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Non-magic people (more commonly known as muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burnt so much that she allowed herself to be caught no fewer than forty-seven times in various disguises.
A History of Magic, by Adalbert Waffling¹
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Dark black scuff marks marred the smooth grey stone blocks of the stone. Wendelin kept her gaze to the floor as she was lead into a drafty study. She could hear a fire crackling, but even that couldn't drive the chill of anticipation from the air. The guard towering over her to her right cleared his throat, and she looked up in time to catch the glance of a pale man sitting beyond an island of desk and parchment. Wendelin quickly averted her eyes.
"What's this." The words may have been short, but they contained enough spite and disdain that Wendelin almost dissolved into tears. She began to shake uncontrollably, and mentally scolded herself. This man was no better than her, and she had to remember that; she had to stay strong. "You are a witch?" At the startlingly sharp question Wendelin almost lifted her eyes, but knew they would tear at the sight of the knight, and kept them hidden. She realized the guard had explained her story to Sir Eldernin.
"I am a witch, yes. My husband is not, and he does not know that I am." Wendelin was afraid, but she knew her words where true, and she spoke evenly. Despite her growing courage, she kept her eyes hidden. If he saw courage in her eyes, Sir Eldernin would not forgiver her. She had heard sufficient tales of his cruelty to know she could only show meek, feminine emotions around him.
A long, uncomfortable silence settled in the room. Once again, Wendelin felt cold creeping up on her, and was tempted to cast a warming charm on the room. She knew better than to show her magic to these men, however, and didn't even consider it. The quiet made her want to talk, to explain her husband's innocence further, but she knew that more protesting would only lead them to doubt her.
"This Aldwin, he is prominent in the church, is he not? It would not do for both him and his wife to burn at the stake." Sir Eldwin's voice was distant, and Wendelin knew he was contemplating setting her husband free. She felt relief swell in her heart, but quickly admonished herself. There was no point in giving herself false hopes.
The guard must have answered in the affermative while Wendelin was thinking to herslef. "I believe they will - appreciate - a female witch more. Yes, I'm glad this has come up. Unexpected, but beneficial. You, set free the husband." The knight waved his hand at the guard in dismissal. The guard quickly swept out of the room. Wendelin, confused, simply waited with a lowered head.
After a few moments she heard a scratching sound. She was curious, but resisted the urge to raise her head, knowing the consequences could be grave. The scratching continued at a brisk, even pace. Wendelin picked small bits of fluff from the rough material of her dress.
Quite suddenly the scratching sound, which Wendelin had come to realize was a quill, came to a halt. She heard the quill being placed carefully on the hard wooden desk, and the chair creaked as Sir Eldernin rose. She felt him approach her spot in the room, but held her ground, looking firmly at her worn shoes. Despite this resolve, she looked up immediately when she felt a cold hand on her own.
Dark eyes looked into her own with a mixture of fear and reverence. Deep, rasping breaths hung in the air, and Wendelin realized they were not her own. She was not breathing, having forgotten in her fear. Sir Eldernin brought his mouth close to her ear, and she recoiled in disgust as he whispered, "Little witch."
Her flinch seemed only to encourage him, and he smirked at her obvious fear. "You are so afraid, but what do you have to fear? You have magic on your side. The devil is with you. All I have is the truth, the will of God. Why would you fear God, witch, he who you have betrayed. You are filth, scum, he cares not to have you back. You know this, you know where you are headed. You will burn, both in body and spirit, when you return to your evil master." He spoke with hate that made Wendelin tremble, though she knew he was simply ignorant. It was his own fear he was speaking of, and she almost pitied him.
The knight ran a hand up her trembling arm, almost caressing her. "Such a pretty one, you were. It's a shame you were so easily turned to evil." Abruptly he stepped back, leather boots clicking ever so slightly as he walked back to the huge desk. "You must be punished, of course. Simple fire can never drive out evil as pure as yours." With these dispassionate words, Sir Eldernin opened a drawer on the side of the desk and pulled a rod from deep within.
He returned to Wendelin, a cruel glint in his eyes frightening her deeply. She steeled herself, ready to take the pain. 'For Aldwin. I must do this for Aldwin.' She knew she had to burn on the stake, for her husband. The villagers were scared, they needed to find safety somehow. She could handle a tiny bit of pain to save her husband, her lover. She could do this.
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Wendelin stood, quaking, before the entire village. She could still hear the sound of Sir Eldernin's arm drawing back, delivering blow after blow to her body. They had tied her to the pole in a veil of darkness early in the morning. She had not been able to stand unsupported, but Wendelin knew they only did this so that she would be in the cold all day. 'At least,' she thought, 'the fire will warm me.'
Slowly, the villagers had woken. Wendelin had heard children laughing, women cooking for their families, shutters banging open to let air into stuffy, warm homes. She had closed her eyes, tipping her head back and basking in the warmth of memories. Her childhood, her mother's home, learning magic, her husband, her own home. Wendelin almost had the courage to smile.
"There's a witch! A witch to be burnt!" The triumphant voice brought Wendelin out of her reverie. Slowly, the villagers had trickled out of their homes, coming to witness the flames engulfing the Devil's worshipper. Wendelin fought to bring back her memories, but the moment was gone.
Wendelin saw a guard, one she didn't recognize, approach with a burning stick. Now was the time. She deftly reached for her wand. She would live through this, return to her husband. In the dark morning hours she had planned it all. A simple flame-freezing charm, as she had been taught, and then a quick apparation when the dark smoke gathered. After a few weeks, she would transfigure her own form, return to her husband and explain everything to him. She would finally tell him about the magic, as she had planned for so long. It would all be fine, and this would simply be forgotten.
Wendelin felt warmth, and realized she hadn't yet performed the charm. With a quick, hidden wave of her wand, she felt the heat recede as the flames raced towards her feet. Opening her mouth wide, she let out a scream. It didn't sound right, she realized. She wasn't scared enough, there wasn't enough pain.
Wendelin searched the faces watching her with glee, every one of them actually pleased to see her 'pain'. It disgusted her, but she let out a cry nonetheless. Suddenly she noticed a familiar face she hadn't been expecting.
At the far end of the crowd, Aldwin stood in the cheering masses. Screaming for vengeance, with these sickening people. Aldwin. Her husband. Her betrayer.
Wendelin let out a scream, and a swelling wave of joy spread through the audience. There was the pain they had been waiting for. Wendelin only heard one voice, and tears streamed down her face. Aldwin.
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¹ Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, J.K. Rowling, p.7
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Author's Note: As you can see, I am writing more. This will probably be five chapters or so, but I don't want to say it's definite because I can never really tell. Many of you are probably thinking "Why would Wendelin still have her wand?" Seeing as Rowling somehow got her wizards to perform the flame-freezing charm, I'm going to assume they used a concealing charm, or else weren't searched very thoroughly. Please review, as I really could use constructive criticism.
Non-magic people (more commonly known as muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burnt so much that she allowed herself to be caught no fewer than forty-seven times in various disguises.
A History of Magic, by Adalbert Waffling¹
»«»«»«»«»«¤»«»«»«»«»« *** »«»«»«»«»«¤»«»«»«»«»«
Dark black scuff marks marred the smooth grey stone blocks of the stone. Wendelin kept her gaze to the floor as she was lead into a drafty study. She could hear a fire crackling, but even that couldn't drive the chill of anticipation from the air. The guard towering over her to her right cleared his throat, and she looked up in time to catch the glance of a pale man sitting beyond an island of desk and parchment. Wendelin quickly averted her eyes.
"What's this." The words may have been short, but they contained enough spite and disdain that Wendelin almost dissolved into tears. She began to shake uncontrollably, and mentally scolded herself. This man was no better than her, and she had to remember that; she had to stay strong. "You are a witch?" At the startlingly sharp question Wendelin almost lifted her eyes, but knew they would tear at the sight of the knight, and kept them hidden. She realized the guard had explained her story to Sir Eldernin.
"I am a witch, yes. My husband is not, and he does not know that I am." Wendelin was afraid, but she knew her words where true, and she spoke evenly. Despite her growing courage, she kept her eyes hidden. If he saw courage in her eyes, Sir Eldernin would not forgiver her. She had heard sufficient tales of his cruelty to know she could only show meek, feminine emotions around him.
A long, uncomfortable silence settled in the room. Once again, Wendelin felt cold creeping up on her, and was tempted to cast a warming charm on the room. She knew better than to show her magic to these men, however, and didn't even consider it. The quiet made her want to talk, to explain her husband's innocence further, but she knew that more protesting would only lead them to doubt her.
"This Aldwin, he is prominent in the church, is he not? It would not do for both him and his wife to burn at the stake." Sir Eldwin's voice was distant, and Wendelin knew he was contemplating setting her husband free. She felt relief swell in her heart, but quickly admonished herself. There was no point in giving herself false hopes.
The guard must have answered in the affermative while Wendelin was thinking to herslef. "I believe they will - appreciate - a female witch more. Yes, I'm glad this has come up. Unexpected, but beneficial. You, set free the husband." The knight waved his hand at the guard in dismissal. The guard quickly swept out of the room. Wendelin, confused, simply waited with a lowered head.
After a few moments she heard a scratching sound. She was curious, but resisted the urge to raise her head, knowing the consequences could be grave. The scratching continued at a brisk, even pace. Wendelin picked small bits of fluff from the rough material of her dress.
Quite suddenly the scratching sound, which Wendelin had come to realize was a quill, came to a halt. She heard the quill being placed carefully on the hard wooden desk, and the chair creaked as Sir Eldernin rose. She felt him approach her spot in the room, but held her ground, looking firmly at her worn shoes. Despite this resolve, she looked up immediately when she felt a cold hand on her own.
Dark eyes looked into her own with a mixture of fear and reverence. Deep, rasping breaths hung in the air, and Wendelin realized they were not her own. She was not breathing, having forgotten in her fear. Sir Eldernin brought his mouth close to her ear, and she recoiled in disgust as he whispered, "Little witch."
Her flinch seemed only to encourage him, and he smirked at her obvious fear. "You are so afraid, but what do you have to fear? You have magic on your side. The devil is with you. All I have is the truth, the will of God. Why would you fear God, witch, he who you have betrayed. You are filth, scum, he cares not to have you back. You know this, you know where you are headed. You will burn, both in body and spirit, when you return to your evil master." He spoke with hate that made Wendelin tremble, though she knew he was simply ignorant. It was his own fear he was speaking of, and she almost pitied him.
The knight ran a hand up her trembling arm, almost caressing her. "Such a pretty one, you were. It's a shame you were so easily turned to evil." Abruptly he stepped back, leather boots clicking ever so slightly as he walked back to the huge desk. "You must be punished, of course. Simple fire can never drive out evil as pure as yours." With these dispassionate words, Sir Eldernin opened a drawer on the side of the desk and pulled a rod from deep within.
He returned to Wendelin, a cruel glint in his eyes frightening her deeply. She steeled herself, ready to take the pain. 'For Aldwin. I must do this for Aldwin.' She knew she had to burn on the stake, for her husband. The villagers were scared, they needed to find safety somehow. She could handle a tiny bit of pain to save her husband, her lover. She could do this.
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Wendelin stood, quaking, before the entire village. She could still hear the sound of Sir Eldernin's arm drawing back, delivering blow after blow to her body. They had tied her to the pole in a veil of darkness early in the morning. She had not been able to stand unsupported, but Wendelin knew they only did this so that she would be in the cold all day. 'At least,' she thought, 'the fire will warm me.'
Slowly, the villagers had woken. Wendelin had heard children laughing, women cooking for their families, shutters banging open to let air into stuffy, warm homes. She had closed her eyes, tipping her head back and basking in the warmth of memories. Her childhood, her mother's home, learning magic, her husband, her own home. Wendelin almost had the courage to smile.
"There's a witch! A witch to be burnt!" The triumphant voice brought Wendelin out of her reverie. Slowly, the villagers had trickled out of their homes, coming to witness the flames engulfing the Devil's worshipper. Wendelin fought to bring back her memories, but the moment was gone.
Wendelin saw a guard, one she didn't recognize, approach with a burning stick. Now was the time. She deftly reached for her wand. She would live through this, return to her husband. In the dark morning hours she had planned it all. A simple flame-freezing charm, as she had been taught, and then a quick apparation when the dark smoke gathered. After a few weeks, she would transfigure her own form, return to her husband and explain everything to him. She would finally tell him about the magic, as she had planned for so long. It would all be fine, and this would simply be forgotten.
Wendelin felt warmth, and realized she hadn't yet performed the charm. With a quick, hidden wave of her wand, she felt the heat recede as the flames raced towards her feet. Opening her mouth wide, she let out a scream. It didn't sound right, she realized. She wasn't scared enough, there wasn't enough pain.
Wendelin searched the faces watching her with glee, every one of them actually pleased to see her 'pain'. It disgusted her, but she let out a cry nonetheless. Suddenly she noticed a familiar face she hadn't been expecting.
At the far end of the crowd, Aldwin stood in the cheering masses. Screaming for vengeance, with these sickening people. Aldwin. Her husband. Her betrayer.
Wendelin let out a scream, and a swelling wave of joy spread through the audience. There was the pain they had been waiting for. Wendelin only heard one voice, and tears streamed down her face. Aldwin.
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¹ Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, J.K. Rowling, p.7
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Author's Note: As you can see, I am writing more. This will probably be five chapters or so, but I don't want to say it's definite because I can never really tell. Many of you are probably thinking "Why would Wendelin still have her wand?" Seeing as Rowling somehow got her wizards to perform the flame-freezing charm, I'm going to assume they used a concealing charm, or else weren't searched very thoroughly. Please review, as I really could use constructive criticism.