A/N: This idea has been floating around in my head for a while (refers to a character from PoA). I've always been intrigued by the what-if interactions between the Wizarding and Muggle worlds. I'm always looking to improve, so if you can, leave a helpful comment. Thanks!
Disclaimer: The following is a piece of fanfiction. No money is made off this. There is no copyright infringement intended; characters and ideas belong to J. K. Rowling.
Number 26
Somewhere in Europe, sometime during the 14th century
It was the blackest watch of the night. A cloud crawled sluggishly across the moon. Under this cover of darkness, two figures rose from their hiding place in a derelict shed. They moved in a curious and entirely conspicuous manner, running in zigzags from shadow to shadow, and startling a couple of half-asleep horses.
Finally they ended up, panting, at the side of the parish church. The taller one poked her head around the corner while the shorter one flattened himself against the stone wall.
"All clear," the taller one declared.
"Guard?" the shorter man questioned.
"Too much beer," the other replied succinctly. The man nodded. Together they stepped around the corner and carefully over the snoring peasant's feet. A soft incantation later, the church door swung open with a click. Looking like every inch of the criminals they probably were, the two sneaked inside.
They found what they were looking for within moments. In a tiny, hastily converted cell near the back of the building, a prisoner slept.
Creeping closer, the woman wedged her face between the bars on the cell door. "Hey, you," she whispered. "Wake up!"
The prisoner stirred and mumbled, but didn't wake. A tiny pebble connected with forehead with a small smack. The prisoner woke with a frightened yelp.
Something hard hit her in the head. Alice woke from her nightmares with a cry.
"Whoa, keep it down," a voice whispered. Alice thought she was still dreaming. But this was a real voice, from the outside. Suddenly she could feel a ghost of a wind brush against her cheek. She dared to open her eyes.
There was a woman standing outside her cell, and the door was open. Was this some kind of trick?
"Hello, Alice," the stranger greeted, then added, "it's safe, Tomas." As Alice watched, stunned, a shadow detached itself from the wall. The shadow belonged to a shorter, portly man, who walked over and gave her a rather embarrassed wave.
The woman leaned over and tugged Alice to her feet. Alice's head swam as she stood. None of this was making sense!
There was a sharp prick on her scalp, and she clapped a hand to her hair. It felt like someone had pulled a lock of her hair out by the roots. "Ouch!" Alice cried. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the woman tuck something into a pocket.
Then the strange woman made a most surprising pronouncement. "The court has decided that you're not a witch after all," she announced. Tomas swept the door wide open with an awkward bow. The woman continued, "You're free to go, Alice, sorry for all the trouble. And the torture. You can leave now."
"What?" Alice finally shouted. "No, this is a trick. I won't fall for it, I'm not a heretic!"
Both strangers made noisy shushing noises and flapped their hands at their mouths. Alice snapped her lips shut. Tomas took advantage of her momentary confusion to take her arm and drag her through the doorway. Alice remembered that the door had been locked by her jailer– she'd heard the click.
"We never said you were a heretic. God has, er, blessed us with enlightenment. You're free to go. Just leave this village and never return," the woman said, strolling past her into the cell as if she was out for a walk in the woods. "Ah, you see, Tomas? This place isn't so bad. The last place had rats the size of tomcats, remember that?"
The man spoke for the first time then, saying, "They were more like squirrels."
"Rabid squirrels, dear. Positively foaming."
Alice stared. If this was a trick to frame her for witchcraft, then it was a very poor one. The woman sat down on the cold dirt floor and rearranged her skirts, with an air of making herself quite at home. She glanced up and met Alice's eyes, then looked away.
"What are you still doing here?" she asked impatiently. "Go! Shoo!"
All at once Alice knew what was going to happen. "You're not coming out," she ventured. "You're staying here."
The woman shrugged.
Alice's feet felt heavy. "But they'll know you're not me," she said.
"Will they?"
"Yes! And you'll die!" Alice protested.
"No, not really. You should be going now," her saviour hissed, gesturing at the night.
"Wait! Please," Alice said, tugging away from Tomas' grip. She didn't know how or why, but she was not going to the fire at dawn. She would live, and all because of this stranger. "I just – wait, don't go," she begged, when the woman turned her head away.
"By all means, wait 'til cock crow and you can join me," her rescuer said tartly, reaching inside her sleeve. In her hand she held a curious thin piece of wood. Alice's breath caught.
"I don't even – you're not my – why are you doing this?"
Tomas sighed, tapping his foot. The woman peered at her, the brief moonlight illuminating her plain narrow face. Alice thought she had never seen anybody so beautiful.
"Please," Alice said again. "Who are you?"
The woman's crooked teeth flashed white in the meagre light as she smiled. "I am called Wendelin," she said, and her eyes were very kind. She raised her arm.
"Obliviate."
It was the blackest watch of the night, and windy too. Witches flew abroad on these nights.
Two figures with padded feet made their way out of the village proper. One of them cleared his throat.
"The Polyjuice worked all right?"
"It was fine," she reassured him. "It wore off, of course, but by then I'd soot all over my face and nobody could tell the difference anyway, through the smoke."
"Good show," he said. "I caught the tail-end of it after sending Alice away. Very hair-raising shrieks."
"I do try," she said wryly.
The pair tramped on. They reached the outlying fields and headed into the nearby forest. Tomas turned around every once in a while to hide their tracks with a practiced "Oblittero".
"Alice doesn't recall a thing," he said, trying to read her face in the dark. "She's decided to go live with her brother and his family, far, far away."
"Oh, good," she said.
He waited for her to say more but she didn't. "Well?" he demanded, after a few more moments of silence.
"Well, what?" she replied. "Ugh, look at this – ash all over my nice boots. And the smell of smoke is always so hard to get out of my hair afterward."
He sighed and handed her a handkerchief. "Why do you do this?"
Wendelin paused.
Then she shrugged a bony shoulder. "I like the way the fire tickles," she said with an air of finality, and that was that.