The slippery cobblestone pavement glistened under the light that shone from the single lantern standing on the corner of Rue de Besson and Rue du Lièvre. The soft drizzle warranted carrying an umbrella, which the lone man next to the lantern held raised mindlessly. Headlights in the distance prompted him to look on his watch. Even at three in the morning on a Tuesday, it seemed like traffic still occupied the streets of Paris.

Two minutes before three o'clock, actually. But it was best to be on time when you had a portkey to catch. Especially when said portkey was approved by the French ministry for international travel. Still, two minutes was an awfully long time when you had nothing better to do than wait. The man with the umbrella thought so.

One minutes before three o'clock, and he pushed up his watch again to study the second-hand. Magical travel was a precise matter. The kind that had made him hold his breath when the second-hand had almost gone full circle.

Gently, he placed the palm of his hand against the lantern pole.

Three o'clock, and light vanished from the crossing between Rue de Besson and Rue de Lièvre.

The wind howled. The full spectrum of colours swirled around him like a whirlpool. There was no telling what was up and what was down, until his shoes found solid ground again. He staggered back, furiously blinking to make sense of the blurry world around him.

He stood in the center of what struck him as a large dungeon. The walls were made of smooth dark stone and the place was dimly lit by torches. Wooden benches rose on either side of him, occupied with a handful of people. Ahead of him, in the highest benches of all, sat a collection of shadowy figures. The Wizengamot, or so he presumed.

He was glancing at the lantern pole, absently wondering why it still emitted a beam of light, when a level female voice rang across the room. "Are you Jean-Claude Perceval Dumas?"

Idly he closed his umbrella and shook it twice, forming a small puddle of water on the floor. "That would be me, yes." He never liked it when his full name was used. Perceval - or Percy as his few friends called him - was more than enough.

Confirming his identity sent another round of muttering through the fifty-or-so members of the Wizengamot. Some looked cautious and on-guard, others seemed to have relief wash over them. He could make out some of the whispers that came from the benches on either side of him too. Briefly he heard of 'The duel at the Notre Dame-' and 'The vampires of Marseilles'. Both rumours that had turned into overexaggerated tales. The former he had simply survived through a stroke of luck, but the stories had made him out to be the victor. The latter, had been more deception than actual magical prowess - vampires didn't bother to look at mirrors, which made the Hungarian Mirror Trap all the more effective.

"Good. We thank you for coming, mister Dumas. Please take a seat." Percy looked at the empty chair that stood right before the high benches, positioned toward the center of the courtroom. Of course that was where they wanted him - firmly in between them and whomever was summoned next. With a deep sigh he strode toward it, his footsteps echoing loudly as he walked across the stone floor. He placed his umbrella against the side of it and fished his wand out of his pocket before he sat down. It was best to be prepared, even if an unwarranted spell cast in a foreign country could cause serious trouble.

"Now then. Let us begin." All members rose from their high benches. The speaker clapped her hands together, and a large cage came whirling into existence at the center of the courtroom. Six aurors, wands drawn, held on to the sides of the it. The cage itself was just big enough to allow someone to stand inside of it, with spikes facing inward to make movement even more torturous. Percy recognized the thing for what it was immediately, another - much less humane - portkey.

Then, a shrill voice piped up from beside the woman. "The convict summoned before you is Nerissa Wyrmstone." Percy moved to the edge of his seat to study the woman standing inside of it. She herself looked dreadful, with hollow cheeks and her black-and-white striped uniform torn and besmudged. "Two years ago, on the 14th of June in the year 2000, convict ᚨᛟ521 was found guilty of--" the long pause made him look up. "--well, a lot." the man coughed. "The crimes include, but are not limited to theft, destruction of government property, torture of the most heinous sort, murder, and unauthorized casting of the Imperius, Cruciatus, and killing curses." The courtroom was utterly silent. "Convict ᚨᛟ521 is currently serving a life-long sentence to the prison of Azkaban."

"Mister Dumas." Percy snapped out of his thoughts when he heard his name. "As we have informed you per owl, the American, French, and British ministries request your assistance in this… delicate matter." A pause. "As you've decided to join us here tonight, can we count on your cooperation?"

He leaned forward on his chair, hands clasped together, to study the dark witch in the cage once more. Colette… what have you gotten me in this time? He thought to himself. Then he rose, strode forward, and turned to face the Wizengamot. "I will assist you to the best of my ability."

"Then we hereby place Nerissa Wyrmstone in the custody of Jean-Claude Perceval Dumas. An unbreakable vow will be made to bind Miss Wyrmstone to Mister Dumas. Miss Wyrmstone's belongings will be returned to her, and her wand shall be provided to Mister Dumas." A paper independently floated from member to member, gathering the signatures of the Wizengamot. "Your transport to the United States will be arranged as soon as possible."

@Algarus @Posh Raven

Nerissa Wyrmstone, an intensely sadistic dark witch with primitive and animalistic tendencies when angered, now resides within the haunting depths of Azkaban. Her crimes, including theft, destruction of government property, heinous torture, murder, and the unauthorized casting of Unforgivable Curses, have condemned her to a life of eternal confinement in this forsaken prison.

Once an imposing and elegant figure from a noble house, Nerissa has been reduced to a mere shadow of her former self. Her pale complexion now reflects the pallor of someone forever teetering on the edge of madness. The waves of dark hair that once cascaded gracefully now appear tangled and dishevelled, mirroring the chaos that rages within her. Her sharp and alluring facial features have twisted into a deranged, yet still hauntingly beautiful mask, hinting at the torment that gnaws at her sanity. Her piercing dark eyes, haunted by a burning hatred, gleam with a mix of desperation and determination.

Nerissa's primal instincts, suppressed but never extinguished, simmer within the confines of her cell. She battles with her own inner demons, struggling to maintain a tenuous grip on reality. Like a caged beast, she paces restlessly, her mind tormented by fragmented memories and delusions that threaten to consume her completely. Yet, it is her unyielding hatred for her brother, the one who betrayed her by abandoning her to save himself, that fuels her twisted rage and serves as a lifeline, anchoring her to a semblance of sanity.

Her once highly intelligent mind now dances on the precipice of madness. Moments of lucidity flicker like distant stars in an infinite void, only to be swallowed by the darkness of her tormented psyche. She grapples with distractions and illusions, her focus easily shattered by the haunting echoes of her crimes. But amidst the chaos, her burning desire for revenge against her brother remains unwavering, a smouldering ember that keeps her from descending into the depths of complete insanity.

Nerissa's narcissism and imperious arrogance, once pillars of her identity, now waver in the face of her inner turmoil. She clings to the memories of her family's aristocratic lineage, using it as a fragile shield against the encroaching madness. The fanatical belief in the superiority of her bloodline, beaten into her by her upbringing, intertwines with her hatred for her brother, providing a distorted sense of purpose within the confines of her prison.

Amid her harrowing existence, Nerissa's twisted and dark humour emerges as a coping mechanism, a macabre thread that weaves through her tormented thoughts. Distractions and illusions become sources of entertainment, her focus easily shattered as she revels in the haunting echoes of her crimes. Far from grappling with remorse, she finds herself intoxicated by the audacity and wickedness of her actions, drawing pleasure from the chaos she once sowed.

Her time in Azkaban has fractured her soul, leaving her vulnerable to the ravages of her own darkness. Yet, it is the burning passion for revenge, fueled by her brother's betrayal, that serves as a lifeline within the labyrinth of her tortured mind. It is this sliver of determination, intertwined with her twisted and dark humour, that keeps her from succumbing completely to the madness that threatens to consume her.

Nerissa Wyrmstone, the fallen dark witch, hovers on the precipice of madness within Azkaban. Her mind, battered and fractured, is both her captor and her saviour. Her hatred burns bright, shielding her from the abyss, as she clings to the memory of her brother's betrayal, forever fueling her twisted desire for revenge. And amidst the darkness, she finds solace in her wicked humour, a glimmer of defiance that refuses to be extinguished.

Nerissa Wyrmstone, standing within the dimly lit confines of her cell in Azkaban, the haunting depths of her confinement. Her pale countenance reflected the shadows of her twisted psyche, her hollow cheeks and tattered black-and-white striped uniform adding to her dreadful appearance. The crimes that had brought her here echoed through her mind, causing a piercing and hauntingly cackle to escape her lips as the floor was filled with a cacophony of wicked laughter.

Suddenly, a commandeering voice broke through the laughter, reaching her cell. "Convict ᚨᛟ521 has been requested for process".

The announcement sent a shiver down Nerissa's spine, a wicked grin playing on her lips seeing the delicious company standing before her cell. She relished the attention, her dark humour finding amusement in the anticipation of what awaited her beyond these walls.

A wave of Aurors entered her cell, their wands at the ready, their faces stern and resolute. Nerissa's eyes gleamed with a mixture of excitement and defiance as she observed the six Aurors who had come to escort her. There was a certain thrill in being deemed dangerous enough to require such an entourage.

"Lookie, lookie! The doggies are here to take little me away?" It was more a childish statement, than a question. Doggies was a nickname she had named her captors at Azkaban, taunting them as she compared them to simply guard dogs for the Ministry.

With precision and caution, the Aurors encircled Nerissa, their wands emanating an aura of authority. She felt the invisible grip of their magic tightens around her, binding her in their control. Despite the confinement, a surge of energy coursed through her veins, heightening her senses and amplifying her anticipation.

The Aurors, acting as her captors and guards, led Nerissa through the labyrinthine corridors of Azkaban. Her steps echoed eerily against the cold stone, a symphony of anticipation and twisted glee. Her mind danced with delusions and fragmented memories, yet her focus remained unyielding. The haunting echoes of her crimes fueled her, reminding her of the power she had wielded, and the fear she had inspired.

Finally, they reached the designated location within Azkaban on a much lower floor. To Nerissa's surprise, instead of a conventional portkey, a peculiar contraption awaited her. It was a cage, just big enough to allow someone to stand inside of it, with spikes facing inward, ready to make movement even more torturous.

With a mixture of anticipation and twisted delight, Nerissa willingly stepped into the cage while the Aurors encircled the cage, their expressions a blend of caution and grim determination. Then, with a surge of magic, the cage transformed into the portkey, engulfing Nerissa in a whirlwind of sensation.

In an instant, the world twisted and distorted around her, and the spikes within the cage scraped against her skin, eliciting a perverse pleasure in the pain. When the chaos subsided, Nerissa found herself standing before the Wizengamot, the highest benches occupied by shadowy figures. The aura of power and judgment permeated the chamber, sending a thrill down her spine.

Unyielding, defiant, and show of aristocracy, Nerissa stood within the heart of authority, staring with a dark piercing pretetory gaze at everyone in front of her. The portkey, a cruel creation designed to inflict torment, had delivered her directly before the Wizengamot, a stark reminder of the darkness she embodied.

As the courtroom fell into an eerie silence, Nerissa's piercing dark eyes glimmered with a mix of desperation, determination, and delight in the chaos that lay ahead. She was poised to face the consequences of her actions, but her primal instincts and wicked desires would not be extinguished. They burned within her, urging her to challenge the very foundations of the magical world that sought to confine her.

Listening to the boring prosecuter speak, the Dark Witch found her gaze, cold and piercing, staring in the direction of one Jean-Claude Perceval Dumas standing out compare to everyone else in the court.

He was new...

Then the words was spoken. "An unbreakable vow will be made to bind Miss Wyrmstone to Mister Dumas" Her brown piercing gaze, almost so dark that her iris looked black, made her thin-lips twist in to a disturbing but small smile.

@MightyHorus@Algarus

An unbreakable vow. Percy's eyes never left the caged witch. Was that really how they planned to keep her in check? Through an oath?

One of the Aurors stepped forward - a tanned man with hints of grey in his dark moustache, wearing a long black coat and bowler hat - and extended a hand toward Percy's wand. Reluctantly, he handed it to him. The Auror turned and spoke with a commanding voice to the caged witch. "Give him your arm." He beckoned for Percy to join him beside the cage.

A man who had sat on the lower benches to his left rose and began to limp toward the center. He held a small rectangular box under his arm, which when he opened it revealed a sinister looking wand. The man caught his look and muttered "English oak, phoenix core. It could've been a beautiful thing, really. Such a shame." The old man stared at it with a sad smile, before handing it to the Auror as well.

"Please take her hand Mister Dumas. You'll need to-"

"Yes I know. I've done this before." Percy interjected. He had made many, back when he had worked for Émilie Lévêque as an associate to her Alchemists' guild. Mostly vows that promised secrecy, but sometimes also to make sure that whatever valuable items were transported wouldn't be stolen or sold by the guild's own associates.

The Auror sniffed loudly. "Fine." He took a crumpled piece of paper out of his coat pocket. "These are the vows you're expected to make."

Percy skimmed them quickly, then nodded. "Let's begin." The Auror took both their wands, and placed the tips against their clutched hands. A fiery red-hot wire wound itself around their hands. Percy stared hard at the caged witch. "Will you, Nerissa Wyrmstone, vow not to harm any that I would deem innocent, be it kobold, muggleborn, or otherwise?" His voice was calm and level. "And will you, to the best of your ability, carry out this mission as will be instructed?" He had his doubts there. No one seemed to know exactly what dangers this mission entailed. "Lastly, will you promise not to kill me, or yourself with intent and promise to aid me in completing my mission?"

Once he received her affirmation, Percy was ready to let go. Yet the Auror stopped him. "I'm sorry Mister Dumas, but the prisoner demanded that you hold up your end of the bargain as well." Percy's brow furrowed.

"As long as it's reasonable."

Abigail Thompson, or Abbey as she preferred, had taken to the stage as a young girl. First in dance, later in magic. Of course the type of magic she dabbled in, was a tad more complicated than mere card tricks and slight of hand; though she very much enjoyed such parlor tricks in her youth. Having grown up in the city of lights, Las Vegas had become something of a reflection to her on the world. Full of wonder, infested with danger, and just begging for spectacle. Of course, to the 'muggles' as her posh counterparts called them, it was another matter entirely. Abbey rather liked the simple mindedness of the common people, finding them rather whimsy in their own way. Having to make due in a world devoid of actual magic, she rather liked the 'No-Maj'. They were silly things, with their trinkets and plain foods, but innovative as well. True their cars couldn't fly, but that didn't stop them from taking to the stars. Quite remarkable she thought, which was why she herself didn't mind living among them. The Terrific Topsy Thompson might not roll off the tongue, but it played to her strengths.

True, her attire might have been frowned upon, sporting the fishnets, top hat, and dress of a simple performer, but she preferred to that way. Her time at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had taught her the value of the simple approach, and making oneself as unremarkable as possible; though that might not have been the Thunderbird way. Very few wizards took her as seriously as they should, and frankly, that was fine with her. Just like the No-Maj that she was fond of, she took had quite a bit in store for the dullard that found her insulting.

Within the Mirage Resort and Casino, she went about preparing for her act. The .44 revolver she had secured for the act ahead felt so odd in her hands. No-Maj favored these rather much. Perhaps too much. Opening the box full of the small strange metal canisters, it took her little time to slide them into the empty chamber, and clamp it shut. She had never tried this trick before, so hopefully it would be fun.

Her Thunderbird core quivered from her waistcoat, to which she patted it gently. Funny how this thing worked at times.

The stage hand behind her caught her attention, her hand reaching for her top hat, pushing back a black curl as she smiled to him.

"Yes?"

He seemed to be in a daze for a moment, before he stuttered out a few words. "Miss Topsy, the manager is still waiting for your explanation of the trick, he's...concerned."

She snickered, a hand patting the young man on the shoulder, the loaded firearm still in her hand. She raised the weapon up, wiggling it to show the man. "I'm just going to shoot myself with this, and see what happens. He need not fret."

She laughed in delight at seeing the man's bewilderment, and prepared for the next hour of verbal sparring.

She was a witch after all, and she mustn't reveal all her tricks.

No-Maj seemed to be more disappointed when they learned they were seeing actual magic after all.

The dark witch's almost black eyes never left Percy, watching him like a cat, ready to pounce. A haunting smile spread across the porcelain white skin as she willingly pushed her whole arm out of one of the holes in the cage as far as the spikes would allow her. During their entire exchange, the prisoner remained quiet, keeping her haunting smile, never leaving her sight from Percy's eyes until her wand became visible to her.

It was strange to watch, the dark witch, known for having little to no love for anything or anyone, even those who knew her from school years, always commented on her utter indifference toward everyone with the exception of her brother and wand. And seeing her wand again, felt like seeing part of her soul, just out of reach.

When Percy spoke the vow, he got her attention back, the pale hand twitched so violently that Percy would feel a surprisingly strong grip, one might think the dark witch would break their hold. While Nerissa's nostrils flared and her gaze burned so harshly, the Aurors around Percy and her, instinctively began to raise their wand, but then the other woman stretched her lips with pure distaste into a thin line.

"I will," she hissed between clenched teeth and the magical band pulsed brighter.

The Auror placed the two wands, placing the tips again against their clutched hands, letting Percy speak the second condition. Hearing the second condition spoken, Nerissa snorted and gave Percy a raised eyebrow indirectly asking him, "really?".
But after a second, she spoke. "I will".

And yet again, the magical band pulsed bright once more.

Then the third time happened and it was clear the dark witch was getting tired of all these conditions bound to her soul, but nevertheless, she agreed.

Nerissa held on tightly to Percy as she never left her dark eyes on his. "Should my life be snuffed out beyond the confines of our binding vows, your demise will follow swiftly in its wake?" This was Nerissa's best bet to make sure she was completely safe, and that no trial would sentence her to death. It would make sure no friend of Percy or ministry officials would accidentally let loose a killing curse in her direction after Percy had completed his mission. No, they would have to protect her even if they didn't want to lose "one of the good guys". Not to mention, Percy's death by the British Ministry would no doubt cause a public outcry for a hero in the eyes of the public. Of course, Nerissa had no idea who Percy was, but it was her only chance to get her revenge.

And a fourth and final time, the magical band pulsed brightly, before disappearing completely. Despite disappearing completely, Nerissa could feel an invisible tether connected to this man... That was for sure something she had to get used to.

As Nerissa let go, a wide wicked yet honied smile spread across her lips. Because what this really was... was Percy doing a devil's pact with an imprisoned Death Eater. A pact with Satan him-... or herself.

@MightyHorus@Algarus

Now that- that was simply unfair!

Why would he have to pay with his life for her mistakes? He could understand a promise of protection from harm. This, however, was nothing even remotely close to reasonable. Not at all.

He said nothing while the witch's eyes eagerly scoured his for answers, and felt a slight twinge of pain as her nails buried in his arm. Her grip was tight, a sign he took for desperation - or madness, perhaps. But he had already made up his mind. There was no reason to throw his life in the balance, not to save her skin.

Yet in the corner of his eye, he caught the glimpse of a smile that made his resolution waver. Killian Moncreiffe. Of course they brought you here. Percy clenched his jaw and his grip on the witch grew stronger. Anger welled up inside of him. If Killian was here, agreeing to the unbreakable vow wasn't his decision to make. He cursed himself for not having noticed sooner.

"I will…" He uttered.

And with that, let go. The magical constraints snapped into place immediately - forming an ever-present magical knot in the back of his mind. It strongly compelled him to do his duty, for the alternative was death.

With the promise that transport to the United States would be arranged, the Wizengamot rose and left their high benches from the back. Several people on the lower benches began to move toward the exit as well, save for a couple. Percy faintly heard the Aurors address Nerissa as they prepared to lead her away - telling her it was time to pack her things- as he turned toward Killian.

The man stared at him. The smile never fading.

"Why are you here mon frère?" Percy bit, voice low as a whisper.

Killian shrugged. "I suppose they weren't convinced of your good nature." Percy knew he meant compliance instead. "Besides, if you fail, this collective is likely to request my aid instead." He continued casually as he rose from his seat. "Best to be involved from the beginning, rather than require a briefing later don't you think?"

Percy sniffed. "How professional of you." That was all Killian ever claimed to be. 'Professional.' Yet he had never been able to prove him wrong on that regard. Killian was his age, a man with long reddish-brown hair in a ponytail and a profound jawline. His green eyes were always confident and challenging, making any of his playful smiles taunting.

But any wizard who'd let themselves get provoked by it quickly learnt that it wasn't just a charade.

Killian was the best duelist Percy had ever met. He was an infamous bounty hunter, one of the few who had refused to become a snatcher in the Second Wizarding War. In recent years, Killian had even resurrected the ancient and notorious Silver spears, with himself as their head. Twice has had encountered the man, and twice had he lost. No, as far as dueling was concerned, Killian Moncreiffe reigned supreme.

Percy didn't doubt the Ministries had brought him here solely because he had a proven record against him. The six Aurors present would've easily been able to subdue him too, but his exceeding reputation was enough to spark doubt among the members of the Wizengamot.

"All this aside," Killian began "I heard you were the one who put an end to Lévêque's carnage." The smile became a grin. "Shame I wasn't in Paris. I've always wondered what it was like to fight a two-century old witch."

"It was sheer luck. I wouldn't have survived, had she not lost control of her fiendfyre spell." The memories sent shivers down his spine. "Only my strongest shield charms were enough to deflect her spellwork, and even those made me blister" Fighting her had been terrifying. "Killian…" Percy gave him a thoughtful look. "Do you have any idea what I'm going up against?" He was an alchemist - he lacked the kind of information network Killian had.

Killian rubbed his chin and sighed. "Not much. The one you're after is, as you know, the older brother of Nerissa here. He's a Wyrmstone too, and their family is notorious for their ties to dark magic, but no one has ever been able to prove it. They are, or were, puppeteers. People who tried to control the wizarding world from the shadows." He scratched the back of his head. "But they disappeared shortly after the Second Wizarding War. Nerissa's capture was an unexpected windfall. I didn't realize it was her until I had my wand against her throat." He admitted with a short chuckle. "Her brother's whereabouts however? Those were a mystery until last Thursday's supper." He paused. "The United States. Near Vegas, of all places. That he revealed himself doesn't bode well, that much I can tell you."

Percy nodded. "Thank you. That was really helpful."

A cough drew their attention. It was the older Auror. "Mister Dumas. We've arranged a portkey for you. The prisoner is waiting."

He nodded. "I'll be right behind you.

@Algarus @Posh Raven

The Azkaban prisoner's dark predatory gaze remained fixated on her newly bound partner, a wicked glimmer burning within her eyes. A cruel smirk etched its way across her lips, forming a twisted canvas of satisfaction. Despite the fact that she had been shackled to serve as nothing more than a servant to this lapdog of the ministry, the horror reflected in his eyes painted a vivid portrait of her triumph.

As Percy strode toward Killian, Nerissa's smile vanished, instantly recognizing the presence of the bounty hunter. The dark witch's predatory gaze never wavered, locked onto the bounty hunter's form with an intensity that pierced through the very depths of his soul. If glares could manifest into deadly weapons, she would have torn his very essence asunder a thousandfold.

It had been no secret that Killian had become one of Nerissa's most loathed enemies since that fateful day. While her brother held the pinnacle of her endless reservoir of hatred, Killian had managed to claw his way to a close second position in the ranks of individuals she vowed to unravel and reduce to mere fragments of their former selves.

As she was forcibly dragged toward an open doorway, her gaze emitted poisonous daggers, emanating from the depths of her bottomless dark eyes. Each piercing glare held a promise of retribution, a silent declaration of the torments she yearned to inflict upon those who dared to cross her path.

When Percy finally stepped into the room housing the portkey, a scene greeted him that mirrored the one before. The same six Aurors, their wands gripped tightly within their hands, formed an informal circle around Nerissa Wyrmstone. A sense of tension hung in the air, their gazes darting warily between the witch and their newly arrived ally. However, amidst the familiar faces, there stood a seventh Auror, assigned with the sole task of holding Nerissa's wand until Percy's arrival, a precautionary measure to ensure control and security in the presence of such formidable power.

And then there was Nerissa. Standing at the heart of the makeshift informal circle, Nerissa Wyrmstone, once a prisoner of Azkaban, had swiftly shed the vestiges of her recent confinement. Though her time outside the notorious prison had been brief, a remarkable metamorphosis had taken place. The woman who now stood before them was a stark departure from her former self, exuding an air of nonchalant detachment.

Having cast off the weariness and desolation that had plagued her in captivity, Nerissa appeared utterly disinterested, as if she had grown weary of waiting for Percy and the mission they were begrudgingly bound to undertake—to halt the actions of her older brother. Her transformation spoke volumes, despite the brevity of her newfound freedom.

Her pale complexion, once drained by the oppressive atmosphere of Azkaban, now possessed a vibrant lustre. A renewed vitality seemed to pulse through her, revitalizing her features. Where once her countenance had borne the weight of her past transgressions, it now showcased a resolute strength and an understated elegance.

Nerissa's long, dark locks cascaded down her back in luxurious waves, a striking contrast to the dishevelled and unkempt state they had been in during her imprisonment. The freedom she now savoured breathed life into her hair, infusing it with a radiant sheen. Obsidian strands tumbled gracefully around her face, framing her sharp and captivating features with an air of casual confidence.

And then there were her eyes, a captivating transformation in themselves. Once veiled in darkness, they now gleamed with a warm and captivating hue—honied dark brown. They held an allure that was both captivating and unsettling, drawing others in while subtly warning of the enigmatic depths that lay beneath her composed exterior. The change in her eyes reflected a rekindled warmth and a reclamation of her humanity, as if the burden of her past had been partially lifted, allowing her true essence to shine through.

Adorned in a meticulously chosen ensemble, Nerissa embodied an undeniable presence that blended authority with a touch of rebellious elegance. Her attire, a stark departure from the torn and smudged uniform she had worn in Azkaban, now bespoke her newfound agency and determination. Clad in a Victorian-inspired gown, she exuded an aura of mystery and power. The predominantly black fabric enveloped her form, accentuating her statuesque figure, while subtle hints of dark purple added depth and intrigue to her appearance.

The gothic aesthetic of the gown was enhanced by delicate lace detailing, which danced across the fabric, lending an ethereal and delicate beauty to her ensemble. Ruffled sleeves cascaded gracefully down her arms, a testament to her restored grace and poise. The corseted bodice emphasized her commanding presence, symbolizing the strength that now coursed through her veins.

Completing her ensemble, long black gloves extended to her upper arms, exuding a sense of regal elegance and a hint of mystique. These gloves, once utilized to conceal her actions and intentions, now served as an outward manifestation of her mastery over her own destiny and her unwavering resolve.

Yet, despite her remarkable transformation and newfound presence, Nerissa managed to exude an air of boredom. She nonchalantly rested her hand on her hip, leaning to the side, casually checking her nails, as if the imminent mission held little interest for her.

As Percy stepped into the room where the portkey awaited, she casually flicked her gaze toward Percy, her tone tinged with a touch of derision. "Well, if the Ministry's prized lapdog is done dawdling, perhaps we can finally get a move on." Her voice carried a mix of boredom and an underlying insult, suggesting that Percy's presence was more of an inconvenience than an asset.

The six Aurors, attuned to Nerissa's every movement, remained on high alert, their stance poised and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Their eyes darted between Percy and Nerissa, silently communicating their readiness to intervene should the dark witch attempt any treacherous act.

As Percy approached, the seventh Auror, his gaze unwavering, extended Nerissa's wand to him with a measured caution, ensuring to maintain a firm grip. The exchange was conducted with precision, conveying an unspoken understanding of the dangerous forces at play.

Nerissa, ever observant, kept her predatory gaze fixed on Percy, her lips curling into a sardonic smirk. "Don't get any ideas, Perceval," she taunted, the use of his full name laced with a hint of disdain. "I may be bound by this... alliance, but I assure you, I'm not one to underestimate."

Her words hung in the air, a veiled reminder of the potent threat she posed, both as a dark witch herself and as the sister of a notorious figure during the Second Wizarding War. The Aurors, cognizant of the danger, maintained their unwavering vigilance, prepared to quell any act of defiance from Nerissa with decisive force.

Once Percy held on Nerissa's wand tightly in his grasp he would be a naive fool if he didn't know the risks involved in this mission with Nerissa by his side, the delicate balance he had to maintain with a formidable ally who was equally likely to be his greatest adversary. Once Percy was ready, the seventh Auror, a veteran of the second wizarding war, nodded more to himself than anyone else, "Once you're both ready, grab on to the port key and it will take you to Las Vegas where you will meet with Miss Abigail Thompson." explained the older Auror.

The room bristled with tension as Percy and Nerissa, bound by circumstance and a shared objective, prepared to embark on a perilous journey. The six Aurors stood ready, their instincts honed, a testament to the gravity of the situation. With every passing moment, the stakes grew higher, and the dance between trust and caution began—a delicate balance that would define their dangerous alliance.

Before seizing the portkey, Nerissa's lips curled into a sly smile as her gaze lingered upon the assembled Aurors. With a hint of mischief in her eyes, she couldn't resist the urge to deliver a biting insult. "Look at you all," she taunted, her voice laced with subtle disdain. "A group of brave wizards, ready to stand guard like a common street dog with a bone. Well, except for you, my dear seventh wheel. Perhaps you should stick to holding wands and leave the real work to the professionals. It's for your own safety, of course." Her words dripped with veiled mockery, leaving a lingering sting in the air.

Their transportation by portkey happened so fast that neither Percy or Nerissa got to hear what the seventh auror said, but it most likely wasn't kind words that were cursed from the older man's lips.

As they materialized in the cramped confines of the janitor's closet, Nerissa couldn't help but revel in the closeness between herself and Percy. Her body pressed intimately against his, their proximity igniting a wicked fire within her. She could sense his tension, his unease, and she delighted in playing with his desires.

Leaning in, her voice low and filled with a seductive undertone, she whispered into his ear, her breath hot against his skin. "Oh, Percy, we find ourselves in such a deliciously tight situation, don't we?" Her voice carried a hint of primal desire, twisted and tinged with a dark edge. "I wonder, would you like to be one of my conquests? To taste the forbidden fruit and revel in the thrill of surrender?" she asked, sensually caressing Percy's lower jaw with a gloved finger.

Her words hung in the air, charged with an intoxicating blend of dominance and vulnerability. Nerissa relished in the power she held, knowing full well the effect her words would have on him, whether he wanted to admit it or not. She awaited his reaction, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of cruel amusement and predatory anticipation, eager to see how he would respond to her twisted seduction.

@MightyHorus@Algarus

*click* *click* *click*

”Topsy for Gods sake, put the gun down!” She giggled deviously as she watches the pudgy manager motion with his hands as if that would compel her to cease her demonstration. He was mistaken.

“Mister York, I’m just wanting to make sure you get the point of this show. See what I did there? Point and I have you at-““Topsy, what the hell is wrong with you?” He shouted, nearly falling over his desk as she kept the weapon leveled at him. Of course, it was unloaded with the safety on, for now. “I’m just trying to put on a show, and people want spectacle so-“ She reached into her coat, producing a single round and sliding it into the chamber of the revolver. She withdrew the weapon, cocking the hammer and pressed the cold steel against her temple. Mr. York’s eyes widened in horror.

“It’s memorization, I’m going to guess what chamber has the bullet. It’ll keep people on edge and-“ She never got to finish.

“You are not shooting yourself on my stage!” He bellowed, trying to make an advance past his desk, though it did little to stop Topsy’s determination. “Okay, but hear me out. Think of the money.” She stated, wiggling her now loaded gun about. Mr. York didn’t seem to certain.

Topsy just sighed, and pulled the trigger.

Then proceeded to laugh as the *click* sent Mr. York into another screaming fit. He was going to see the appeal into this act sooner or later. Topsy Thompson changed her plans for no one.

The Auror led him through a maze of black-marble corridors, illuminated by torches with green flickering flames. Twice did the descend a set of stairs, and twice did they pass broad doors. Then, as they turned the corner, a deep shaft barred by a retractable iron fence came within sight. The elevator.

The auror caught a glimpse of his questioning look. "We're going to the Department of Magical Transportation. The Portkey we've arranged for you and that woman leads to Vegas." He paused. "Requires more paperwork, you see, to travel where muggles might discover you."

Percy nodded. "Happened to an associate of mine in Calais once. You'd think the police wouldn't be a trouble for a wizard. Apparently there's a limit to the amount of tasers a shield charm can deflect."

"Tasers?"

"It's a muggle thing their enforcers use to-" Percy sighed. "You know what, nevermind."

It was the Auror's turn to nod. They walked the remainder of the way in silence, until they arrived at the proper room. The Auror pushed the door open. "After you Mister Dumas." Percy mumbled a thanks and walked in.

Immediately his new 'partner' - or rather new liability - took her chance to comment. "A pleasure to meet you too, Miss Wyrmstone." He remarked begrudgingly. One of the Aurors stepped forward, handing him the sinister-looking wand that belonged to Nerissa. He ignored her second comment, instead turning to the Auror closest to the Portkey. "Is there anything I need to know about our destination or mission?"

The Auror shook his head. "I'm afraid you know everything there is to know already." Percy's brow furrowed. "Once you're both ready, grab on to the port key and it will take you to Las Vegas where you will meet with Miss Abigail Thompson." Percy hesitated for a moment - it made the Aurors tense up. Then Nerissa took hold of the Portkey, which forced him to move too. Her life was intertwined with his. If her mistakes led to death, he'd die too. No, he couldn't let her go off alone. She found another opportunity to taunt the men before her. By the time Percy considered intervening, the Portkey activated.

Again colours swirled, and the screaming winds robbed him of his hearing.

A heartbeat later he found himself backed up against the wall of a way too cramped room, bumping his head against a low shelf as he tried to stand upright. He stood tightly pressed against Nerissa, and the Portkey had fallen into a bucket out his left, out of his reach. Summarize in one word, it was uncomfortable. He uneasily tried to shift closer to the door, but Nerissa pressed herself closer against him, an obstacle between him and the door. Instinctively his hand went to her wand - safely hidden in the inner pocket of his brown trench coat.

Then she began with sensual whispers. "Oh, Percy, we find ourselves in such a deliciously tight situation, don't we? I wonder, would you like to be one of my conquests? To taste the forbidden fruit and revel in the thrill of surrender?" Her eyes gleamed. Percy's looked to be weighing.

"Listen, Miss Wyrmstone." His right arm moved along her waist. "You're a gorgeous woman. That you really are." His arm stopped moving as he reached the small of her back. "But you're also a lunatic and a convicted murderer. That's an incredible turnoff." He finally found the door's lock behind her. Before she could respond Percy muttered "Alohamora" and the door swung open. He kept his arm wrapped around her as he prepared to step through, making sure that she would tumble backward with the door opening behind her. When he was certain she had regained her balance, he took a firm hold by her arm instead and guided her through the corridor.

An elderly pair stood on the other side of the corridor, having watched the janitor's closet open and the man and woman coming through. It didn't take a strong legilimens to tell what they were thinking. Yet all he heard as he strode away was "Oh my."

He stopped a few times to ask if anyone knew someone named 'Abigail Thompson'. The third time, a young man with a badge remarked "Abigail? You mean Topsy?" which made the search a whole lot easier.

In less than ten minutes, they found themselves two seats positioned toward a stage with red curtains. He rested his head on his balled fist, elbow supported by the round table covered with a white tablecloth between them. "You think she's going to be using actual magic?" He asked absently, forgetting for a moment that Nerissa wasn't the kind of person he wanted to have a casual conversation with. "If we're going to have to wait any longer, I'm going to order something to drink."

As Percy took a firm hold of Nerissa's arm and guided her through the corridor, her eyes roamed over the elderly pair standing nearby, their expressions filled with curiosity and judgment. Nerissa's lips curled into a wicked smile, her voice dripping with a hedonistic implication as she couldn't resist the urge. "Nothing like a good rumble!" she sing-songed, her words laced with childish carelessness. She revelled in the shock that crossed their faces and couldn't care less what some filthy mudblood thought about her as she knew her remark had struck a nerve. It pleased her to assert her present, even in the most mundane of encounters.

That was how they had always worked, her brother and herself, bound by a shared history of pain and survival. From their early days, their childhood had been marred by a relentless storm of sadness and despair. Their father, a man consumed by his own demons, inflicted beatings and spewed venomous words at young Nerissa, leaving scars that ran deeper than any physical wounds.

But in the midst of that darkness, her brother became her guardian, a shield against their father's wrath. He protected her with unwavering determination, shielding her from the brunt of their father's abuse. Through his acts of defiance and sacrifice, he forged a bond with Nerissa that transcended their troubled upbringing.

Their heated arguments, although tumultuous, were born out of a shared pain and a desire to break free from the chains of their traumatic past. In those moments, their voices clashed like thunder, but their bond remained unbreakable. However, on that fateful day, the day when the Aurors cornered them, her brother made a choice that shattered their fragile equilibrium. In a cruel twist of fate, he sacrificed her like a lamb for slaughter, leaving her to face the consequences alone.

Nerissa will never forget those final words he uttered, right before he vanished from her sight. The realization pierced her heart with a feeling of deep sorrow, profound grief for the loss of the protector she had relied on for so long. In his absence, she felt a profound sense of abandonment and a lingering ache for the childhood they had both endured. Haunted by the memories of their shared pain and her brother's desertion, Nerissa's path took a darker turn. The wounds of their past now reopened, fueling her hunger for power and her thirst for vengeance. She would make her brother understand the depth of her sorrow, the weight of his betrayal.

As she walked the path of darkness alone, the echoes of her childhood sorrows still lingered. But instead of finding solace, the depth of her sorrow twisted into a thorned hatred for her brother. The wounds of their past, once tender and raw, festered with resentment and betrayal. Every painful memory, every act of protection turned manipulation, fueled her burning rage. The love she had once held for her brother transformed into a twisted desire for retribution. No longer would she seek his understanding; she would make him suffer the same anguish she had endured.

With an air of twisted satisfaction, she continued walking alongside Percy, her gaze fixed ahead. The insult lingered in the air, a reminder of her unapologetic nature and her disdain for those she deemed beneath her. She relished in the discomfort she had caused, delighting in the power she held to provoke and unsettle those around her. Nerissa's eyes gleamed with a mix of cruel amusement and predatory anticipation as they made their way to their destination. She revelled in the chaos and unpredictability of the situation, her mind already racing with possibilities and schemes. She was determined to seize every opportunity in this twisted dance they had been thrust into, savouring the intoxicating blend of danger and desire that swirled around them.

As Percy inquired about the use of actual magic by Abigail Thompson, Nerissa's amusement deepened. She leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs and fixing him with a smouldering gaze. "Oh, dear Percy," she purred, her voice dripping with a seductive undertone. "Magic can take many forms, can't it? Sometimes the most dangerous and thrilling magic is the one that hides in plain sight."

She let the implication hang in the air, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips. However, her infectious smirk quickly faded as a wave of revulsion washed over her. "Trusting filthy mudbloods with the art of mixology? How utterly revolting," she added, her tone filled with a toxic superiority that oozed contempt towards everyone around them. "But, by all means, indulge yourself with their filth." And just like that, the honied words that had been spun with such velvet passion showed a glimpse of the venomous darkness that lurked beneath the surface. Nerissa revelled in the duality of her nature, relishing in the power she held to charm and cut, to entice and repulse. In this twisted dance of seduction and disdain, she was the conductor, orchestrating a symphony of manipulation and cruelty.

With both legs crossed, she placed them up on the table in front of them leaning her head on top of her fist as her elbow rested on the armrest.

The room itself exuded an air of opulence and extravagance. Bathed in warm, golden hues, the walls were adorned with luxurious tapestries that depicted scenes of ancient myth and wonder. Soft, ambient lighting cast a magical glow, adding an ethereal ambience to the space. The stage, expansive and meticulously designed, commanded attention at the centre of the room. Its polished wooden floor reflected the light, creating a mesmerizing shimmer. Intricate patterns and symbols adorned the stage, hinting at the arcane secrets that would be unveiled within its confines.

A backdrop of cascading curtains in deep shades of red, velvety and alluring, added a touch of theatrical flair. They whispered tales of hidden realms and uncharted territories, captivating the imagination of all who gazed upon them. The stage itself was flanked by imposing pillars, their surfaces embellished with intricate carvings of mystical creatures and magical sigils. These pillars seemed to possess a life of their own, emanating an aura of ancient power and mysticism.

An array of colourful and ornate props, carefully arranged, awaited their moment to shine. Gleaming crystal balls, elegant top hats, decks of cards adorned with intricate artwork, and various other tools of illusion were strategically placed, ready to be woven into the tapestry of the performance. As the audience settled into their seats, anticipation filled the air. The room hummed with palpable energy, and shared excitement for the wonders that were about to unfold. The stage was set, the room alive with the promise of extraordinary feats and captivating illusions.

In this enchanting Las Vegas stage, reality blurred and dreams came to life. It was a space where ordinary boundaries faded away, and the extraordinary took centre stage, leaving the audience spellbound and awestruck.

As the two began to take their seats, the main show did indeed begin. The patterns about the stage seemed to spin and whirl about, before vanishing up into the ceiling, a music number fired up, and the curtains were hoisted up and away to reveal....a single showgirl, dressed as a rabbit. Her hair was nearly silver, her legs clad in fishnet stockings, and only part of her costume that even hinted towards rabbit were the black ears a top her head. The audience began to cheer, as the woman began to start the introductions.

"Ladies and babies, men and boys, welcome one and all to the Topsy Thompson Miracle Show! How are we doing tonight folks?" She called out, taking several steps towards the audience. Most of which seemed more impressed with the woman than the words she spoke. "The Mistress of Mayhem, the Harlot of Vegas, and the longest surviving Topsy in the US of A, I give you-" Before the woman could finish, a large anvil descended from above. The poor bunny girl had only a moment to look up in sheer horror, before the large metal construct slammed into her, making a roaring boom as it struck.

Cries of terror and horror broke out, as the stockings of the poor woman could be seen wiggling from under the anvil, the crowd seemed dead silence, much like the poor showgirl that had taken the anvil on.

Though the rest of the staff didn't seem to know it, as Percy and Nerissa would find themselves being handed several menus and order sheets, as the chaos on stage unfolded. After what seemed like several minutes, but was actually only a few seconds, the woman's legs vanished under the anvil, a cloud of smoke gushing up from underneath the iron construct, and quickly filling the stage.

The blare of a trumpet signaled a change, as atop the anvil, stop a woman dressed in the most unusual grab. Sporting fishnets, she wore a waistcoat, custom tailored of course for her own needs, well polished dress shows, and a rather questionable top hat that she proudly wore atop her head. Though the small half cloak she adorned herself with was probably the worst part of the attire. Regardless, the woman held one hand aloft, the other facing down towards the anvil. Above her dangled the bunny girl, clearly suspended on a wire device, as she seemed to lounge in her new comfortable position. While under her, the anvil began to seemingly shrink into the floor. At once, the audience seemed to come alive, the fear replaced with excitement. However the room was rather hazy as the strange woman took the stage.

The bunny girl took her cue, spinning on the wires as she bellowed. "Topsy Thompson! In person!" Topsy accepted the roaring crowd with a bow, the platinum blonde gently being lowered in sync with Topsy's hand motions. The anvil however, began to melt it seemed, as the two women began to lower to the floor. "Thank you Miss Topsy for that lovely introduction, now hop on along, I only have so many anvils to spare tonight." She made a little shooing motion, giving her assistant the cue they needed to leave. The anvil, perhaps now being seen as an inflatable device, was soon removed by a pair of stage hands, as Topsy removed her hat and bowed to the crowd, giving a small flourish as she did. Of course, her free hand reached into her coat for something, as she began to explain her trick. "Due to acts of magic of the forbidden kind, my manager is only allowing me to show one new trick for today, and fret not ladies and gentleman, it is no mere card trick I wish to show!" She produced her gun, waving it about in the air, as the stage hands behind her wheeled out several target posters. "Have you ever heard of Russian Roulette? Well, in Vegas it's one of the few roulette games they won't let you in on. Though trust me, if they could, they would!" Topsy remarked, drawing a few chuckles from the crowd, though there were already murmurs about how real the gun was.

"So, Russian Roulette was something I thought...could have potential, but there's a problem. Only one bullet, six chambers. Odds are in your favor. That might do you just find if you’re British or Russian. Well, this is America-" She started, flipping her top hat back atop her head, as she produced six bullets, and began loading the gun. "Here in America, we like underdogs, so, I made my own game. I call it, American Roulette! Don't try this at home folks! No, seriously, the manager is legally at fault for this apparently, we aren’t on good terms right now. ANYWAYS!" Once she loaded all six chambers, she spun back to the targets, and smiled back to the crowd with glee. "Here's how it works. I have a fully loaded gun, and using nothing but magic, I'm going to know...when the gun is loaded, and when it's not. Work myself down from six to zero bullets, and hopefully, not die!" She waited for the audience to respond, before going on. "Now, in case you're wondering, yes, this is a real gun-" She squeezed the trigger, the sound of the revolver deafening as it struck the target, smoke billowing from the other end of the weapon. Several screams and cries came from the audience, as Topsy turned back to them, putting the gun to her own temple, but not before opening the chamber and letting it spin. The radiance began to scream, some people reaching out their hands to try and stop her.

Though Topsy was entirely unphased. Slamming the chamber shut after it's little ordeal, she felt calm as the still hot steel lingered against her head. The lack of a tremor from her wand told her the danger was gone, and without hesitation, she pulled the trigger. The muffled 'click' of the dry fire was entirely drowned out by cries from the audience. Yet Topsy cared now, the show must go on. "Place your bets, as we're about to get this trick on the roll!" She spun about on the stage, cocking the hammer, and let another shot ring out, as she tore through another target. Much to the outrage of the crowd. Several people screamed for her to stop, though another collection seemed to be cheering her on.

The rush she got from this was something else. Even if she lost her show over this, it'd still be worth it.

"Thrilling isn't the word I'd use for it." He said flatly. "I knew a witch who had enchanted her doorway. Anyone who stepped through was greeted by small fireworks. It'd surprise you how many burnt their eyebrows because of that one."[/COLOR] Nerissa's comment on drinks made him raise an eyebrow. "What, you don't like wine?" He asked. "What do you think we drank before our worlds were separated? The likes of Medea, Solomon, or the Queen of Sheba drank back in the day?" Percy sniffed. "It certainly wasn't butterbeer, I'll assure you that."

It took him a while to attract the waiter's attention, but when he finally got it, he ordered something faintly reminiscent of a Pinot. Watered down, and with the price jacked up. Exactly what he had expected from the establishment. His attempt to complain, however, was drowned by the crowd's applause. The woman in the bunny costume didn't wait for it to die down. She began announcing the main act immediately. Halfway through, Percy shot a questionable look at Nerissa. "Harlot of Vegas?" He whispered incredulously. Was this really who the American agency had paired them up with?

He jerked his head back to the stage when her announcement was cut-off. He grasped for his wand in reflex, only to see the anvil drop on the woman. Had it not been for how calm the personnel handing out menu cards were, he would've tried to intervene. Percy eyed the stage with a puzzled look. "She seems to have a morbid sense of humor." smoke burst from the anvil and the blaring of trumpets filled the hall. "I'm sure the two of you will get along." He muttered, reluctantly clapping along with the crowd. He came to realize that it was the backbone of her act too, when she produced a pistol.

And it didn't take her long to fire it.

Percy jumped, more so from the sudden cries of the audience than the sound of the revolver. Her firing the revolver, well, that much he had expected. The second she placed it against her temple, however, he had to stop himself from uttering a shield charm.

"I'm convinced that this woman is as mad as they get." He said, following with a delayed "No offense."

Nerissa reclined gracefully in her seat, exuding an air of elegant boredom as her eyes lazily roamed over the extravagant show unfolding before them. Her voice carried a subtle tinge of disinterest as she replied to Percy's remark about drinks.

"Oh, do spare me the tedious tales of ancient wizards and witches and their pitiable choices of Mudblood-made alcohol," she retorted with taunting disdain. "Wine, butterbeer, it matters little to me. Mundane libations for mundane palates."

Her gaze returned to the stage, where Topsy continued her daring act. The showgirl, adorned in a provocative uniform with playful rabbit ears, executed her routine with precision. Yet, to Nerissa, the lengths Mudbloods went to experience a semblance of "magic" were pathetic and laughable. In her eyes, it all amounted to a mundane display of theatrics, a performance aimed at appeasing magicless individuals, offering them fleeting moments of joy in their dreary lives.

"The Mistress of Mayhem, they call her," Nerissa muttered mockingly, her voice dripping with derision. "A title as shallow as the puddles on the street. Where is the true magic, the kind that can twist minds and shatter souls? This performance is but a sideshow for simple minds, nothing more."

Resting her head on her fist, her elbow gracefully resting on the armrest, a twisted grin slowly spread across her face. "Tell me, Percy, dear," she purred, her tone suggestive of mischief and challenge. "Wouldn't it be far more thrilling and entertaining if this act were to go mess up? I dare say it lacks the element of danger, that delicious edge of uncertainty. Imagine the succulent chaos, the fear, and the sheer desperation in all the Mudbloods if her little trick were to backfire."

Her dark eyes sparkled with a wolfish gleam, and her tone took on a twisted cheerfulness, undercut with the sinister undertone of her desires. "Come on, Percy-wercy, prove you're not just the Ministry's lapdog that has a stick up his ass like all the other little doggies, and knows how to have a bit of fun" she taunted, her grin widening into a mischievous expression. "Add a subtle twist to her routine, just a bit of "suggetive magic" to spice things up. Imagine the fun we could have, you could make her do anything you want."

With a honeyed whisper that dripped with a hint of seduction, she leaned in closer, her breath caressing his ear, "It'll be our little secret, Perceval." Her voice carried a flirtatious undertone, thick with tantalizing innuendo that could send shivers down one's spine. Her dark eyes locked onto his, holding his gaze captive as if to convey a world of unspoken possibilities.

Her lips curved into a sly smile, hinting at the forbidden desires that lurked beneath her composed exterior. Nerissa toyed with her own intentions, leaving Percy unsure whether she meant the use of the Imperius Curse or something much more intimate and personal. The tantalizing invitation was there, waiting for Percy to interpret her words and embrace the thrill of the unknown.

Her eyes might have had a tinge of crazy to them, as she scanned over the crowd, giving into that desire of building anticipation, as she could feel the heat of the gun barrel caressing the side of her face, the smell of burnt gunpowder filling her nostrils. Her hand moved to pop open the chamber of the revolver, giving it another spin, before she slapped it shut, and reaimed the weapon to her temple.

Her eyes found Percy and Nerissa for a moment, gazing intently at them, as she tried to think of her plans for the after show. There had been something, that she was sure of. Though the faint tingle against her waistcoat informed her of danger, as she snapped the gun back, firing off another shot, filling the theater with another loud 'boom', as she shattered blew through another one of the targets, the gun kicking hard against her palm.

Another burst of screams sounded, though Topsy ignored it, flipped open the barrel, and gave it another spin for snapping it closed. Again, gun to her head, she dry fired one more, the empty 'click' of the gun once more drowned out by cries. Cries that only worsened when she pulled again, and fired another blank, the crowd now antsy with anticipation, though Topsy kept working on.

She worked her way down of course, the rate of firing, spinning, and firing again. She worked her way down the targets, her wand serving as her little 'trick' to avoid the danger, though the cries of the crowd seemingly grew more frantic. Again, her gaze return to Percy and Nerissa as she fired off the second last bullet, leaving only one target remaining, though Topsy still cocked back the hammer of the gun, and returned to her temple. The tingle of danger informed her of what was to come, though she had planned this from the start.

Time to see if her incantations were really all that she chalked them up to be. Her gaze stuck with the pair, Topsy giving them a small wink as she went into her final explanation, feeling pretty certain that these might have been the contacts she was to be expecting. How tragic though, that the ministry was personally asking for her help with this case. "Now folks, as you know, I like to end my show with a bang. So, given there's no bigger way than to end this-" In almost one fluid motion, Topsy squeezed the trigger, the gun discharging as the smoke filled the stage once more. Something clearly fluid like sprayed from where the woman had stood, her body falling forward, the now empty gun falling away from her hand, as Topsy hit the floor with a 'thud'. The audience erupted into screams of horror, and for a moment, it seemed that something had gone amiss.

But no one rushed to the stage, nor did blood pool from Topsy as she laid there. It took a handful of breaths before the crowd would notice the young woman sat on her knees, looking to the audience with the biggest grin on her face, the spent bullet proudly being shown between her teeth as she slowly rose to stand, waving as she did so, though she left her top hat behind her. It took several moments longer before the crowd finally began to start cheering, and Topsy reveled in it.

The voice of the announcer broke out over the audience, as Topsy slowly collected her gun, and hat, then with almost catlike grace, bowed to the audience in a quick motion. "Everyone, give it up for Topsy Thompson!" Her escape route opened in the floor behind her, and she eagerly stepped back, giving a small hop as she did so, before disappearing into the stage before.

The curtain would close behind her as she vanished, the magician landing gleefully on the padded mattress below the stage, as she took a moment to just enjoy the sounds of the crowd up above her, though her fingers rubbed furiously at the numb sensation on her cheek. Turning part of her face into ballistic gel for a few seconds had taken quite a bit of practice, but doing it without the vocal components had without a doubt been the most challenging spell she had done in recent memory. Not to mention, it kinda...hurt doing this. Still, the thudding of her heart and the quickening of her pulse was well enough the reward, and after a moment of enjoying her own cleverness, she'd be off and returning to her show room.

Though, as the audience began to clear out, Percy and Nerissa would be approached by the bunny girl from earlier, holding a very obvious invitation to join Topsy backstage. "Miss Thompson was informed she would be expecting visitors, and you two, seem the visiting sort, yes?" She inquired, her gaze seemed friendly enough, though Nerissa would feel a sharp piercing gaze from the woman as the invitation was exchanged, before the bunny girl withdrew, almost seeming to disappear into the scenery of the theater.

Meanwhile, Topsy took to sitting at her makeup table, top hat sitting up on the table itself, when 'Miss Topsy' returned. Topsy smiled, looking back to her creation, as she motioned it further into the room, the door shutting behind it. Halfway across the floor, 'Miss Topsy' reverted back into her true form, of a bunny, and gingerly pounced her way back to her owner, leaping up into Topsy's lap for well deserved ear rubs. "Well done little one, I do hope they enjoyed the show." .

Now it was just to wait and see what came next.

"Entertaining?" He frowned. "She supposedly knows more about your brother's operations here than the British Ministry does. Moreover," he jotted a finger in her direction, "it'll be you and I who they end up blaming for it." His other hand wrapped around the stem of his wineglass. "I'm not planning to go out that way." He finally muttered, bringing the glass to his lips. He could almost taste a reflection of his own anxiety in the wine as the show continued. The only 'relief' - if that was what you could call it - came from the equally irking remarks made by the dark witch to his right.

"I am not going to use the Imperiatus curse on her." He declared as calmly as he could. It still came out as a biting remark, however. "There is nothing I 'want' from her, except for the information we need." If she was going to be like this all the time, this whole ordeal was going to be one of his most frustrating experiences yet.

His eyes scanned the crowd once more. Most of the tables were occupied, most by small groups in casual to slightly fancy outfits who were here for an exciting night out. There were some he moved right over, and others that his gaze lingered on. There were three groups, slightly bigger than the others, that he guessed were bachelor parties. Then there was a couple at a table in the front, who were either trying to rob each other or doing things he considered quite inappropriate. Some tables back, two waiters were arguing with their voices kept low. Lastly, his gaze fell on a group of four standing to the side. Judging from their faces and hard looks, they weren't here just to ejoy the show. "Acquaintances of yours, Miss Wyrmstone?" He whispered, nudging his head slightly in their direction. "If not, then I fear that we might get to know them better before the night is over." He remarked dryly.

When the final shot was to be fired, Topsy's measuring eyes met theirs. For the brief instance that they did, Percy caught on to her look. "She knows." He felt a little more at ease, knowing that the first contact was made. Usually any plan he was a part of crashed and burned the minute he stepped in.

When the grand finale ended and the applause came, Percy looked in the direction of the four men again. Then muttered a curse. "They're gone." Had they noticed them? No, that was unlikely. Even if they stood out slightly in their attire, the audience sat tightly packed together and the lighting made it difficult to make out faces. Besides, there was an easier target. A target who's current location was marked by a door with her name etched into it. "They're going after her. We need to get there fi-" He was interrupted by the bunny girl from earlier, holding an invitation. Percy took it and studied it with a frown. "This woman's really one for theatrics, isn't she?" He commented, handing the piece of paper to Nerissa for her to study.

"Fine," that was more to himself, "let's get going then. Oh! Before I forget-" He stopped mid-turn, fishing the nefarious black wand out of his coat pocket. "you'll need this if we run into those four." He thrust it toward her. "And only if they attack first, you hear me? If." He rounded on her again a heartbeat later. "And also no more than necessary. We don't exactly have a license to kill here. Or grievously mutilate them." He sincerely hoped she understood.

Nerissa opened her mouth, ready to retort with her trademark sharp wit. Still, when Percy mentioned they would uncover information about her treacherous brother, she let out an exaggerated sigh and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms in a sulky manner. "Ugh, fine, you're no fun," she muttered under her breath, clearly displeased.

She rolled her eyes dramatically at Percy's refusal to use the Imperius Curse. "Percy, such a killjoy," she remarked in a tone that conveyed both disappointment and frustration, her eye-roll a perfect display of her impatience with his principles.

As Percy scanned the crowd, Nerissa seemed utterly disinterested in the mundane antics of the other patrons. She sat in a bored slouch, occasionally glancing at her perfectly manicured nails as if they held more fascination than the show. When Percy mentioned the group of four, she shrugged nonchalantly. "Acquaintances? Hardly. But it seems we might have some uninvited guests for our evening's entertainment," she remarked with a sly smirk.

When Topsy's gaze met theirs, Nerissa responded with a sly smile, leaning back in her chair in a relaxed, almost nonchalant manner. She blew Topsy a kiss with her sly smile and purred, her dark eyes glittering with mischief.

As the grand finale approached and the applause erupted, Nerissa reclined in her chair, her posture exuding boredom. With one leg casually crossed over the other, she leisurely extended her fingers, their tips gently and meticulously cleaning beneath her manicured black-coloured nails. She seemed utterly unimpressed by the theatrics unfolding on the stage as if the performance were nothing more than a mudblood distraction.

When Percy handed her the invitation, she spared it a disinterested glance, her dark eyes flitting across the words with an air of indifference. The prospect of visiting the backstage world held little allure for her at the moment, overshadowed only because the woman backstage held information about her brother's operation.

Nerissa locked eyes with the bunny girl, her own gaze steady and unyielding. In response to the woman's piercing stare, her arched eyebrow gave a hint of subtle amusement. A condescending smile danced upon her lips as she prepared her retort.

"My, my," she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, "that icy glare of yours is positively enchanting. I suppose it's useful for chilling drinks," she mused, her tone filled with feigned admiration, "but I do hope you don't turn the entire theatre into a frozen wasteland with your frigid attitude."

With a dismissive wave, she added, "Ta-ta, mudblood."

While her words carried the veneer of mockingly sweet sarcasm, her eyes told a different story. They had transformed into dangerous, bottomless pools of black, exuding a predatory intensity that pierced through the air like a dagger.

Nerissa's predatory stare remained unwavering, trailing the bunny girl's every move until the woman almost seemed to vanish into the very scenery of the theatre itself.

As Percy handed her the wand, Nerissa's reaction was far from casual. She accepted it with a sense of eagerness that bordered on greed. Her long, delicate fingers wrapped around the wand's sleek, polished surface, caressing it with an almost primal hunger.

To Nerissa, her wand wasn't merely a tool; it was an extension of herself, a lifeline to the magical world that had been cruelly snatched away during her years in the nightmarish confines of Azkaban. As her fingers traced the familiar contours, she could feel a connection rekindling, a long-lost part of her identity returning.

The dark glint in her eyes, which typically carried a sense of sinister intent and malevolent superiority, now hinted at the profound depths of her attachment to this instrument of her magic. It was as though a missing piece of her soul had been restored. For a fleeting moment, a rare vulnerability surfaced beneath her cold aristocratic exterior, but it vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared."

When Percy's words reached her, a condescending smile played on her lips. She nodded slowly, the corners of her mouth curling into a sly yet confident smile. "Of course, Perceval," she replied with a purring tone, her honey-brown dark eyes locking onto his in a way that left him uncertain of her true intentions. With a flirtatious tilt of her head and a sway of her hips, she leaned in slightly, her finger lightly stroking under Percy's chin before she smoothly skipped past him, heading backstage to Miss Thompson, leaving him to wonder just how far she'd bend to his requested desires.

Rising from her chair, Topsy moved about, humming to herself as she began to collect her things, 'Miss Topsy' still in hand. "Those damn Brits, thinking they can just flutter over here with their problem...it's like the Second World War...or the Wizardry War...or...was it the Dragon Wars? You know what I mean Topsy?" She asks to the rabbit, which only wiggled it's ears in rebuttal. "Right you are. No respect for the American way....not that it matters I suppose...."

She muttered to herself, thinking back to the woman who blew kisses to her in the crowd. It had really turned her stomach in a most peculiar way. Whatever nonsense the Brits had gotten themselves into, they were leaving her to sort it out. Probably because her own people viewed her as a nut case. To be fair, they weren't far off, a witch putting on a show for muggles? To Topsy it seemed all well and good, though simple and crude, No-Maj had all sorts of fun inventions. Firearms aside.

Grabbing for her wand, she muttered an incantation, letting the lock of the makeup drawer fall open. She pulled out a small hand purse from her makeup drawer, and began to sort through it. She pulled out a small box of .44 caliber ammo, and set her revolver down.

Cheating as it might be, she figured she might bring a bit of home with her along the way, setting 'Miss Topsy' down as she stowed the items away, grabbing a small bag of alchemical ingredients, and her own assortment of wizardry tools. They really should have called her ahead of time with this sort of nonsense, now her entire schedule was up in a free-fall. Not like the wizarding world cared about the livelihood of a single witch. They were going to owe her for this. But she'd have to think of how they could pay her....

She lifted up her hat, muttering another incantation about the rim, letting the enchantment take hold, then moved down to do the same to her fishnets. She wasn't about to be caught unawares, especially with death eater nonsense on her mind. She gave a pause, and moved to retrieve a carrot for her bunny, and gingerly set it down for Miss Topsy to enjoy. Her eyes went back to her robes, then to her far more attractive stage coat. She never liked the whole 'robe and staff' business of wizards. Too traditional for her liking. No no, if she could buy herself some time by looking like a random discount corner store magician, then that's what she'd do. Show those uptight death eater folks what an American Witch was really capable of. She grabbed for it, and settled it against her chair. Then, with handbag in tow, she sat atop her trunk, and awaited these two, wondering if they were going to try and pull rank on her, or be actual civil folk who would humbly ask for her help.

She had a strong feeling it would be the former.

@Posh Raven@MightyHorus

As they moved through the crowded hallway just past the coat check room, Percy wished they would've tried going backstage instead. The place wasn't supposed to be a maze, but finding the artist's entrance with all these people blocking his view made it feel like it was. Then there were also the four nefarious figures, who he had lost sight of after an older lady had almost pushed him down a small set of stairs. Accidentally - of course.

By the time he had found the hallway that led to their strange informant's dressing room, the main hall was almost clear, save for a few people who had drinks there afterwards. In the hallway and backrooms, there were also still people going about their business. Enough to make him consider that any feat of magic here was going to mean breaking magic law. It made him regret giving Nerissa her wand. That regret only deepened when they rounded the final corner.

From the opposite of the stuffy corridor came four figures, who stopped like he did. Between the two parties, on the right side, was room number 17. Topsy's room.

Percy raised his hands. "Wait!" He saw hesitance, although all four had drawn their wands. "Let's all put those down, okay?" He slowly lowered his own, hoping they'd follow suit. "Nobody'll get hurt and we can talk this out like civilized people." He made a small signal to Nerissa, hoping she would also lay down her wand like he was about to do, although he was pretty sure she wouldn't. "Now we're here just to talk with an acquaintance of ours. After that we'll-"

"So she is their informant!" Percy realized his mistake. "Get them and kill her!" A woman's voice roared. Magic sparked like fireworks through the hallway as all four of them unleashed destructive curses. He could hardly distinguish them, let alone conjure a shield in time. Fortunately, he was as fast as lightning with apparating. One moment he stood beside Nerissa, and in the next, he tackled the two dark wizards that stood in the back. Glass shattered and wood splintered where he had previously stood, the door and cheap-looking chandelier taking the hits meant for him.

The struggle on the ground didn't last as long as he had hoped. One of the two he had taken with him to the ground grabbed his shoulder with a strong, hairy arm, and hurled him further back in the corridor. Percy fired a poorly aimed stunning spell as he was thrown away, but the other wizard conjured a shield do deflect it.

He crashed into a small trophy cabinet, at the end of the corridor, and felt a dull pain in his back. He wanted nothing more than a moment to recover from that brief flight, as well as the dizziness that his apparating tackle had given him. Not that he'd get one.

Percy ducked to the side just in time to see lightning flash over his head. A silver cup above him shattered into a thousand pieces. "Nerissa! Don't let them get to the door!" He shouted - hoping she understood what was on the line here. Then, he tapped with his wand against the wall and whispered three words that made it seem as if the corridor curved. The curvature increased until Nerissa lost sight of him and the two dark wizards that he had previously tackled.

It was a simplified form of the Fidelius charm, crossed with a concealment spell. It was among one of the finer creations of the great alchemist Paracelsus, whose work Percy knew by heart. It distorted closed spaces with only two exits, tying them together so there was no way of escape. Of course here, that meant his two assailants would only have to turn around to face him from another angle.

Yet Percy was faster. He conjured a shield to stave off the next barrage of hexes and curses, then pointed his wand to his left. "Stupefy!" a white flash shot down the hallway, only to come up behind the wizards and hit the one on the left square in the chest. He stumbled forward and fell, but still moved.

Percy cursed under his breath as he scrambled up. "Of course. Of course they're not human!"

Nerissa watched the unfolding chaos with a twisted grin of sadistic delight, her dark eyes twinkled with a malicious glee that sent shivers down the spines of those around her. As Percy attempted to defuse the situation, her voice became almost hissing as she held her wand raised at the four figures.

"What are you doing? Kill them!" she screeched, her words dripping with venom as she gestured emphatically with her wand, her gaze locked onto Percy with an intensity that brooked no argument as multicoloured sparks exploded in the hallway. The two remaining, that Percy hadn't taken on, became more than busy with the dark witch, as she kept them from helping their comrades in battle.

With a frighteningly fast reaction, she flicked her wand with absolute precision, unleashing a barrage of hexes and charms, her movements fluid and precise as she danced amidst the chaos with a manic energy that was both exhilarating and terrifying to behold. Each spell was imbued with a dark laughing crackle, a testament to the sadistic joy she took in the heat of battle.

Nerissa's movement was so incredibly fluid, like water but with an intensity like fire. Her long, jet-black hair whipped around her as she twisted and turned, her form a blur of dark magic and lethal precision. It was as if she were a force of nature unleashed upon the unsuspecting foes, her primal instincts driving her forward with an unstoppable ferocity.

With each spell she cast, the air crackled with dark energy, the very atmosphere around her pulsating with her malevolent power. It was a sight to behold, a dark symphony of chaos and destruction orchestrated by the hand of a masterful witch who revelled in the chaos that had unfolded before her.

And as Percy's desperate plea echoed in her ears, urging her to hold the line against their relentless adversaries, Nerissa's lips curled into a savage grin, her eyes blazing with a whirlwind of a void that would swallow up the light.

With a flick of her wand, she disarmed one of the two she fought and was about to turn her attention to the second, but as Percy crashed into a small trophy cabinet, on the other side of the hallway, Nerissa's focus briefly shifted to the Frenchmen. Their Unbreakable Vow made his survival, her survival as much as she hated that. Seeing Percy thrown harshly into the cabinet, was enough to briefly distract the dark witch. Enough so, that the second opponent took a chance and went for the door to Topsy only to witness a green flash illuminating the entire hallway and Nerissa's face.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Slamming into the door with his shoulder, the killing curse struck true as the now limbless body crashed into the room where Topsy was. The door's hinges had buckled from the weight and partially came loose while the body of a dead man slammed like a ragdoll on the floor.

In a snarl, the one that had been disarmed held his wand again and returned his own killing curse at the dark witch in a fit of rage. "You will pay for that!" he screamed, only to watch Nerissa with a lightning-fast reaction pull a crescent hallway table between her and the killing curse, shattering the table. The only thing he heard was the high-pitched crackling laughter from the dark-haired woman.

Nerissa's grin twisted into a sneer, her dark eyes flashing with manic hatred as her last opponent dared to use the killing curse on her, his Better in every way of the sense. "Tell me where my brother is!" she spat, venom dripping from each syllable like acid. "My brother wouldn't waste his time with mere pawns for this. Where did you meet him?"

Her voice crackled with an unsettling blend of hatred and twisted pride, a testament to the complex web of emotions that bound her to her treacherous sibling. "How pathetic, did my dear brother really think you were enough to kill me. ME?!" she continued, her tone laced with bitter resentment. "Let me guess, you were happy to spill your blood if it meant earning his favour."

With a flick of her wand, she unleashed another curse at the downed but still moving man. Her movements were fueled by a potent mixture of fury and determination. "But he underestimates me," she hissed. "I may be trapped in this wretched bond, but I will not be defeated so easily. Not by him. And not by his fucking lapdogs!" Nerissa's high-pitched manic voice pierced the air, her wild eyes ablaze with fury as she screeched a curse:

"CRUCIO!"

In the temporary respite provided by Percy's charm, the corridor echoed with the agonized cries of the helpless man, whose only recourse was to writhe in torment. Nerissa's hatred burned brighter than ever, a consuming fire that fueled her every action in pursuit of her brother.

Her piercing dark eyes had turned almost black as she walked with fastened steps over to where the man was lying and kicked the man's wand away. She kneeled in a flash, grabbing the man harshly, and digging her nails into his cheeks as she dropped her curse over the man.

"Does my dear brother think, this was enough to kill me, HUH?!" She screeched, not even giving the man a chance to respond. "CRUCIO!" She screamed again, letting go of the man's face with her hand, just to watch the little lapdog's pained screams silence her own deafening voices clawing inside her mind.

"WHERE IS MY BROTHER HIDING, YOU FILTH!"