She really hated this part and, even after all these years, she couldn't understand how'd she'd been able to stomach it for so long. It looked like a little, slightly sheer grey kerchief but it was woven out of sticky spider's silk. It sat on the counter, occasionally ballooning up a bit in the center and she pursed her lips to do it but it would all be over soon. With a gentle sweeping motion she collected the flies trapped underneath it, some not having stuck completely inside the little trap. She pinched the edges together sagging under the weight of having to touch it at all. As she left for the backyard, she though better of it. She turned and retrieved a cast iron skillet from the hanging rack and went outside into the warming spring air.
There her husband was. He loved being home and the agreement had been that he could do this at least once a month when the weather was good. He would prepare the fly trap the evening before and in the morning, after breakfast, after having to prepare a meal for him with that morbid, buzzing sack bulging on the counter, he would become a lizard. Sometimes right at the table? Can you imagine?! He'd slither right out of the backdoor to the perch on the outdoor furniture and warm himself, bold as you please. She had been afraid of lizards once, she'd thought shaking her head.
There had been nothing to warn him and he'd died immediately. The weight of a her arm carried with the force of gravity and disgust. But besides that, nothing out of the ordinary that day. He'd decided to the change outside since he knew she hated when he did it at the table. He found his spot on the already heated wood of the table and settled in for a a few hours repreive on his day off, the last day of the weekend. He didn't want to think about work the next day or the day after that and little had he known then, he would never have to ever again. Her footfall was familiar as it had always been, he knew it was her by the weight and pace of her steps. He could hear the gentle buzz of the few flies not stuck to the netting and his mouth watered. He'd chase down a fly or two maybe or let them go, nibble off the flies stuck in the web and then eat the web as dessert. It melted like candy floss in the acidity of his mouth. He didn't even open his eyes when she decided for certain what she would do.
She dropped the little square of web, closed her hands over the handle of the skillet and lifted it above her head and brought it down. He'd only, very momentarily felt the quick cold of a shadow and heard a rush of air and, well, that was it.
When she brought the pan away and saw the mess she had made, she became even angrier. Yet another thing she had to clean up! Yet another mess he'd made! But the last one, a small voice said to her. Yes. She said back.
She cleaned the table with a wave of her wand and spray from the garden hose. She pinched the corner of the dropped web and shook it out a little and dropped whatever was left in the garbage bin. That morning she cleaned the house. She took a good, hot bath and made herself tea and read the papers. As the sun was setting, she felt herself rolling her eyes in anticipation of her husband trudging in, clapping and rubbing his hands together asking about the whereabouts of the good grub and she pulled herself up from the chair in the sitting room wondering why she hadn't started to prepare their meal and remembered. Ah! She sat back down again and then got back up when she realized she was, in fact, herself, hungry.
Of course they caught her! She'd been mistaken in assuming that he was unregistered. He'd been unregistered for so long that she thought she might get away with it. Her argument once she'd been sent to the Wizengamot was where could she, even a proficient witch, hide a whole human body? Where would she put all that magic? Check her wand. You can check wands for that sort of thing, no? She was so indignant and insistent, it never crossed her mind that they had figured out how she'd done it. When a member of the Wizengamot asked where she might hide, I don't know, say the body of something much smaller than a grown human man, let's say, hypothetically of course, something more lizard sized? She knew. He'd sent of his registration after all! She felt a surge of temporary affection before a quietable, low grade rage settled in and she was carried off to Azkaban. It took him long enough, she thought. He really could have said something… And the entire time he insisted that I was a nag and that, he'd get it done riighhtt away. Always slithering around...