smile today, don't you, ma cheri?"

Indeed, she did. The butterflies in her stomach aside, she felt more rested than she had in months, if not years. Just sitting on that bench, looking out onto the Black Lake with Fleur in her arms let her go of tensions she had for so long, she had forgotten about them.

She was suspicious. Paranoid, really. What was true and what was magic? Could this feeling even be natural, or was it a Veela's magic? Agatha banished the thoughts. If she began to think like that, she may as well remain alone forever. Fleur probably thought the same; had the same doubts. Were they on the way to wrap themselves in the treacherous comfort of each other's magic?

Again, Agatha forced herself to stay in the present, where the summer sun over Scotland slowly gained in strength. The cool winds of the morning gave way to the comfortably warm breezes of the early day. Among the aspen trees, Fleur's fey-heritage truly came into focus. The Veela were nymphs of the forest, and the forests were happy to frame their beauty and emphasise their song.

Which underlined the change in Fleur, Agatha had yet to truly perceive. She didn't dare ask what separated a quarter-veela from a full one, if the switch is a mere decision by the Veela away?

Then she noticed the way the wind kept Fleur's hair out of her face. She saw how canopies leaned in the breezes to form halos of light behind her head, and how the sun itself made her skin shine as if it touched crystal.

However, she couldn't allow herself to enjoy the view for too long. Just as they left the aspens, an enormous shadow was cast on the hills around Hogsmeade. Formed like an eagle, but with a wingspan that would reach from one end to the other of the Great Hall, a Rukh circled over the Black Lake.

"Of fucking course," Agatha cursed under her breath. What else but the crushing reality of her job to have her stop fantasising about her literally, supernaturally beautiful girlfriend. She didn't need to worry over being enchanted by Veela, if Akirazael was around to ruin it.

Fleur noticed the total lack of panic from Agatha as she gazed upon a creature as dangerous as a fully grown dragon. In the distance, some citizens of Hogsmeade screamed in panic, but Fleur merely asked, "Agatha?" in a shaky voice.

"That is Oyuun, a colleague of mine. She's here to pick me up for a mission, no doubt. The Rukh-Eagle is named Royo, by the way." she looked on Fleur, and bit her lip to keep herself from cursing even more. Some growing part of her wanted to tell Oyuun to fuck off, but alas, promises between Executors were sacred. If she bailed now, she may as well give up on being an Executor all together.

"It is alright." Fleur laid a hand on her upper arm, let it slide over her shoulder until it copper her face. "I'm a cursebreaker. You are an Executor. This is how it will be, won't it?"

"Ya," Agatha answered, holding back all the comments she had about how much she despised the fact she was always on duty. Then again, this was the hunt for Bellatrix Black. Any other day and she would be apparating towards Oyuun in excitement. Right now, she had quite a few voices telling her to pretend she had Dragon's Pox, or something. Anything to not leave Fleur's side.

"Duty calls, ma cheri." she gave Agatha a kiss on the cheek. "I make sure the wine is cooled when you return to tell me all about it."

---

Dear Harry,

As per your wish, I have given my recommendations regarding your upcoming plea before the Wizengamot to my most trusted colleagues. I have no doubt that they will have the utmost sympathy for your petition. The Phoenix stands at the ready.

On a more personal note, let me congratulate you on your improvements under the tutelage of Miss Black. I must admit, your budding interest in matters of the courts is a welcome surprise. Just as the wand, so does the word hold great power. If you sharpen it further, and wield it, wise and just, I believe Britain has a bright future ahead.

With great hope and confidence,
Albus Dumbledore

"The headmaster is on board." Harry mumbled, after reading the letter for the fifth time. There it was. Albus Dumbledore gave him the support of an entire political party, because he asked. He understood the significance of the gesture, but, Merlin help him, he would certainly need time to realise the depth of trust it showed.

He laid the letter back down onto a desk that had once belonged to Arcturus Black. It was still in perfect, barely used condition. Harry didn't dare use a quill without placing it back exactly where it came from. Sirius had given him the desk, since letters came in hourly now, from all sorts of people and institutions. The rumour about him being Dumbledore's apprentice - untrue as it was - seemed to now be accepted as truth among the Wizengamot. Why else would the Chief Warlock grant Harry any sort of sway in his party, right?

He remembered Narcissa's words, that the only rumours you should actively disprove, are those that cost you influence. By actively, she meant via methods that would make even Salazar Slytherin blush, of course.

"Finally," Hermione's voice took him out of his thoughts. She snatched up the letter, and gently laid it in a leather binder that had "Official Correspondence - Active" written on it in golden, swirling letters. Her research was forgotten, or rather relegated to a place of free time activity, because Hermione had placed herself into the position of his, as she said, assistant and advisor. "You got quite a stash ahead of you. We still need to go to Sirius to get our stories straight. So, hurry with those letters." she urged him.

"Most of those are just people asking which side of your bum you'd like kissed." Left to him, lounging on an armchair, Ron was perusing the newspapers of magical Europe, He was searching for any sort of reaction from across the channel and sea, regarding their political situation. His findings he noted down on pieces of parchments that then were placed on a heap on the floor. Hermione hated the method, but couldn't argue with the results. He looked to Harry over the edge of the english version of the Kristallkugel, a news outlet from Berlin. "Sort by sender, is what I'm saying."

Harry would love to, but he didn't even know half of these people. He picked the first letter up and read Jonas Meregrowth on its front. Who was that? He had absolutely no idea. Was he important? Maybe. He'd have to delay reading it.

Because there was a letter underneath Meregrowth's that promised headaches. Pansy had written. He would have preferred to do this in person, but alas, here it was. He threw Meregrowth's letter back on the stack, and unfolded the parchment with the simple, yet elegant wax seal of the Parkinsons on it.

Dear Harry,

"Alright, this is already weird." Harry snorted a laugh. "Pansy calling me Harry? Dear Harry?"

"Already sounds bonkers. Read it," Ron said.

Hello, fiance? Eager am I to discuss the contract my dear father has revealed to me, today. Let us sit together at your earliest convenience. Perchance, for some ice cream at Fortescues?

Alternatively, we may take a stroll. Many long walks will it take for us to find together. One by one our love will bloom. Regal as roses. True like the blue of the sky. Endless like the stars. No night shall pass that I not fear to spend alone. Tell me, my husband to be, if you feel the same?

Harry's horrified visage drew both Ron and Hermione to take a personal look at the letter. "Merlins sweaty balls, has she gone mad?"

"What does that harpy plan?" Hermione growled out.

I count the hours until we can meet again in Hogwarts. All my thoughts revolve around you. Nay, all my being longs for you. Oh, how long I had to pretend. To be separated by houses is my greatest pain. Rescue me, my hero. Unbound love shall be your reward.

Say what you desire, and I shall deliver. Take me. Devour me. Reclaim what is yours and I shall be by your side. I will worship you. Never shall I leave your side. Kiss me under the moonlight. Save me from my lonesomeness.

With love,
Pansy

Harry could feel the eyes on him as he read over the letter a second, and third time. He shook his head and mumbled. "Am I going insane? This is nonsense, right?"

"Seems like she is going down the deep end." Hermione worried her lip, deep in thought.

Ron, on the other hand, kept studying the letter meticulously. His eyes roamed across the sentences, but he wasn't reading them. He was looking for something. Then, out of the blue he clapped his hands together and proclaimed, "Got it."

"Excuse me? What is there to get?" Hermione asked.

"You guys don't see it?" Ron asked. When both just gave him a flat stare, he waved them off, took a quill and began to mark sections of the letter. "Easiest riddle to solve."

"Bloody hell," Harry took the letter again, and held it out for Hermione and himself. Ron had marked the first letter of every sentence, and had quickly deciphered the horrid message.

Help Amortentia No Trust Drinks

"What is Amortentia?" Harry asked.

"A powerful love potion." Hermione answered, slightly too fast for comfort. When her two boys both raised an eyebrow at her, she went on, cheeks red in embarrassment "It's not like I would ever use one, I was just curious."

"Anyway, is Pansy warning us, or is this some sort of trick?" Harry studied the text again, and now that it turned out to be a code, it still didn't align with who he thought Pansy Parkinson was. Every interaction with her up to this letter had been antagonistic, and that was putting it mildly. Hermione's stories about her painted an even more vile image of Pansy. Why would she warn them? The only explanation Harry could think of was that she was threatened into compliance, which made her an unreliable ally at best, and an easy trap to fall into at worst.

"Oh, you missed something." Ron took the envelope on the desk and pulled the last bit of content from it. "Let's see… MERLIN!" Ron burst out, and immediately stuffed the pieces of paper back. His cheeks were rosy-red from whatever he had seen.

"Did they make her take pictures?" Hermione asked him, receiving an embarrassed nod as Ron's only answer.

"Do they think they'll get me by making me randy?" Harry grumbled. He took the pictures, quickly glanced at them and threw them back onto the stack. Ron's reaction would have been clue enough, but seeing it for himself truly made his stomach clench, and rage build up. Pansy was a horrid person, but even she didn't deserve to be used like this for whatever insane political play they tried to pull over him.

"I hate to ask, but," Hermione took a deep breath, obviously trying to not let anger overtake her as well. "could she also try to hide a message in the pictures?"

"I don't think Ron or I should look at them." Harry answered.

Hermione took the pictures and began to look them over as clinically detached as she could. With every picture her mood soured, though, and at the end of the stack Hermione's head had gone red with anger. "No messages. Except her constant fake smile trying to hide her mortification. What kind of parent would allow this?"

"Bloody hell," Ron massaged his temples, a pained expression on his face. "How do we even… bloody hell."

"Dire times, dire actions." Harry too rubbed his temple, feeling a headache set in. "We may want to consider some unlikely allies."

"Which would be?"

Harry sat down at the desk, took parchment and quill, and began to write a line he had never thought he would ever bring himself to write. The words in ink looked wrong, almost surreal in how much they stood against his nature.

"Bollocks, " Ron spat, yet shrugged at Harry in what may be agreement.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whined, and palmed her face. "There has to be a better solution."

"Probably. Maybe. I just can't think of someone better to ask for help. Who knows her like him?" Harry answered them, yet he didn't believe the words he spoke either. It was a hail mary attempt at getting information, but who else was there? Just looking down at the parchment created a knot in his stomach, yet he set the quill down again and began writing.

"Hello Draco,..."

---

Riding on the back of a Rukh eagle was a small consolation price. Of course Akirazael would gather the forces the moment Agatha could fathom lying around at her beach for an entire day. To share some quiet moments with Fleur, start working on that tentative relationship, that should have been her day.

Not to mention that there was every chance he also stole the following night from her. "He has a talent to ruin the best things." She growled out to herself.

Oyuun could hear her over the rushing wind, though. "He is eager. No worries, I'm sure we will be swift in our mission, and you can return to your lover."

"You sound assured. How come?"

"Akirazael has prepared with all due diligence. He has constructed a compass to track Bellatrix Black. All we have to do now, is follow the needle."

"I believe it when I see it." Agatha grumbled. Akirazael was a great fighter, but he was not known for his enchanting abilities. Whatever this compass was, she doubted its function, or its origin. "What happened to talking with the hags?"

"I did," Oyuun spoke, as she turned Royo into a slow descent towards the massive forests of Sakha. "They allowed us to be there. We have three days and three nights. Should we overstay our welcome,…"

"Aye, no need to spell it out. Any assistance?"

"Altan Khan sends a few of his warriors with us. Aurors, technically."

"Mongolian Aurors are pretty decent backup. Less politically loaded than the russian Royal Guard, thats for sure. Good work." Agatha laid a hand on the little woman's shoulder, and said a bit lighter, "Are you doing alright?"

Oyuun laughed nervously. "I think I'll spend a few months in the plains after this. I spoke more words in the last week than I did the entire past year."

"Sometimes I think about fucking off to the Serengeti as well, but alas, duty calls, huh?"

"Always does." Oyuun laughed, "Duty aside, want to have some fun? We're right over the meeting point."

Agatha held whatever could fly off her person tight to her body, grinned wide and cheered "Yes!"

Immediately Royo spun around, flew a tight curve and pulled his wings in to go into a straight dive down towards the ground. Oyuun wooped in joy, and Agatha couldn't stop laughing as the speed and wind threatened to throw her off the Rukh. The ground came closer and closer. Abstract forms became sand and stone, trees and bushes which seemed to grow, so fast did they fall towards a sudden stop by ground.

At the last second, like a perfectly executed Wronsky Bluff, Oyuun and Royo pulled into a graceful landing. The massive wings of the Rukh threw up sand and dirt, before its talons grapsed onto a hill and came to a stop.

"Tavtai moril, egch ee! Tengeriig nomkhruulsan tüüntei uulzaj baigaadaa bayartai baina." ("Welcome, sister! An honour to meet She who tamed the Skies.") one of five mongolian Aurors, sitting on slender, beautiful steeds, greeted Oyuun. The little witch was of a legendary status amongst Mongolians and Turkmen. Many thought her nothing short of a demigod, the daughter of Tengri, god of the skies. How else would she be able to tame the Great Eagle? Demigod or not, she definitely made a Tiefling of secondary if not even tertiary interest to the Aurors. She used them gushing over the Rider of the Great Eagle to get her bearings. The trees of the forests in front of them were like a wall of leaves and bark. Their canopies darkened the ground almost as soon as the forest began. This forest was akin to the Forbidden Forest, but magnitudes more dangerous. Hag territory was notoriously unhealthy to humans. Magical humans, that was. Muggles were welcome cattle for the covens.

She looked over their reinforcements. At least they looked like proper warriors, that was for certain. Their usual work included much more monster hunting than criminal investigation, and their stance and uniform reflected that. The mongolian Aurors were clad in thick, pelted robes, with one shoulder covered in beautiful fur and a gold chain carrying their Auror badges and ranks. Where the british Aurors often reminded one of victorian era investigators, these guys looked as if they were ready to once more ride for Europe and conquest. Next to their wands they also had bows with complicated targeting aid-charms, and arrows that were doused in different potions, for different enemies.

"Where is Akira?" Agatha asked none of them in particular. "I assumed he would be waiting."

"He is waiting," the Auror Captain, according to his badges, answered. He pointed towards the tree line. "Impatient, that one. He wanted to test his device."

"Of course he couldn't keep his bloody feet out of the Merlin be damned forest before we fucking arrived,…" she grumbled, and trailed off into quiet growls. Agatha had to let her frustrations out, lest she'd implode. The Ardling had that effect on her. She strutted down the soft hill towards the treeline, where she quickly found the golden glow of Akira.

He held up a small golden device, in which a pure diamond was placed. It moved within a glass sphere, always pointing in one direction, into the forest.

"You do know you started the clock the moment you stepped into the forest, right? Three days, three nights." Agatha crossed her arms at the Ardling.

Akirazael turned to her, slowly and graceful, and just smiled in that way he had, where one couldn't help but feel looked down upon. "Greetings to you too, Dumbledore."

Oyuun and the Aurors followed behind her. Soon enough they all stood around the Ardling, awaiting orders. Oyuun spoke, "Akirazael, I have to remind you that I have to take the lead on this mission. Please do not anger the Mugwump. I'm done speaking with people for quite a while."

"Not to worry, my dear Oyuun. I have not forgotten your assistance in ensuring this mission comes to be to begin with." he turned to Agatha, and his four eyes in his four unwrapped wings that sprouted from his head focused in on her. She could see his eyes quickly look over her horns and tail, claws and fangs, the antithesis of his beliefs, in short. "Thanks to you as well, Dumbledore."

"Sure," Agatha waved it off, not believing for a second that he was genuinely thankful.

"Whats your plan? I assume this is the compass Oyuun mentioned?"

"Indeed it is. My plan is simple. Agatha and I will lead this mission by foot, with our Auror friends just behind us. Oyuun will circle the forest. Should things become too dangerous, red sparks will be shot into the sky and Oyuun swoops down for evacuation."

Agatha kept a laugh down when she saw the pure relief on Oyuun's face. Three days circling the forests of Sakha alone must sound like heaven to the reclusive witch. Her own involvement was a lot more dangerous, though. The truth of the matter that no one wanted to dwell on too long was that two Executors and five Aurors was merely a nice snack for some of the things that roamed these woods. You could haggle with hags, but if you stumbled over a nest of Wood Weirds, or a flock of Gamayun - siberian harpies - you better hoped your escape plan worked.

"You five got emergency portkeys?" Agatha asked the Aurors. All of them nodded, and showed a variety of smaller trinkets, held close to where they could be reached, fast. She held the gaze of Akira, and continued, "Good. We are not here to die. We're not that desperate to reach Bellatrix Black. If our situation becomes too dangerous, we book it. Understood?"

Five more nods, and one now, finally annoyed looking angel. She was glad. Akira's neutral mood gave her the shivers.

"Then I will take to the skies. Be careful, everyone. Stay passive and defensive. Remember, Im watching from above. Do not hesitate to fire sparks. Worst case, I land for nothing." Before she jumped up on Royo again, she gave each and every one a glare and ordered them, "No heroics."

Once the wind of the wings subsided, the group wordlessly walked into the trees, following Akira's lead. The Ardling held out the compass and followed the direction the pure white marble showed him. Just as Agatha had expected, the forest more or less swallowed them mere meters after its first trees. The thick canopy kept so much light from the ground, only the hardiest plants and moss could grow. The Forbidden Forest had tried to hide Tracy from her, but this one gave Agatha the feeling of a long, curled finger, beckoning them deeper, making no secret about the trap it lured them into. It was no question of if they would meet something dangerous, but more of how long it would take.

"Agatha," Akira called out. Walking up to him, she quickly saw what he meant to show her. The marble had gone from pure white to a light grey. "The closer we come, the darker the marble becomes. When we see a pure black, we should be close enough for your senses to find her." Akirazael explained.

"I'm not sure how much I'll smell in these woods. Nothing smells right here."

"How so?" one of the Aurors asked.

Agatha thought for a moment, as she leaped over a massive fallen and rotting tree. It wasn't fey, or infernal. It was nothing like the smell she knew from old magical places like the jungles of the Kongo, or Mosi-oa-Tunya. This one was too old. Older than trees. Older than the oldest mountains. "It's a primordial place. This forest belongs to forces older than civilisation. The Titans still have a hold on it."

"So say our scholars. I thought them liars." the Auror tried to joke, but his tone betrayed his rising discomfort. His colleagues made fun of him, though in mongolian, which unfortunately was not a language Agatha spoke or understood. They made fun of him, not appreciating that the most fearful of them was probably also the smartest of the five.

The deeper they went, the more their hike became a climbing exercise. Akira's glow was bad enough for stealth. They tried to avoid using disruptive magic. Agatha charmed everyone's shoes to help them jump across the small crevasses formed by centuries of trees falling over each other and being covered in the soil of rotting plant matter. Even then, eventually they couldn't jump over, lest they would collide with the ever denser canopy and underbrush.

It took them hours of hiking, and if Agatha had felt unwell in this environment before, she felt cold shivers down her back when she realised something most unnerving. Nothing had attacked them, yet. They hadn't even seen a harpy circle them for prey, or the tell-tale rustle of leaves of pack animals surrounding them. There was nothing of note, nothing that could be called a threat. Only countless trees, bushes and nothing. It didn't take her more than an exchanged look with the Aurors to get her message across. They must have felt the same way. This wasn't just luck, this was an unnatural state of being for these woods.

"Akira. Don't you think this is going all a bit too smooth?" she asked the Ardling, who stared steadfast at his compass. It has gone a pebble-grey at this point.

"We have spoken with the hags, haven't we? Who's to say this calm isn't just them extending a hand?"

"To you?" Agatha tried to convey the many layers of doubt she had about hags doing anything not strictly necessary for anyone, let alone a half-angel. "No offence, but I'm convinced you being here has some of them crawl up the walls in rage."

He huffed, annoyed at being distracted from his compass. "Take a gift when it presents itself. Be cautious about it, but take it. Or are you eager to test if a harpy song trumps your own sirens call?"

"I… nevermind." Agatha stopped herself. Fine by her. If he insisted on acting like everything was okay, she didn't mind. It was his mission, after all. She was here as backup, and it wouldn't be skin off her back if he miscalculated. Still, she kept checking her portkey, and did regular checks on all members of the expedition. The Aurors were sweating with exertion and fear at this point, yet moved on with the spirit of warriors. Only Akirazael showed not even a hint of nervousness.

"Who gave you this compass, by the way?" Agatha asked, after another thirty minutes of only forest and the occasional boulder. "Don't tell me you made that yourself. I know you're not that good with Charms."

She saw it in his four eyes that he considered to lie. She also saw him resign to the fact that she knew him too well. "I had it made by some contacts of mine in the church. In fact, it is an old artefact from the time of the Ten Plagues, retrofitted for this purpose."

"And you trust those contacts?"

"I trust the Pillars."

That wasn't exactly an answer, nor a surprise. However, as much trust the half-angel had in the church, as little did the half-devil have in them. She wouldn't put it past them to sacrifice Akirazael as a martyr to get rid of her. Alas, all she could do was making sure the portkey was close, and the Aurors wouldn't be harmed by some theocratic political powerplay. The angel could take care of himself.

She could feel the group get restless. The crystal compass pulled them deeper and deeper into an area that was not meant for humans. Now even the leaves stopped their rustling, and the wood it's creaking. Sounds became surreal echoes, like feverdreams.

"Akira. Are you sure this is leading us to the target?"

"Faith, Agatha. Have faith." the Ardling whispered back to her. It didn't fill her with confidence that he felt the need to.

They pushed on, through the thorny bushes and over fallen trees becoming soil. Just a few more trees onward, they came to a small clearing.

Moss and grass had found this place in-between the trees that would deny it light. Some berries grew on its sides, and small tracks spoke of deer and other animals having come through.

Agatha's nose tingled with something that was out of the ordinary, but not misplaced. No, the scent she had in her nose in this clearing could even be described as being the original, with the trees and forest having been later additions. It was primal, savage, and not amused with the intruders. If she would have to put words to it, Agatha would say that a Titan lived close by.

"Akira," she hissed. "Something is off. There is something here that doesn't want us to be."

"What does your nose tell you?"

"I don't know yet."

"Then, tell me when you do, and don't slow the mission."

While her Executor colleague walked on, his shining body like a beacon in the forest's darkness, the mongolian Aurors were unsure who to follow. The unwavering Ardling, or the suddenly so cautious Tiefling.

Agatha ignored the command. She held still, and kneeled to change her perspective. Stone by stone, bush by bush she let her eyes analyse the clearing. There were light bumps and trenches in the earth. Following the outline, they formed some sort of shape. Agatha walked around it, its diameter as large as a dragon, turned her head and tried to make sense of it. It was like four thick lines coming together in the middle. Three of them close together, and one stretching out opposite them, like…

"A Chicken foot," Agatha breathed out. Immediately, she felt her heart pump faster with the dread and horror that set into every single one of her bones. "Akira!" she shouted at him. "Akirazael, stop!"

"What is it, now?! Is this because I took this case from…"

"Shut up, you arrogant prick. Look!" she pointed at the trenches. The Ardling, in his usual temper, didn't even bother to truly make anything out.

The Aurors on the other hand knew exactly what they saw. Their grandmothers, telling them stories of the horrors in the forest, warned them of it often enough. Two immediately tried to apparate, but found themselves unable to. Cold sweat started to run down their spines, as their captain whispered what they all were too scared to get over their lips.

"Baba Yaga."

"We need to go, now, or we're dead." Agatha turned to the Auror Captain and with just a gesture urged him to shoot red sparks upwards, so Oyuun could get them out. "Akira! We have to leave. We're not prepared for- ."

"We are - this - close!" the Ardling held up his tiny, golden apparatus, with the crystal in it having changed to a deep grey colour. Bellatrix was near, but may as well have been miles away with the danger of the Mother of Hags around to catch them.

"I won't get eaten by the mother of all hags today. You do whatever. I'm out." she shouted at him. She whirled back to the Auror Captain, to see if he already got the spark to shoot up, but all he did was stare into the sky.

"What the," Agatha whispered when she saw the Aurors unmoving, as if they had lost all life in their limbs. Their panicked eyes still darted around, looking for any way out. Sometimes their mouths twitched, and all that came out from the mighty warriors was a quiet sob. Their eyes teared up, even though their face remained completely neutral. She looked back to the Ardling. Akira's face was glued to the device. But his body and wings were completely unmoving. She could only see it in his eyes, the moment he realised he was about to breathe his last.

The crystal changed from dark grey to anthracite. Anthracite turned to a deep, complete black. His eyes met hers. A last acknowledgment. A silent goodbye.

Then, with the force of a giant falling to the ground, an gargantuan chicken foot landed on Akira, flattening the Ardling under the weight of the house built on it. The ground shook with the power of its impact, and the shockwave swept Agatha and the Aurors off their feet.

She felt herself shaking. She had smelled a Titan in the wind, and there in front of her was its lair. Her eyes were wide, never leaving the house of Baba Yaga out of her sight. She lifted her wand, automatically, and tried to shoot red sparks into the sky, but like a badly lit firework, the spark did a few loops, and then shot towards the house.

"I'm not dead, yet" was the one thought Agatha clung to. Not dead, yet. However, also without any backup, nor way to escape. Not that she believed it would work, but for good measure, she activated the portkey, and only found it being a useless trinket. She cursed under her breath. Of course, she would encounter the Mother of Hags, and most likely die by her hand, on the same day she finally thought like she would have her first loving relationship. Half a day. That's how much genuine love Fate granted her.

"She not good woman, Fate." a deep voice in the woods said. Its accent was slavic, undefined somewhere between the languages. Its tone, somewhere between soothing like a lullaby and the deep growl of a cave bear. Its source, clearly the house on a chicken foot before her.

"Aye, she isn't, is she?" Agatha glanced at the spot where Akira had stood just mere moments ago. She gave the Aurors another look. They were lying on the cold, forest floor, still immobile, but alive.

The door of the house opened. Soft orange and yellow hues of fires and candles invited her to come in. Elderberry and sage smoke wafted out of it, filling the clearing with its aroma.

"You and me, talk. Make conversation. Come to agreement. Make deal."

Agatha felt her knees shaking, and the cold sweat running down her spine. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realised that she was about to meet someone who may as well be a goddess. The Mother of Hags beckoned her into her house. Baba Yaga, older than the mountains, wiser than the Fey Queen and more cunning than even the Fallen Lucifer himself. Agatha walked towards a being that could literally wish her out of existence, body, mind and soul.

The house lowered down to allow her to climb onto the small patio. The wooden walls were decorated with carvings and symbols of all kinds and cultures. Nordic rune circles were drawn next to hindu swastikas, next to a heart with two initials in it, surrounded by the most crude, stone-age depictions of animals and humans. Dreamcatchers hung next to wind-chimes, and bundles of shrunken heads whose hollow eyes seemed to follow her.

Agatha swallowed. She was just in front of the threshold. Her mind raced, but she could get enough of a grip onto herself to remember the very basics of hags. She recalled ancient tradition, older than the continents, that originated right here on this threshold. Will and price. "Baba Yaga, won't you let me in? Baba Yaga, before your door I stand, won't you let me in? Baba Yaga, for I bring gifts from deep within."

She took one last deep breath, and stepped over the threshold. The warmth of the room she entered came as a surprise. It felt wrong among the barely illuminated hut. Cages and knick-knacks hung from the ceiling. Her eyes wandered up. The roof seemed held by what looked like large men, made into wood. Their horrified faces still screamed silently, while their hands forever held the wooden roof above them.

She couldn't see Baba Yaga. No one seemed to be in the hut, but her presence was overwhelming. Agatha's careful steps carried her past a large mirror framed in rough carvings, on which "Desire" was inlaid with gold letters above. Her breath caught when she saw herself in it, but not. The woman that stared out of the mirror had blue eyes and light brown hair that flowed freely over her head, with no horns in sight. In some way, she could imagine her aunt Ariana looking like this as an adult. She stood on a beach, Fleur in her arms, and smiling out at Agatha. Then the image changed. The Hells. Fire and brimstone, lava shooting into the blackened skies. The Endless War. The devil that now stared at her was a revelation of violence - pure and unbound in its fury, slashing through demons and fiends alike. On her head a crown of bones, and in her hands the sceptre of her mother. The sceptre of the Gardens of Flesh, and symbol of its ruler. Under her feet, the head of her dead uncle, Mephistopheles. In her other hand, the keys to his archives.

"Choice in desire. Rare. Like yourself, no?" the voice now felt like it was right next to her. "Two choices, become one. Like yourself."

Agatha turned around, slowly and carefully, as was expected of a guest in this house. Her eyes still wandered, and she could see more and more trinkets and collectibles. Most of it looked worthless, but she knew better than to think that even the last bit of dust in here was random.

Flashes of a begging woman shot through her mind, when she beheld a crying woman's head, entombed in a glass vase. She had asked the old crone for eternal wealth and beauty, and all Baba Yaga had asked in return was for her to gain a generous heart. The woman became the most beautiful on earth, and riches unending streamed into her vaults. But when an old woman begged for some coin to eat, she hexed her instead. Now her soul remained here, in her severed head, in a glass vase, so no one could ever bother her beauty again.

Her eyes turned to a chamberpot, richly decorated with diamonds and rubies, gold and copper, on the finest, whitest porcelain. More memories flashed into her mind. This time of a proud, young businessman. He wanted to become greater than his father, who had built the largest industrial empire the world had ever seen. So she gave him the power to sway his brothers to join him, and to make anyone want to serve him. Yet, he built no empire; nothing worth of a crown. He gathered sycophants, slaves, and concubines. He revelled in the luxuries he had never worked for, like a pig rolled in the farmer's mud pit. In his greed, the man declined when she asked for her payment, and so she decided that he may be humbled for a few millennia, in the form of the finest, richest shitpot the world had ever seen.

Those were threats, Agatha understood. "Don't cross me, or you'll regret it. More powerful ones than you already tried." was the clear message. As if Baba Yaga needed to threaten her. Agatha knew well what power the hag wielded.

Her eyes found a three-legged stool, and finally she realised that it wasn't herself that guided her eyes. Seeing the invitation for what it was, she took a seat on it. Her fingers itched for her wand by instinct, but in here she held no power, and it was said that even magic itself bargained within these four walls.

The light of the hearth flickered, and a blink later, Agatha saw an old, bowed woman with long, silvery hair and an easy smile in the light. She saw the woman's shadow too. Enormous, hulking, with fingers as long as spears, and claws just as piercing, did the shadow of Baba Yaga tower over the back walls.

"You bring gift?"

"Aye," Agatha drew her wand, and with the other hand produced a vial from her robes. She tapped her temple, and drew a memory from it. It was a memory of her first time meeting Fawkes. Yet, before she could put it in the vial, a gust of wind seemingly blew it away.

"Bah! No good, that one." the hag curled her fingers, and a searing pain shot through Agatha. Pain and sorrow, grief and rage followed each other in quick succession, as Baba Yaga drew out the memory of her fight with Zugura. "This one, funnier. You make the fairy beg. Good gift, this one."

Agatha wiped her nose, and saw the red of blood on her fingers. The pain quickly became but a memory, however, it lingered in the back of her mind. One curl more of Baba Yaga's finger, and Agatha's brain would have been liquified.

"Tell Baba Yaga, what she can do for you?" the hag sat down on a crooked looking chair, which gave a suffering humanoid groan once her weight had settled on it.

"We are," Agatha swallowed hard, before she corrected herself. "We were looking for Bellatrix Black, or Lily Potter, or whatever name she goes by nowadays. Sister to Narcissa Black, and mother to Harry Potter."

"You speak of one person. Is two. But…" Baba Yaga spat a curse under her breath, and then continued speaking in perfect Infernal. "I despise modern, human languages, don't you? They lack grace, subtlety, that certain tingle of meaning in every syllable. So much of it is hot air, made so they can fill the room with their worthless prattle as long as possible."

Agatha didn't miss the irony in her words. Spoken in Infernal, a language specifically evolved to be vague and unclear, to keep deals and contracts as humanly impossible to decipher as devilishly possible. And who else delights in hearing their own voice as much as devils? Neither did she miss the mocking tone in Baba Yaga's voice. No friend of fiends, this one.

"What did you mean by two?" Agatha kept speaking Infernal, until the hag would ask her to stop.

"You are too educated to be asking me questions just like this."

"Of course, I apologise." Agatha closer her eyes for a moment, centering herself, and keeping her drumming heartbeat in check. "I seek answers as to the whereabouts of Bellatrix Black and Lily Potter. Baba Yaga, I humbly ask by the star in the north and the star in the south, would you help me?"

Her low, rumbling laugh seemed to come more from her shadow than her mouth. "Old Baba will help you, child. Child of the Hells, child of the Wielder of Death. Who but you to ask and be answered?"

"All who pay the price." Agatha intoned.

"Prices you will pay, little half-devil. The fair folk see you as a threat, snatching one of theirs. Oh, the great Nymph of the Danube; the Mother Veela, has you in her sight. What are you willing to do, to keep your heart, mind and body? What will you have to do?"

Agatha remained silent, even though it took every last ounce of will. Baba Yaga knew, and if she offered this knowledge, she could offer a solution. The old hag offered her the life she wanted, and knew that Agatha had to refuse. Three times would she have to refuse. The shadow behind Baba Yaga chuckled, as it fed on Agatha's slow blooming misery. Her eyes were made to wander to the mirror again, and sure enough, she saw the woman with blue eyes and brown hair in it. She saw her human form, entwined and resting in the arms of Fleur. She knew that this version of her had no worries, no threats to mind.

"I ask you, Baba Yaga, to reveal to me the whereabouts of Bellatrix Black and Lily Potter, may they be one person or two, one part or more, dead or alive, still using the name under which I know them or another." Agatha spoke, and felt like a dagger was driven into her heart. The chance to have her happiness undisturbed was gone.

The shadow seemed to salivate.

"Bellatrix and Lily. Fools, both of them. They look at a devil like you and revel in putting the shackles on themselves. Think themselves clever doing so, as well. Don't they all? Feel so clever, while conjuring their demise? Anes'Rath thinks herself clever, doesn't she? Untouchable, undeniable Anes'Rath, so powerful in the absence of Lilith. Yet, she does not know; can never accept, that the dawn of a new Lilith is just around the corner, may Fate deem it so."

Baba Yaga showed her the depths of Nessus, the last layer of Hell, where the Throne of Nine stood proudly before the Neversea, the deepest point of Hell. There she saw herself sitting. Her claws shined like obsidian, her skin was red as blood, her eyes dark as the Neversea behind her. A crown of bones graced her head, and large, skinned wings stretched from her back. There, on her lap, sat Fleur, holding court just like her. Baba Yaga whispered into her mind. "Queen of the Hells. Wielder of Death, of Magic, of Hellish Power. You think the House of Flesh is all you could conquer? No, little half-devil. Nessus. The Hells, at your command. Lilith Agatha. Worthy of carrying the name of the first snake as title."

Her devilish side could barely contain herself. She bit her tongue, forcing herself to keep calm, and not even consider the offer. Then again, what problems couldn't be solved, then? If she had the armies of Hell at her command, what mortal wizard could hope to withstand her might? What Fey would dare declare war? Not even Titania provoked Asmodeus without proper cause. The Mother Veela would have to kiss the rotting ground at her feet, lay before her in penance for even daring to threaten her.

Poachers? Umbridge? Fudge? She could swallow them whole, imprison them in any of the Nine Hells. Poachers forever running in Beezlebub's domain, always and forever hunted by her devils for sport. Umbridge broken down to the very essence of her stinking soul. Fudge eternally humbled as the lowest of lowest of her servants.

Yes. Yes. All it would cost was but a favour; an alliance. The Queen of the Hells, and the Mother of Hags, combined into an unholy alliance that would shake the world to its core.

Agatha bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. No. Who knew what Baba Yaga would do with the Hells more or less under her command? As much as she could feel the rage and fury within her yearn for the offer, she had to refuse. Just as much as Fleur would hate her to be a thrall, she would hate her becoming Evil Incarnate. She would be a slave at her feet. Agatha didn't fool herself into thinking she would retain any of her human qualities as the Lilith Reborn.

It came out of her with a whimper. It hurt her throat to speak the words. "I ask you, Baba Yaga, to reveal to me the whereabouts of Bellatrix Black and Lily Potter, may they be one person or two, one part or more, dead or alive, still using the name under which I know them or another."

She heard the shadow on the wall slurp and smack lips as it feasted on her agonizing thoughts.

"Why do you care?" Baba Yaga asked her. "Duty? Curiosity? Hope? Pretence, greed and lies. Always the double-triple-quadruple cross, but it lies in your blood, does it not? Daughter of Anes'Rath, niece of the Lord of Lies. Such a shame you're marked a bastard. You would have been hellish royalty, would more devils know of the night of your conception."

Agatha's eyes immediately focused on Baba Yaga's. "The night of my conception?"

"Mhm," Baba Yaga grinned at her, while her shadow now laughed a roaring, belly laugh. "Your father is a trickster, thinker, Wielder of Death. Anes'Rath had given it her all, and had been outmanoeuvred like the smooth brained impling that she is. Oh, how have the Gardens fallen under Anes. Sodom and Gomorrah were such…" she gave a deep, reminiscing sigh. "Such beautiful, horrifying pits of lust and depravity. Just being there…" Baba Yaga's voice stilled, and her shadow spoke instead of her "...stilled my hunger."

She laughed, gave her shadow a glimpse over her back, and said, "We miss Lilith."

"What did my father…" Agatha caught herself, before she could finish her question. The words wanted to come out, but she couldn't let them. Akira was dead. The least she could do was bring back the information they cared about.

However, had she not always wondered how exactly she had come to be? Why Anes'Rath even cared to bring her to term? Why her father had decided to raise her in the mortal realm? The secret of her very life and existence, was right there for the taking. Baba Yaga knew, and offered. Trickster, thinker, Wielder of Death she had called her father. What had he done, and why would the hag make a point to reference him as the Wielder of Death? What was it to her?

Baba Yaga curled her finger at the mirror. It showed a gilded hall, empty of life, but full of uncountable treasure. Agatha knew this place from stories she had been told. In the middle of the hall stood a pedestal, and on it, a tome bound in flesh and bone. The Codex Infernalis. The amalgamation of all knowledge, treasures and souls Mephistopheles was able to gather since his birth at the dawn of humanity.

Another curl of the hags finger made the mirror show the book up close. She stretched out her hand, and as if she touched the book, its cover slightly lifted from the pages. "Mephisto won't mind a bit of curiosity." she teased. "Especially not for his most favourite niece, his blood related curiosity."

"His favourite?" Agatha whispered, and realising she had asked something, shouted "No!" immediately after.

Baba Yaga grinned. Oh, she knew Agatha was close; on the precipice of breaking. "Oh, little half-devil, doesn't know, doesn't know, doesn't yet know." Once more, her hand went up and down, and the book's cover lifted. This time some of the pages lifted too, and the low wailing of the damned could be heard through the mirror. "One peek doesn't cost too much, little one. Merely a horn, and your uncles trust in you, of course. Interesting question, isn't it? You may get to know why he puts so much trust in you, and yet, by knowing you inevitably destroy that trust. Ah, Mephisto. What a man."

"I didn't know that he had taken particular notice of me, to begin with." Agatha admitted, and wondered why Baba Yaga would give it to her for free. Bait, probably. She knew that this sort of information would pique her interest. Agatha, for all the connections she had, knew very little of the politics and sympathies of hell, compared to the full picture. Reliant on the hints and lies she gathered from her mother and sisters, there were few avenues from which she could get information, and none of it came free. Baba Yaga could also lie, of course.

"I can," Baba Yaga nodded. "But I do not." her shadow growled.

"I ask you, Baba Yaga, to reveal…" Agatha began, but the words got stuck in her throat when she took another look at the gruesome tome. "I ask you,..." she stammered.

The favourite of Mephistopheles was a mighty claim. Unheard of, truly. To be in the good graces of Mephisto meant power in and of itself. Knowing its details, his reasons, would be worth more than all gold of the earth combined. If she could know, she would know herself. In there all plots and subterfuge, for her benefit and against her, would be catalogued like a chronicle. Just a peek; just enough to make a guess, could solve all her problems with one, careful question.

She felt herself lusting for it. Her throat became dry, yet she felt saliva in her mouth as if she was presented with a feast.

The lessons of her father came into her mind. Cutting corners is what they lure you in with. They made it seem so easy. Just ask. Just beg for it, and you shall receive. All they needed you to do was bend the knee, and bow your head and ask. You would be given all you wanted, and they would take all you never knew you'd miss.

She knew this, and yet, submitting had never seemed like such a cheap price for the boon that awaited.

"No," she breathed out. It wasn't cheap. It was the ultimate price. Her mother had taught her this lesson, through her continued attempts to make her kneel. Never bow. Never surrender your freedom. You die a free devil, or no devil at all.

So she tore her eyes away from the book, and stared into the depths of Baba Yaga's eyes. Knowing would be meaningless, if she couldn't freely decide what to do about it. "I ask you, Baba Yaga, to reveal to me the whereabouts of Bellatrix Black and Lily Potter, may they be one person or two, one part or more, dead or alive, still using the name under which I know them or another."

Both Baba Yaga and her shadow began to cackle. Shrill and yet, somehow genuine. The old hag held her belly as she chuckled in glee. She slapped her knee, and wiped away at her eyes, before she calmed herself with a deep, amused sigh. "Ah, little devil, you are a tease. I was so close. But yet, three times you refused your desires, one time you shall have a question of duty be answered true." The grin became predatory as she added, "For a price, of course."

"Name it."

"In two years winter, when Cassiopeia's stars fall in the eye of Andromeda, will I return you to me, and I will ask you one favour. It will be in your power to give it, and neither will I seek to harm you nor yours with it. When you do, I expect no lie, no omitting of truth, no bargain or truce. Do you accept?"

"Will I have to kill someone? Jeopardise my integrity or oaths?" Agatha asked, and her mind raced with every implication she could think of, always weighing against the gain.

"This I cannot see. Those weaves are not yet for me. Thousands of possibilities, innumerable variables, as predictable as a million sided die. To guess would be foolish enough to count it a lie."

"I understand." Agatha didn't think the hag was lying. She thought back on the core principle of a hag. Creating misery. Whose misery it was, was the true question you should ask yourself during a deal with one. Many pacts so made, had the goal of creating misery in third parties, and if she interpreted correctly, that was still up in the air.

She had made worse deals in her life. If her loved ones would come to no harm in any case, she could remain vigilant enough about her oaths to form the game in her favour. Or was that arrogance? She saw Baba Yaga's grin, as she followed her thoughts. Grinning or not, the hag was unreadable. Yes or no, she apparently had little to lose, as such undying entities often had.

"I accept." Agatha intoned. The Shadow cackled once more, while Baba Yaga nodded, and stood up. She walked over to a vitrine, holding small vials and bottles, filled with ethereal lights of all colours. With reverence, she took one of the bottles from it, filled with a lilac-pink glow, that slowly beat a steady beat. The light swirled around in the same beat, as if moved by a pump. As if moved by a heart.

"I have one part of Lily Potter. Wise, kind, loving Lily. She was no fool, indeed. Two minds in one, carefully curated to become what little Bella wanted herself to be. Careful she was, always. Careful and well-spoken, yet oh so desperate, when she knocked on my door. Baba Yaga, she said. Baba Yaga, make Fate's eyes avoid her gaze for but one time. Make Death hesitate in his sickle's strike. Let Hatred calm for but one blink of an eye. Let Love reign supreme just once. And so I did. All I asked in return is to possess such a weapon myself, and the only one she could give was her own. Love saved the boy, but Fate's gaze returned, Death's sickle reaped, and Hatred swallowed all, too late. Prophecy had already claimed the child." Not just the shadow began dropping thick drops of shadow saliva. Baba Yaga wiped her chin when a trickle of saliva came out of the edge of her mouth. "Fate and Death are furious. Oh so angry over the little knot in their weave. It is rare to taste the misery of Fate. Lily gave me such a gift, that I feel awfully inclined to repay her. One such as I cannot have open favours hanging over her head."

Ten million questions raced through Agatha's head. First and foremost the realisation that the whole "Love of the mother" thing was quite so literal, raised cause for inquiry. However, she needed to focus. Baba Yaga wasn't yet done with her part of the bargain. "Where is the rest, though?"

Baba Yaga chuckled, not hiding the undertones full of schadenfreude. "Bellatrix, brilliant child that she was, had a gaping, terrible weakness. Unbound arrogance. Endless ego. Narcissism that rivalled that of Narcissus himself. How does one gain the knowledge she required for the ritual you saw, deary?"

Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose. She had wondered, and as if she hadn't guessed the punchline of a dumb joke, the sudden solution came with a sour undertaste. Sighing deeply, she asked. "Which one?"

"Good old, Anu."

"Black Annis? Bellatrix went to a Nighthag - no - the Nighthag for help?"

"The arrogance of madness. But oh, this story gets better, little devil." Baba Yaga curled her finger, and Agatha hands opened by themselves, to grab a suddenly appearing cup of tea.

"It is not advised to eat or drink anything given to me, by your kind. On the other hand, I don't want to be impolite."

"If I wanted you dead, or caught, or miserable, you would be, child. Two of these things, you are, at this moment. Or would you like to be more caught and miserable? Drink up. It is not even magical. It is mere sage, camomile, and honey." As if to prove her claim, she took a sip herself. "I like my guests to be comfortable while I tell my tales."

"Alright," Agatha truly did not want to find out what Baba Yaga would do with those that insulted her hospitality. Non-magical, her ass, though. Maybe it wasn't overly magical for a being such as the Mother of Hags, but just a sip made Agatha feel sated, cleansed, and refreshed all at the same time. Pains she didn't even knew she had were suddenly apparent by their absence. "That is… wow. I'd ask for the recipe, but…"

"Ah, well. That would come with quite the price, I'm afraid. But I do appreciate the compliment." the hag said with a wink. "Where was I? Ah, yes, arrogance. My kind always enjoyed the Black family. Such wells of misery, every single one of them. From Eithne to Sirius, the Black Clan brought and suffered misery, always. Such is their thread in Fate's weave. Breaking out of this requires not a mere promise, but something fundamental. You do know Old Anu. What do you think she asked of Bellatrix?"

"That's not a hard guess. A child." Agatha's mouth remained in a small O, as she realized the web Bellatrix had caught herself in. "Lily wasn't supposed to be part of the ritual. She was the original price, wasn't she?"

"Almost, little devil." Baba Yaga laughed. "Much more traditional. She asked for her firstborn. Bellatrix, knowing her womb would never produce a child, agreed. But of course, you don't trick a hag that easily, no, no. Anu, bless her blackened heart, knew that the ritual would correct Bellatrix' womb. However, with Bella's memories suppressed, Lily never knew whom she owed the boy to, let alone that she was in debt at all. Neither could Anu get to him, so well defended was Harry Potter from the forces of darkness. Once Anu could claim what was hers, Prophecy had already swooped in, and taken her due. Poor Old Anu, hungering and starving, took her consolation price. Lily, as much as was left of her after I took what I was owed. To punish Lily, Anu took her magic and made her waste away in the filth of the Untouched. Some misery she could gain from it, but a woman as smart as Lily, and unburdened by Love, knew to navigate even that world. Anu hungered, until…" Baba Yaga, as well as her shadow, pointed at Agatha.

"Oh," Agatha nodded, remembering the secret stored away in a book that no one should have ever found, or read. One small secret in an insane book, among insane books, in a madhouse. "She remembers, now? Everything? Her life as Bellatrix, her life as Lily, the way they became one? Everything?"

"And she remembers that once upon a time, she was able to love." Baba Yaga took the bottle holding Lily's Love, shook it, and the more she did so, the more she laughed. First a small chuckle, then a knee-jerking laugh. Tears came from her face, and her mouth overflowed with saliva, while her shadow roared with laughter. It was so loud, Agatha held her ears, and even then the sound of cackling shadow and hag threatened to burst her eardrums. The shadow laughed, and smacked it lips, and laughed even more. Agatha could feel the waves and waves of misery flowing into its black maw, like a Dementor would suck in a soul. Eventually, her laugh calmed to a giggle. She wiped her mouth, and whipped her arm to let the spittle fly onto the floor. "Ah, I'll miss tasting her anguish."

"Miss it?" Agatha carefully asked. "Why?"

"Well, mostly because she is about to try and off herself in the bathroom of a restaurant."

"Where?" Agatha shot out the question, panicked and on high alert. If Lily Potter would splatter her brains over a toilet, all of this would be for naught.

"Here," Baba Yaga gestured towards the mirror, where now she saw a disgusting bathroom, with broken tiles, flickering light and a floor that probably reeked of urine and grime. Lily Potter, her red hair cut short, and clad in black and brown fatigues, stood in front of a mirror, a pistol in hand, and tears streaming down her neutral unmoving face. One hand held her upright on the damaged porcelain, the other held the pistol against her temple.

"I need no more." Agatha stood up. That was enough for her to apparate directly to Lily. She could barely contain herself, but forced some politeness out, lest she would stumble at the finish line. "Thank you, for your time and hospitality, Baba Yaga. I shall take my leave, now."

"Oh, shall you now?" the hag chuckled again. By now, the sound alone let goosebumps crawl up Agatha's arms. "What about your friend? Will you leave him with me? Oh dear, what gifts I receive today."

"Friend?" Agatha narrowed her eyes. "You didn't kill Akira?"

"No, why would I? Death is too good for the little shit." The shadow growled, and from its depths, a chain appeared and swung itself around the wooden beams of the roof. Without warning, a massive cross suddenly swung out of the darkness. Agatha ducked, and as she turned to see the large, wooden cross swing back, her eyes caught Akira on it. Nailed and strapped to the wood of the cross.

It swung back again, and stopped hanging straight down at the simple curl of Baba Yaga's finger.

Agatha was as confused, as she was horrified. Akira hung on the cross like his Third Pillar. Blood streamed from a thousand wounds, and most of all the dozens of nails that were hammered through his body; arms and wings and legs, even one through his mouth. His eyes said it all. Akira was in more pain than could be described. Neither Hells nor Cruciatus curse could quite compare. His eyes met hers, and so did his silent plea for help.

Agatha was frozen in place. She couldn't move, nor talk.

"I think above the hearth? Isn't that where the humans put their crosses?"

"Why?" Agatha breathed out.

"Are you kidding, dear? Why?" Baba Yaga curled one finger, and made Akira's head turn. With every inch, the nail, wedged between his jaw, cracked the bone and split his teeth. His cries made even the devil inside her shiver with fear. Baba Yaga stroked his face, and then, with one of her nails, drew a long line down his face, cutting it open like a knife. "The little angel, so hungry for righteous war. So sure in his convictions, he would kill this entire planet for even a hint of appreciation from up above. Yet, none ever came, did it? He never realized that he was not a warrior of god, but only of old men, old doctrines, and always just filthy humans. The child of an angel, bowing to pretenders." Baba Yaga gave her a smile. It seemed genuine, but next to the tortured Ardling, it only furthered the horror. "I have principles, child. Just as shadow needs light, misery demands happiness. Despair demands Hope. One cannot become without the others' presence. I despise those who would kill the hopeful and happy, just as they would kill the hateful and miserable. Like ash in my mouth. I abhor it."

Agatha narrowed her eyes, and thanked her spiteful daydreams in the past. She had an idea, but she was damned sure Akira would hate her even more for it, afterwards. She swallowed, prepared herself, and then, despite her better judgement, she spoke. "Why make him a martyr, then? Sure, he suffers now, but ultimately this is what he longs for."

She felt Baba Yagas anger, before she saw it on her face. The air around her seemed to tighten, pressed her inwards, and promised to crush her. "Tell on him." Agatha chocked out. "You know how to contact the heavens, don't you? Tell. On. Him."

The air pressure subsided, and Baba Yaga's face completely changed from frown to smile. "Oh," was all she said at first. Then her grin became predatory, as she added. "And you wonder why Mephisto likes you so. Your good intentions are truly a source for the most pure of agony. Very well, so it shall be. Now, begone."

She blinked, and the next time she opened her eyes, she lay flat on the forest floor staring up at the sky.

With a lying jump she got up. At the same time she drew her wand and shot red sparks up into the sky. The Aurors were kneeling or lying on the floor, sobbing, praying or just screaming.

However, she paid them little mind. They'd be fine after a Legilimens had checked on them. She was far more concerned about the bundle of agony lying where just a moment before, the house of Baba Yaga had crushed him.

She heard Oyuun and her Rukh land behind her, but couldn't take her eyes off the twitching, black wings under which Akira was hidden. Baba Yaga worked fast. She had never seen a fallen angel, and in truth, all he was, a fallen Ardling. He didn't move, but she couldn't see if it was out of pain, or if he was unconscious.

She didn't have time to.

"Oyuun!" she called out to her. The mongolian Executor knelt next to the screaming Auror, and just finished a sedating spell. "Get them out of here. Do not let the Church anywhere near Akira, do you understand?"

"But, Agatha…"

"No time to explain. Uhm," Agatha thought and quickly gave up trying to be clever, choosing the easiest option. "Bring him to my father. Or my house. Styx will know what to do. We meet there, I need to go. Time is short." she yelled, and immediately apparated out of the woods.

The crack of her apparition was met with three more. Bang, bang, bang, Agatha heard and out of pure instinct ducked as she appeared. Press board splinters, mixed with white tile dust sprayed through the air. She slid on her knees over the greasy floor, and with a fast charm, made the last toilet cabin's walls indestructible. The high-pitched whine of ricochet bullets, and the clinking of spent rounds on the floor were all the sound she heard for what seemed like an eternity, but were mere blinks of an eye.

"You don't know who you're hunting, witch."

Agatha's blood froze at the coldness in the voice. There was no excitement in it, no rush of adrenalin. It was only met by a rolling sound, followed by a grenade that rolled under the stalls, right at her knee. Agatha stabbed down with her wand, "Lemund!" she cast out loud, and formed a dome of protection around the grenade. The dull sound of the explosion, like a firecracker exploding in a canal, made Agatha's ears ring.

"I'm not hunting you." Agatha called out over the stalls. "The opposite, actually. I'm here to help."

"Unlikely,"

"I'm also an Executor of the ICW, and just got my bearings, sooo…"

"Ah," she heard the voice, followed by the short beeping and crackling of a radio. "Step out then. Let's talk."

Agatha rolled her eyes. As annoyed with the ignorance of her fellow magicals as she was, sometimes it really came in handy. Especially when one of the few non-magicals on the planet who knew of magic expected you to be just as uneducated and therefore gullible.

Agatha cast a shield in front of her, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the stall.

Only to be immediately met by heavy, machine gun fire. Bullets either evaporated into shrapnel on her shield, or ricochet into the walls left and right to her. From the ear-shattering sound of it, it was one of those massive guns the muggles mounted on their vehicles. She had never bothered to learn its name.

While the gunner kept on shooting non-magical projectiles against a magical barrier as if they had any effect, she took the time to take in Lily, as she stood there, arms crossed and not even the hint of emotion present on her face, even though angry streaks of tears ran down her cheeks.

Her red hair was strictly cut down to a few inch, slicked back in a way that made her haircut somewhat similar to her own son's. Her face, unreadable and hard, with barely a wrinkle on it, but the marks of battle all over. Her lower lip had a deep cut, hastily stitched together, and left to scar. Several smaller scars, probably from debris or shrapnel, were strewn all over her face, with one thick, angry-red scar across her neck. Rope-burn, it seemed. Rather fresh as well. Today hadn't been the first time Lily tried to end it.

Her clothes were that of a soldier. Black and beige, with a camouflaged jacket lying next to her. She wore a black tank-top, giving Agatha a good look at the sinewy, powerful muscles of the woman.

Eventually, the magazine of the machine gun must've run dry. Agatha gave Lily a tired look. "Cute,"

Lily shrugged. "Worth a try." Then she let her pistol drop into the basin, and lazily held up her hands. "You got me. What now? You're way better than the usual hitwizard they send, which makes me guess you're not sent by any local government?"

"Oh, that reminds me. Where exactly is local? Where am I?"

"Rwanda, but you should know that. You should even be familiar with this bathroom, as unlikely as that is, given your apparition."

Agatha agreed with a nod, but held a finger up. "I've met an old friend of yours, and she showed me where you are. You do remember Baba Yaga?" Just as she said the name, she felt something heavy drop into her pockets. She held back a chuckle. Hags did mean what they said. Baba Yaga truly felt like she owed a favour, and if her hunch was correct, had just dropped Lily's Love into her jacket.

Which also meant, if she gave it to Lily, there'd be new, fresh misery to be had. Then again, how more miserable can you get than trying to kill yourself in a disgusting bathroom, somewhere in war-torn Rwanda?

Lily's eyes widened for just a moment. "The hag sends you?" she asked, and didn't even try to mask her resentment. "What are you waiting for, then? Take from what's left. Not sure what you'd still find."

"By the Hells," Agatha took a deep breath, and reminded herself that the woman before her knew no love, and therefore no kindness or empathy, sympathy or true joy. She was done playing this back and forth, though. She held up her free hand, with her wand-hand still casting the shield, and slowly produced the bottle filled with the slowly beating lilac-pink fluid. "I am. Here. To help. Do you understand what I'm saying, now?"

"If I drink that, I'm dead." Lily stated, cold and matter-of-fact.

"Alright," Agatha sighed. "Why?"

"You have no idea what I've done the last fifteen years, do you?" Lily took her gun, put it on safety, and showed Agatha the handle. "That's nine carvings. Nine wars. What I've done in these wars does not weigh on my conscience. It cannot. I am incapable of it. Yet, if I drink this, I'll feel the shame, and guilt of thousands of corpses."

"I'll be honest with you, with zero empathy in you, I had hoped you'd be some finance hotshot. I did not bet on international mercenary, I can tell you that much."

"I have standards." Lily crossed her arms. "So? Other than bringing me my self-destruct button, what are you here for?"

"Your son." Agatha rummaged through her endless pocket, and produced an older Daily Prophet from the start of the year. It showed Harry winning the Triwizard Tournament, while simultaneously painting him a cheat and fearmonger. She handed it over to Lily, careful to keep her distance. The pistol may be gone, but she would rather not make an acquaintance with the machete hanging from Lily's hip.

"Haven't seen one of those in quite a while. Feels strange, seeing them move," Lily paused, and her eyes stared down at the image of her son. "James," she stated. "He looks just like James."

Agatha wanted to answer, but instead was interrupted by the bottle in her hand going wild. She grabbed it, and even though the bottle pulled her hand left and right, she eventually could put it down on the floor. There it jumped and wiggled, and tried to smash itself however it could.

It was too late for Lily. Even with a spell it would have been nigh impossible to keep a hag enchantment in check, but as, effectively, a muggle, there was nothing she could do, but watch the bottle smash itself on the floor.

The liquid slowly streamed out, like hot honey over the tiles. For the time of a breath, there it remained, before it jumped right at Lily. It hit her like a sledgehammer, right where her heart was behind her ribcage. The mercenary got slammed into the corner of the bathroom, as she screamed and clawed at her chest. "No! No, no, no. Make it stop! No! MAKE IT STOP!" she plead, screaming until her throat gave out.

Agatha tried, but when the gunner saw Lily be pushed away from where he could see her through the window, he opened fire on Agatha again. Agatha who now looked right at him, and just shook her head. Didn't these people learn?

Well, if that was how he wanted to play, she'd play. She pointed at him, and with a twist of her finger, and a pull of her arm, she had her magic grab his head and bash it against the metal of the machine gun. Once, twice, three times did his skull meet the steel frame of his weapon, before he was knocked out and the fire stopped.

"Oh, no… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry. I- I- I didn't-" Lily sobbed. She was curled up on the floor, hands over her face in anguish, as she relived the last fifteen year, but with a conscience. Agatha could only imagine what she had done the last fifteen years. There were no shortages of horrors to commit. From genocide to slavery, corporate-ordered massacres to meaningless ideological slaughter. Muggle Africa had it all, and Lily had been the perfect woman for the job. No love meant no mercy, no conscience, no empathy for the weak.

Agatha could almost hear the hag and her shadow laugh in ecstasy. She knelt down to her, softly touching her shoulder. "I can get you somewhere safe. Somewhere-"

"No." Lily grabbed her hand. Her bloodshot eyes plead with Agatha to listen. "Not yet, I- I have to- I have to make at least this right."

"If I can, I'll help. What do you need to do?"

Lily swallowed, and for a moment clawed at her head in agony. "There are trucks outside. The left three are boys. The right four are girls. I was… I was about to…the boys would be soldiers, the girls…"

"Damn, Lily."

"I need to make it right." Lily stood, and as if suddenly the very notion of holding a gun had become abhorrent to her, she wrapped her hand around the pistol with utmost contempt. "You can come, or stay. I don't care either way. Just get away from the door. The noise should at least make them come and check on the crazy white woman."

As if on cue, two armed soldiers came around the corner. Their weapons weren't at the ready. Enough time for Lily to pull the trigger four times, one to each torso, one to each head.

She stepped over them, and pointed at the left one. Her voice was calm, distanced, devoid of any feelings, but no longer because she couldn't feel. Lily's voice was analytical, because if she would be anything else, she would crumble under the weight of her conscience. "This one came from Somalia. The first time he held a rifle, he still had trouble speaking full sentences. The other one started killing because it was safer than working in the burning pits, looting trash for precious metals. I took them and made them soldiers, or so I thought. In truth, I merely turned boys into monsters."

She took one of their rifles, and the magazines they carried. Agatha just watched her correct the sights, check the rifle's mechanics with quick, trained glances, and then unleash hell upon an unassuming fighting force. Standing in the double door of the eating hall, she took aim at the outside. Bang. The first shot felled another heavy gunner, followed by an unending staccato of single, measured shots.

Agatha stayed back. This was, by all legalities, a muggle conflict she had no business interfering in. Lily didn't seem to need her help, anyway. Every thirty shots she ducked in, reloaded, only to immediately get back to shooting.

It was over as quick as it began. She had felled two dozens of her soldiers who were unable to defend themselves, surprised and betrayed by their commander. The eerie silence of a battle concluded set over the place. Lily let go of the rifle. It fell into the dust. Her knees followed soon after. "Executor?"

"Are you alright?" Agatha stepped out next to her. Finally, she saw the small village. One church, a market, a school and the eatery she had apparated into. It was surrounded by small houses, huts and enclosures. Right in front of them stood the trucks Lily had mentioned. Five fresh corpses laid in front of them, soldiers, barely any older than the kids in the trucks.

"Could you free the children? I can't look at them."

Agatha felt sick, seeing a few small heads look out from the canvas that covered the trucks. In truth, she wasn't sure if she should let them out, yet. Truckloads of children without supervision seemed like a recipe for even more tragedy. "I will call in the ICW. Which one do the children belong to?"

"Tutsi," Lily choked out.

"Of course," Agatha sighed. "I think you know as well as I do that you don't deserve forgiveness? No need to preach on, or explain the horrors you brought upon them. There is nothing for you to make right."

Lily nodded, but remained silent.

"Only one thing left to do before I call in the cleanup crew." Agatha looked down at the defeated form of Lily Potter, and wondered for a second if a quick Avada Kedavra would be the smarter, or rather, the merciful choice. On the other side, she was an Executor, not a judge. Others would decide the fate of Lily Potter; of Bellatrix Black. "Lily Potter. Kneel. Be shackled. Be judged. Disobey my command, and you will find yourself delivered to your gods. By the authority of the Confederation, I offer you justice or death."