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Witch burnings were inevitable. People feared what they didn’t understand - especially when what they didn’t understand was powerful. Agatha Harkness had seen more than a few witch burnings in her time. Usually, they didn’t actually involve a witch. Most witches were strong enough to avoid a fiery death.
But Agatha had been drawn to this particular witch burning, because she could feel the power rolling off of the redheaded woman who was tied to the stake. Her power was intoxicating, stronger than anything Agatha had ever seen. And yet this woman took no steps to stop her own death. She simply stood silently, watching the villagers with distaste, waiting for the flames to rise from the not yet ignited wood below her.
“Wanda - do you deny that you are a witch?” asked the man leading the villagers, sneering.
“I deny nothing - but I’d like to ask you to get this over with. I’m ready,” replied Wanda. At the edge of the crowd, Agatha Harkness furrowed her brow. She blended in with the crowd, more or less, carrying a pitchfork and wearing the clothes of a peasant woman.
“She does not deny it!” shouted the man. “For the crime of unholy necromancy, I sentence you to burn, witch!” Now this was interesting. Agatha didn’t often come across anyone who was skilled in the necromantic arts. It was extraordinarily difficult magic. More often than not, such things went very wrong. The mob’s leader took his torch, and set the kindling and wood beneath Wanda alight.
The flames spread slowly, as the crowd cheered. Wanda closed her eyes, waiting for it all to end. Agatha was perplexed. There was no way this witch didn’t have enough power to put out the flames. Hell - Wanda had enough power to put out the flames and kill every single member of the mob. Maybe even to kill Agatha. Clearly, Wanda wanted to die.
The flames were licking at Wanda’s feet when Agatha made a choice. Wanda was interesting. Wanda was powerful. Wanda ought to stick around - at least long enough for Agatha to leech away some of her magic.
With a snap of her fingers, Agatha was no longer clothed as a peasant, but in a long purple dress. She tossed her pitchfork to the side with a clang and ascended into the sky, flying above the mob.
“Much like the poor dear being burned at the stake, I am a witch. Unlike Wanda, I won’t hesitate to kill you all. I’d recommend that you leave this place immediately,” said Agatha, her dress rippling in the wind. Pandemonium set in. The villagers began running every which way, except for the leader of the mob, who stayed put.
With a gesture of her fingers, Agatha put out the flames at Wanda’s feet. Then, she flew to the leader of the mob’s side.
“I’m not afraid of you, witch. I have the power of God on my side,” said the mob’s leader. He was shaking, but he stood his ground.
“God isn’t here right now, is he?” taunted Agatha. With a wiggle of her fingers, the man was flying backward. When he hit the ground, he didn’t get up. Satisfied, Agatha turned to Wanda, who was watching her with wary eyes. The brunette witch walked over to the stake.
“I didn’t ask for someone to save me,” said Wanda. Agatha chuckled.
“And yet I just did - though you don’t sound particularly grateful. I’m Agatha Harkness, dear. Lovely to meet you,” replied Agatha. Wanda moved her hands, and then the ropes that bound her to the stake disappeared. “You really ought to have done that a good while ago,”
“I have no interest in living,” said Wanda, her voice monotone. Agatha sighed.
“There’s a difference between wanting to die and allowing yourself to be burnt at the stake, dear. That’s just masochism,” admonished Agatha. Then, Wanda, who had remained stoic through the entire ordeal, began to cry. Something about the woman pulled at Agatha Harkness’ rusty heart strings. To her own surprise, Agatha found herself wrapping Wanda in a hug. The hug initially caused Wanda to sob harder, but after a good minute, she regained control over herself, and then pushed Agatha away gently.
“Do you often go around saving women from being burnt at the stake?” Wanda asked, half joking.
“I don’t make a habit of it, but I’ll admit this is not the first time,” replied Agatha. “As much fun as all this crying is, we should leave this place before the mob gets some courage and comes back.” Wanda nodded at this, and then frowned.
“I don’t have anywhere left to go,” she said, crossing her arms.
“I thought this was obvious - you’re coming with me,” said Agatha. She took Wanda’s hand, and they both flew into the sky. Down on the ground, the man who had lead the mob slowly sat up and moaned.
Agatha had to admit, Wanda’s hair looked fantastic flowing in the wind. As they flew over the town, one of the villagers below threw a rock in their direction. It got surprisingly close, but didn’t hit.
“That peasant must have a fantastic throwing arm,” remarked Agatha. She considered sending a nasty little curse his way, but thought better of it. The throw HAD been impressive, after all. Wanda let out a little half-sob half-giggle, and then smiled weakly. It was the first time Agatha had ever seen Wanda smile. The woman had a damn good face.
Eventually, Agatha and Wanda touched down at a secluded little cabin in the woods. Agatha marched up the steps and held the door open for Wanda.
“I have a room for you. I’m sure you could use some rest,” said Agatha. Wanda walked through the door to the wooden cottage, and then turned back to look at Agatha.
“You didn’t have to do any of this,” said Wanda.
“And yet I have. Isn’t that nice of me?” replied Agatha as she stepped through the door. She was rewarded with another weak smile from the redheaded witch.
“I guess what I’m wondering is why you’d do something like that?” said Wanda.
“You are the most interesting person I’ve met in a good long while. I want to see what happens next,” said Agatha, who realized abruptly that though she’d planned for those words to be a lie, they were absolutely truthful. Perhaps not the whole truth, but truth nonetheless. Agatha took Wanda’s arm and led her to the spare room. It was sparsely furnished, and looked like it hadn’t been used in years. But there was a comfortable bed, and a little table next to it. Agatha let go of Wanda’s arm and sat down on the bed, patting the space next to her. Wanda sat down next to her after a moment.
“You must tell me dear - what use does a woman like you have for necromancy?,” asked Agatha. Wanda closed her eyes and sighed, then looked at Agatha.
“I know I told that angry horde I was a witch - but I’m not sure if that’s true. I don’t THINK I cast spells. No one ever taught me magic,” said Wanda. Now this - this was interesting. This woman could be the Scarlet Witch.
“And where does necromancy come into play here?,” said Agatha.
“I have - I had a twin. My favorite person in the world. Always there when I needed him,” explained Wanda. “This power - it’s new to me. He fell ill, and there was nothing anyone could do for him. The village buried him. I went to his grave to cry, and something happened. I had some sort of magic I had never had before. And then my brother, covered in dirt, rose from the ground.” Agatha put a hand on Wanda’s shoulder. There were some people in this predicament who Agatha would have laughed at, but she was quickly finding that Wanda was not a person she wanted to see sad. Even if she was planning on stealing her power. She could do it nicely for once, couldn’t she? Wanda didn’t even seem to want it.
“And when the village found out, they accused you of witchcraft,” Agatha guessed.
“They chopped him into pieces,” Wanda said, her voice was monotone once more. “Even if I knew how to use my power, I don’t think I could fix that.” Tears began welling in Wanda’s eyes again. Agatha drew her into a tight hug. Taking Wanda’s power would be easier if she could do it peacefully, if Wanda was simply fond enough to give it away. And that was absolutely the only reason she was comforting the woman. Right?
Wanda broke away from the hug after a good minute.
“Why are you so kind to me?,” Wanda asked. “I’ve never heard of a good witch.” Something inside Agatha tore at the redhead's words. She was not at all a good witch. But maybe just this one victim might also be her friend.
“I promise you - most everything you’ve ever heard about witches is wrong. Well, I do have an excellent cackle, but otherwise… I don’t ride a broomstick, I don’t have a cat, and I only terrorize villages on special occasions,” said Agatha. She was being misleading, but it wasn’t entirely a lie. Mostly, Agatha caused trouble for other witches. Townsfolk were beneath her.
“You’re Agatha Harkness, my witchy guardian angel,” said Wanda with a laugh. It was the first time Agatha had seen something close to joy on Wanda’s face. She quite liked it.
“Something like that,” replied Agatha. She knew then and there that she had gotten attached. Perhaps she’d wait a little while before draining this one dry.