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THE DARK VISITOR (page 3 of 3)

”Don’t!” the voice boomed from all around the room, echoing off the walls and startling the pair. “Don’t give it to her, it’s a trick!” Georgina snatched back the stick as the other women swore viciously.

“Pythus? Is that you sweetie?” the large woman’s voice dripped sarcastic honey. “Why not show yourself to the nice lady? Tell her your stories of ‘Dark Wizards’ and lost wands. Let her choose who to give it to. What do you say Pythus?”

Wand, that was the word Georgina had been avoiding. The stick that had fallen from the Hawthorn earlier that day looked exactly like the toy wands the other girls had played with all those years ago. But to actually be real. That was just nonsense. Wasn’t it?

As Georgina pondered this, the fireplace flashed brightly and the skeletal twisted man who had been at the door not so very long ago stepped out from the grate. Much to Georgina’s annoyance he left a trail of sooty black footprints on the cream rug. In return he scowled at her, his hollow face narrowing further.

The twisted man in his ill fitting suit clicked his heels together in a strangely formal manner and inclined himself in a parody of a bow towards Georgina. Turning to the other woman his narrow nasal voice cut like a knife. “Mythia, you’re not welcome here. Leave now before I’m forced to take action.”

“Ha!” Mythia’s voice was arrogant and strong, at odd with her chaotic appearance, “Take action? Take action! That’s your problem Pythus. You never could and never did take any action. That’s why you shame your family by going snivelling to the Ministry for work. You don’t act.”

Pythus’ voice was steady and just as snide, “If by acting you mean becoming a murderer like your late husband, Mythia, then I am happy to remain inactive. Now give up, go home, you’ve committed no crime as yet.”

“It was war!” declared Mythia angrily, “He was a soldier, not a murderer, he fought for what he believed. He knew who was pure and who wasn’t.” She glowered at him across the room before turning to Georgina. Her cold green eyes fixed on the wand, held awkwardly in the other woman’s hands. “That, muggle,” spat the witch, “belonged to my husband. Give it too me now, and you may yet live. You sully it and his memory.” Georgina merely clenched it more tightly.

“Do not threaten the muggle!” Pythus ordered, causing his foe to turn and glare at him. Her voice shot up an octave in reply. “Of course you always were a muggle lover, even at school Pythus. A filthy muggle lover,” her eyes fixed on the silver snake attached to the wizard’s lapel. “And you from the same house as the Dark Lord. Traitorous scum. Coward!” 

Pythus sucked in a calming breath through his hooked nose and addressed his tormentor steadily. “I am proud to have been Slytherin, Mythia, proud of what I achieved at school. I felt no desire to re-invent myself upon leaving, nor to marry into a twisted and evil mindset. If you were genuinely sincere in your belief in the houses from school you’d be at home developing healing and culinary charms not trying to retrieve a murder weapon.”

Georgina looked from one bizarre figure to the other bewildered by the conversation taking place in her own living room. “Excuse me?” she asked, her voice wavering and unsure.

As Pythus turned to answer her, Mythia’s hand shot into the battered handbag and instantly snatched out her own, sleek wand. She flicked it viciously at the man in black who moved with a grace and speed that his twisted frame belied and the mirror above the fireplace shattered into a million pieces. Diving behind the armchair, which promptly burst into flames, Pythus drew a long flexible wand and began casting defensive charms and counter hexes, deflecting attack after attack. Georgina meanwhile cowered in the corner, screaming frantically, tears streaming from her usually bright and alert eyes.

The witch and the wizard ducked and weaved around the room, wands flashing and the air thick with magic. Personal, precious items smashed, exploded, or burst into flames. The duellists were totally focussed on each other, one in killing her tormentor, the other in keeping himself, and the muggle in his care, alive.

Abruptly a voice cut through the chaos. It was a voice used to being listened to. It was a voice that controlled boardrooms and meetings. It was a voice that enjoyed respect. It said “Enough!”

The fighters stopped, uncertain, and turned to look at the tear stained muggle in their midst. She held the hawthorn wand out in front of her one hand at each end, bending it slightly. “Enough,” she said again, more quietly this time, “Stop it or I’ll break it; snap it in two. I’m guessing that would be serious, yes?”

Pythus gave a thin smile. “Go right ahead.” He agreed quietly. On hearing this, his opponent screeched in anger and lunged for the wand, chubby fingers grasping desperately for it. Before she could snatch it though, Georgina forced her hands downwards and smartly snapped the wand in two.

There was a terrible, abrupt silence, which broke as Mythia screeched again turning her wand on the defenceless Georgina. “Avad...” she began angrily but Pythus was quicker, flicking his wand and yelling “Petrificus Totalus.” The witch went rigid and collapsed back onto the coffee table, causing it to smash beneath her weight. Georgina’s tears returned.

Later, the wizard and the sales executive sat quietly in the kitchen of Hawthorn Cottage nursing mugs of hot sweet tea. Georgina was peering at her unusual guest through the spiralling steam as it rose from her drink. Despite the fact that a team of obliviators were on there way Pythus was explaining to his charge all about the wizarding world and what had happened to lead up to the events of that evening.

“So there was, for all intencent purposes, a civil war,” reviewed Georgina, “Family members turned on family members, neighbour on neighbour, school friend on school friend. And this ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’ wanted to raise all the so called pure blood wizards above everyone else, even ordinary people like me?”

“Something like that,” agreed Pythus, sneering slightly at his host’s simplification of a war that had torn his world apart. “So,” continued Georgina, pressing, “what happened here, in my cottage?”

“It wasn’t a muggle cottage then,” explained the Ministry official, “A wizarding couple lived here. No one you special you understand; he worked in a shop, she was a barmaid. It was this ordinariness that attracted Mythia’s husband. He had not proved himself to be as powerful, or as useful, to her as she had hoped and he knew it. He reasoned that if he could kill for the Dark Lord then he would somehow gain credit in the eyes of the Death Eaters and raise his social standing. Like many bullies he picked on the easiest, weakest target he could.”

“But they managed to defend themselves? Fight him off?” asked Georgina in a small, hopeful voice.

“No, he butchered them easily,” Pythus sneered again, “However his plan had been discovered by the ministry, albeit too late. A team of Aurors arrived just as he was leaving and he didn’t stand a chance. Somehow during the battle he even lost his wand.” The twisted, skeletal man inclined his head towards the broken pieces on the breakfast bar.

“They killed him?” Georgina’s eyes were wide and more frightened.

Her visitor smiled, a humourless twisted smirk, “No. He was arrested, tried, found guilty and finally sent to jail. He died there, half mad, two years ago. His wife vowed revenge and we’ve been tracking her ever since, waiting for her to make a mistake. Just like tonight.”

The two of them peered into the living room taking in the huge, motionless form of the captive witch, held still by Pythus’ powerful magics. Georgina shuddered in spite of herself.

“It’s been twelve years since the war and the ministry is still finding ‘loose ends’ like this,” continued Pythus thoughtlessly before his host interrupted. “You said,” she stammered, “You said some people were coming to put all this right.” She gestured the chaos and damage throughout her dream home. “You said,” she continued, “That they can make me forget this ever happened, take it all away?”

The wizard nodded.

“Then, if you don’t mind,” Georgina pleaded quietly “Ask them to hurry up.”

FIN