Salem
Prologue
The hooded group of four adults prowled through the forest, each glaring intently into the deepness of the darkening forest, listening for unusual sounds.
The self-proclaimed leader hustled the group back together. "She's not here." He stated, sweeping his torch back across the dense forest. He turned back to his companions. "It doesn't matter, we have the old man. Better than nothing."
With his proclamation, they retreated back into the deeper part of the forest, where the trees came closer together and a small clearing could be found in the midst of it. They approached the towering hastily erected pillar in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by uneven and splintering chunks of wood. The wind blew in from the west, and the leaves rattled ominously against dry branches. A woman shivered, but laughed it off, the nervous sound carrying into the ascending night, and into the ears of a waif of a girl who had plastered herself to the body of a tree, surrounded by the cover of thick branches. The laugh incited terror to leak into her bones and her small heart to patter loudly in her chest. She tried to breath slowly, to stop the tears and sobs that filled her small body from coming out. It was important that she kept quiet. That's what her pappy had whispered to her before tucking her into the tree for safe keeping.
He hadn't known that the hooded people would set up camp only several feet from where his granddaughter now hid, silently observing. Nor did he anticipate their intentions with him.
West of where the little girl hid, more hooded figures emerged, dragging a limp man through the mud and into the clearing. The girl gasped, the sound no more than a whisper in the playful wind, as she recognised the beaten form of her pappy being tied onto the tall and imposing pillar.
He didn't fight it, yet took it stubbornly, chin held high as if he were the victorious one. He refused to look in the direction of his granddaughter. "May God have mercy on your souls." He called out to the small group of hooded offenders. He closed his eyes against the glare of the rising moon.
A husky laugh sounded, and a few others joined in. The owner of the husky laugh spoke, humour in his voice. "I think it's your soul you should worry about, witch."
He spit at the feet of the man and smiled in a way that indicated they may have been sharing a polite joke. Still smiling, the man nodded to a hooded woman holding a canister. She prowled forward, chucking the foul potent smelling liquid onto the wood surrounding the man and onto his clothing.
The smell wafted up and the little girl caught a whiff of the tangy liquid. It smelt like polluted air, or like the petrol stations that the she would walk past with her family at times. She shivered and burrowed herself more against the tree, scraping the skin of her cheek as she wished to disappear.
The empty canister was cast to the ground unceremoniously. There was a moment of silent uncertainty between the group of how to next proceed. However, the leader of the band of hooded figures stepped forward, hands in pockets and poised to deliver what he considered an epic speech.
"You witches have hidden the truth of your existence for too long, silently causing pain and misery among us humans." He delivered in a voice of low fury, emotion leaking into his speech. "My great-grandfather's brother was murdered by a witch, because he saw one practicing magic. My sister was killed as a casualty of a witch's war, as was many other of our friends and family. You all take without consequence. But not now." He withdrew one of his hands from his pocket and withdrew a lighter. His gaze returned to the old man. "It's time you all pay for your crimes. Time you all burn."
The lighter was held out and handed to one of the other hooded figures, who took it proudly, face set in a mask of madness. In the tree, the girl listened with bone-shaking terror. Her brothers had teased her about their people being burnt in the past, that she could be burnt one day too, yet she didn't think it would happen at all.
Her breath quickened and she couldn't hold back the tears anymore. However, she knew that if she made a sound, they could find her.
With a wicked smile, the man touched the flickering flame the soaked wood, igniting and rapidly spreading. As they licked at the ankles of the old man, the hooded figures began to cheer and whoop with a sinister joy. The little girl was unable to look away in fear and she stared through tearful eyes as the flames climbed higher and higher, engulfing her grandfather. Unable to keep silent for the sake of his granddaughter, the old man let out strangled screams of pain as the flames seared his flesh and ate away at his nerves.
Filled with what they considered a victory, the hooded figures danced around the burning pyre to the macabre music of the screams of the burning man.
When the smoke choked his lungs and snuffed off the man's screams, the hooded figures took this as his death and all congratulated each other on a job well done.
The woman held up her hands for their attention. "Tonight isn't over yet, the little girl is still out here, we should find her before sunrise." Nods of agreement from the hooded figures, then the leader began delegating pair into search parties to prow the woods for the little girl.
After a few minutes, all that remained was the woman and the leader. "We're not going to really burn a child, Jeremy?" The woman asked, a tinge of worry in her eyes. "That's not a line I want to cross."
Jeremy shook his head. "Of course not, love. We're not monsters, not like they are."
"Then what are we going to do when we find her?"
For a moment, Jeremy stayed silent as his watched the pyre burn. He took a breath. "She's young, she could be more helpful alive rather than dead. Aren't your brother and his wife looking to adopt, Amy?"
Amy sneered a little. "I suppose that's a good idea. Fight fire with fire. Not sure what I would tell them though." She pondered over the possibility. "Yet, fighting fire with fire may only make an inferno."
Jeremy let out a hearty laugh. "You are full of good lines." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Come, let's find our little inferno, then."
They wandered into the woods, passing right below where the little girl clung to the tree, oblivious to the conversation that just occurred, ensnared by the flames that danced in front of her eyes. Fear had her petrified to the tree, unable to move or make a sound.
The group of hooded figures searched the woods adamantly for the girl, proving unable to find her by the teasing of sunrise, never thinking to look right under their proverbial noses. They converged together to leave before the sun rose enough to expose them. They left quickly under the cover of darkness, the only evidence of their presence in the clearing, smouldering in the approach of dawn.
Not long after the sun had touched the horizon, the girl was drawn from her petrified state by distant voices. They called out her name.
Broken by the spell of fear, the little girl looked around at her surroundings, finally letting out the cries that had been bottled up inside her.
"Daddy!" She wailed, voice carrying well in the morning wind. She clung to the tree again, cries growing louder as she closed her eyes against the horror before her.
A tirade of crunching footsteps drew closer, first drawing in on the pyre and smouldering body before him, then finally looking upwards towards the terrified girl. He adjusted his glasses and softened his voice.
"It's okay, Willow." He cooed as he raised his wand, readying himself to lower her down. "Let go of the tree and I'll take you to your daddy."
She sniffled and held back her cries in order to glance down at the man below. The was a hint of recognition in her eyes as she shuffled back from the trunk of the tree to perch further down the branch.
"That's it," The man assured her, muttering a spell under his breath and lowering Willow into his awaiting arms. "You're safe now."
Willow wound her arm around the man's neck and burrowed against his throat, muffling her returned cries with his robes. The man turned around so she faced away from the pyre. He stroked her silvery hair to help calm her as he observed the scene before him.
In all his years as an Auror and even before, Harry Potter hadn't seen anything like the scene he observed while holding little Willow in his arms. He hoped he never would again. Yet a small voice sent his mind cold with fear. This was the beginning of something else.
Something dark.