Written for 1st Round of Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 8, as Chaser 3 of the Holyhead Harpies

Name of Round: Who Are You?

Task: The Explorer - Fear: Entrapment

Optional Prompts

3. (word) glitter

10. (object) love letter

12. (word) blaze

Title: The Mugglefinder

Word Count: 2996 (LibreOffice)

Warnings: Threat of death, Violence, Prejudice

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Harry Potter.

~End of Author's Notes~

It was a lovely morning in Manningtree. The sun embraced the soil, the sky shone clear and blue, and all was well with the world. The town square was filled to the brim with farmers who'd finished their work early, bakers whose fresh bread seemed to permeate the air, and housewives, children, and priests, chattering in corners or to gaggles of the gathered peasantry.

It might as well have been empty for Tate, as she was marched through her neighbors with unshod feet and a tattered shift wrapped around her brawny body. Her blue eyes had turned red raw, her vision blurry, but she didn't so much as glance at the townsfolk as she was led up to the stake. She didn't even look up when her hands were bound behind her back.

She'd died the night before. She'd mourned until her shift was stained with tears. This part was just a formality.

It was old Ackley who lit the torch. A good man, she'd thought. He treated his wife well, raised his kids proper, never had a bad word to say. A spark of hope raised in Tate's heart as she heard his loping gait approach the pyre, but she forced it down, deep down. Dead women didn't have hope. And the man in black had killed her with just a few words, a set of needles, and God's own blessing.

Maybe she was lucky. Not everyone got to be killed by a man of God. But that bitter jibe did her no good as the fire crackled and the torch was lowered and a pulse of heat hit her leg. Her neighbors were talking, the Witchfinder condemning, the children chattering, but it was just background noise to the sound of her pyre catching light.

The heat washed against the soles of her feet. Tongues of fire crawled up her legs. Her breath was being stolen. Her skin was curdling. Her raw eyes stung. The blaze was going to consume Tate Hunter, her memories, her friendships, her little cabin on the edge of the woods, all of it would be taken. A dry sob escaped Tate's lips, followed by a croak of pain, and then...

It stopped.

She could see the lashing flames. She could feel them trying to eat her flesh. She could see herself burning in the eyes of her neighbors, but it wasn't what she felt. There was only one answer: God had saved her. He knew she was not wicked, had not lain with the devil, not eaten her kin, and He was saving her.

There was a sound like a branch being snapped and Tate felt arms wrap around her, a body pressed against hers.

"They will not take you," a woman's voice promised. Then Tate felt a hook in her gut, her entire body being yanked, and it was all gone. The building, the townsfolk, the church, the pyre, and she was standing in the forest with bare earth beneath her feet and a stranger holding onto her. "You're safe," the woman promised, as she leaned back to reveal a freckled face with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. "You're safe!" she said again and laughed with one set of shaking fingers still seizing Tate's shoulder.

In the other was a wooden instrument, about a foot long with a handle at the base.

Tate's eyes went wide and she wrenched her body against the stranger, who stumbled back a step before catching herself.

"You're a witch!" Tate declared as she tugged at her restraints, but they were tied too tightly to do anything. She threw her head this way and that, but fresh nausea seized her and forced her to crumble against the nearest tree.

There was a flash of something in the stranger's eyes, followed by a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"That's true, but I did just save your life. I think that warrants a little trust, don't you?" The witch asked as she strolled up to Tate's side.

Tate pulled herself away from the woman, but her scorched heel met a rock and her rear-end met the dirt.

"Get away from me!" Tate put as much bile into it as she could, but her mind was reeling.

"Listen to me," the stranger said. "I'm not going to harm you, I swear by...anything you like. I want only to cut off your bonds, so you won't take another nasty trip. Is that alright?"

Tate swallowed a whimper as the stranger knelt beside her and sawed her bonds in half. Her instincts told her to lash out, to make her escape, but her father's words echoed in her head: Impatience never filled anyone's belly. So she pursed her lips and laid still as the stranger cut her loose with a knife. She did the same when a helping hand was extended.

"Come on. This isn't even my witching hand." The stranger wiggled her fingers.

Tate used the tree to pull herself up, but her wrists ached and her feet stung and her stomach still churned.

"Alright...okay." The stranger shrugged. "My name is Tawnie. It's a pleasure to meet you…?"

"Tate. Tate Hunter."

"Well, Tate, I am...completely sure of what to do next." Tawnie nodded. "We'll head to London. I've heard there's a safe place there for would-be victims of the Witchfinders, even Muggles like yourself. What say you we set off now?"

Tate stared at Tawnie, from her pristine traveling cloak to her soft hands and her unblemished skin. This was a woman who'd never worked a day in her life, like that wasn't obvious from how the witch talked.

"Why are you..? Oh, of course. You can't be expected to march across the country like that. Just a moment.." Tawnie reached into her cloak for a few seconds and retrieved a pair of boots, as well as a cloak, which she held out to Tate with another forced smile "They might not fit, but a spot of magic ought to fix that. I'm afraid I can't do anything about your burns; my sister was the healer of the family."

"This is your fault," Tate muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"This is your fault!" Tate yelled and gestured at herself, at the singed shift and her burned feet. "You! Witches! I wouldn't be up on that stake if it wasn't for you!"

"But I helped you."

"And got me burned! I was happy, dammit! I had my cabin and my bow and coin to get by and then the Witchfinder turns up and takes me out of my house! Because I have rabbit skins and blood on my tables which I gotta have to do my job! And you...bastards, you just can't be happy with what you got and you lay with Satan and you use your hexes on innocent folks and they tried to kill me!"

"I've never—"

"They were gonna burn me!" Tate yelled again, but it came out as a sob. "They were..." Her neighbors. Her friends. "Oh, God..." If she had any water in her, she was sure she was going to cry again. She'd been set to die when she woke up, but all that had changed, and she had to face it again, and the source of it was standing right in front of her. "They'll...they'll do it again...they're going to find me again and kill me again...and burn me again..." She could almost feel the blaze anew, could feel the heat seeping into her pores.

"I won't let that happen," Tawnie raised her hand and let it fall. "I swear. Nobody is ever going to feel that way again. Not on my watch."

Tate could almost believe it.

"What's it matter what you think?" Tate muttered. "You're a witch. I'm with you. That's as good as a witch for burning whether I'm one or not, and I'm not."

"I...you raise a good point," Tawnie conceded. "But you're going to be better off with me than without. I won't let anyone hurt you, and I won't hurt you, and I will make sure we can get to London safely." She paused and put on another smile. "I won't even try to convince you to lay with Satan."

Tate spit at the ground.

"Wouldn't have no more chance than Hollis did, and I'd do worse than knock him in the bollocks."

"Spoken like a true woman of God." Tawnie's stance lost its stiffness as she gestured into the forest. "Come along then, Tate Hunter. We have a decent head-start and we should be able to make camp before night falls. You could show me your hunting skills for dinnertime if you like."

"Can't hunt without a trap or a bow, witch..." Tate grumbled as she pulled on the boots and cloak.

Tawnie didn't reply, just led the other woman through the forest. At least she was true to her word about making camp. There were a few attempts at conversation on the way, but Tate paid them no heed; her head was too filled with worry, uncertainty. She did not know this woman, this witch, where she was going or what she was going to do. As the sun slipped down the horizon, they crossed into another forest and found a small clearing, where Tawnie retrieved a bedroll from her pack...and duplicated it with a wave of her wand.

"It's safe, I promise," Tawnie said as she sat on the conjured bedroll. "Just an ordinary bedroll twice. You can take the real one."

Tate sat warily on the padded cloth. It was as comfortable as any bed she'd ever had.

"Shall I set up a fire?" Tawnie asked. "It—"

"No!" Tate shook her head. "No. No fire. Not today."

Tawnie nodded slowly. They sat in silence as the witch took off her pack and retrieved some food. It was only jerky and bread, but Tate's stomach growled so much that she didn't consider whether it might be ensorcelled. She scoffed it as soon as it touched her hands and laid down to watch the stars that glittered overhead.

"I'm surprised you're not sleeping," Tawnie commented as she crawled into her bedroll. "Walking all day tends to exhaust me, and I imagine I do more of it than most people."

"A fancy lass like you?" Tate muttered venomously.

"Fancy?"

"Your clothes. How you talk. Fancy. Never trusted fancy folk."

"What's wrong with being fancy?" Tawnie asked.

"All of it."

"Elucidating."

"What?" Tate glared at the other side of the clearing, where starlight illuminated the witch.

"It means...never mind, that's not important. I'm not particularly fancy. Magic keeps my clothes clean and in good shape, and I received a free education at Hogwarts. Oh, I'd love to be fancy. I wanted to be a Cursebreaker, go on adventures, that sort of thing, but do you know what they made me? A goblin debt collector. That means walking all over the country to collect valuables worth more than I'll make in my life, and get paid in coppers by bankers that could bathe in gold for the next hundred years without using the same coins twice."

Tate regarded Tawnie, then shrugged and looked back at the stars.

"Don't wanna be fancy anyway. They're all bastards. Can't hunt here, can't hunt there. That's the Lord's goose, like he birthed it hisself. But you've gotta fight if he says so, pay taxes if he says so. Everything's his, your food, your coin, your dad..." Tate clenched her fist until her nails dug into her palm. "Not the stars, though." She exhaled. "Can't take the stars. They're the same for all of us. God's gift, that."

"That's a lovely way to think about it."

They fell silent. Tawnie drifted into sleep, but no matter how tightly Tate closed her eyes, she couldn't sleep. She just dreamed of the fire. Of the Witchfinder's shackles. Of people knowing she was traveling beside a witch. They were going to get her again, or Tawnie might. Might be leading her to a human sacrifice, or to be eaten, or anything. She glanced over at the witch, who seemed peacefully asleep in her bedroll, with her pack beside her…

The trick to hunting was patience, planning, and opportunism.

Tate slipped out of her bedroll and crept as if she were approaching a deer, wincing as the pain of walking and burning shot through her feet. The witch slept as peacefully as any babe she'd ever seen, but they said witches take fair guises. But then, they said the same of her. She shook out the contradicting thoughts and grabbed the pack, opened it up and searched it for Tawnie's treachery.

There were rations, a couple spare items of clothing, a small pouch of coin, a dagger, and a letter. She nabbed the dagger first; she'd never killed a person, but at least she knew which end was which. Then she picked up the letter. It could contain anything. It could have instructions on capturing her. She didn't know how to read, but maybe it had a picture...or she could make Tawnie read it to her. She used the tip of the dagger to open the wax seal.

The letter floated out of her grip and formed a mouth.

"Ada," said a young man's voice, "I hope hearing my voice will bring you a little happiness. I miss you dearly; I have every day since you left on that wonderful mission. I'm sure the mothers will be thankful for your healing, even at the hands of a witch. Your kindness, your compassion, is the only thing that gives me hope in these dark days. Please stay safe, avoid anyone in black, and don't let the Muggles see you. I love you.

Yours, Edric.

P.S. I sent this with your sister, given the Witchfinders have a lookout for owls. Please tell me she wasn't in the room when you opened this."

Tate stared as the letter fell to the floor. Then she stumbled back, as she saw Tawnie looking right at her, tears glittering with reflected starlight.

"That wasn't for you..." Tawnie whispered.

Tate swallowed. She knew that. But she couldn't back down.

"Y-You said your name was Tawnie!" Tate held the dagger out at arm's length. "What was that? Why did you lie?"

Tawnie wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked at the sky.

"It was a letter for my little sister. From her fiance. The fool should have sent a normal letter if he was so concerned..." There was a frown on Tawnie's face for the first time since Tate met her.

"Where's she, then? There's no Edrea in Manningtree, I know that. And we're not on the way to London, so why aren't you going to her?"

"She's dead," Tawnie croaked. "Two days ago. I got there too late. Perhaps if I could Apparate properly, perhaps if I wasn't a worthless witch, I could've gotten there before it happened. But I am, and she is, and..." She inhaled. "It's pointless to explain. If you've lost someone, then you know what it feels like, and if you haven't—"

"I have," Tate whispered.

Tawnie nodded.

"I...buried her. And I thought long and hard. Ada was wonderful, like Edric said. She helped those...Muggles, even knowing what they were like. Even though she wasn't any good at anything but healing, so she couldn't...get away. And I cried. And I thought. And I realized what she would do if she were me. She would help. And she would stop it from happening to anyone else. So I walked to the nearest town and...there you were. Muggle or not, you did not deserve to burn. So I saved you, and I'm doing my best to make certain you stay that way. I'm sorry that I don't know how to make you comfortable, and that I don't have a plan, but I am trying—"

The sound of a bell.

"My alarm!" Tawnie scrambled to her feet.

"Excellent work, boy! Get!" came a male voice from closer than the alarm, followed by barking and sprinting paws.

"Witchfinders," Tawnie said as Tate clutched the dagger tight. "Tate, run. Run as far as you can, go to London, look for the Leaky Cauldron, tell the barkeep what happened." She retrieved her wand and flicked it, rendering Tate's body invisible. "They won't be able to see you, not even the dog. Go. And be safe." She turned away from Tate just in time to hear a whooshing. She screamed as a bolt embedded itself in her shoulder.

Tate stumbled back as a mastiff darted in, its slavering fangs making a beeline for Tawnie's legs, but it was stopped at the last moment by some incantation, a flash of white light, and fell asleep to a skidding halt. Two figures clad in black emerged from the other side of the clearing, one rearming his crossbow, the other with a club in his hand.

"Got you," the Witchfinder said, as he ran forward and went to strike Tawnie across the head. She winced through the pain, but brought her wand up just in time. The club spiraled out of his hands and cracked him on the head. Another bolt shot out then, embedded into Tawnie's wand arm, and she squealed as she collapsed.

"Now then," said the remaining Witchfinder as he marched up. Tate recognized him. "You don't match the witch we're looking for, but a witch is a witch."

A wound opened in the Witchfinder's neck. He wheezed for breath, clawed at the wound, and fell.

Tate released the dagger embedded in his neck, her hands shaking and the disillusionment charm fading.

They sat together amid the bodies, removed the bolts embedded in Tawnie and bound them with the Witchfinder's supplies. They watched the stars together until Tate spoke.

"Thanks for saving me."

"The same to you." Tawnie smiled.

"To London?" Tate glanced at her traveling companion.

"To London."