Disclaimer: Nothing in this story belongs to me, and trust, more than JK is to credit for it. But I don't want to spoil anything This world was created by JK Rowling, and I am a mere mortal trying to have fun with a vastly unexplored character. Enjoy <3

Welcome to the first fanfiction I've written in a really long time! I have a one shot over in the mature vaults, but this is the first FF I'm doing with installments. oohh, so fancccceh?. My name is Kate, and this three-parter was inspired by some course I took last semester at my University that involved us reading a witch-hunt guide. It's very weird, the tests they used to give people to identify if they were witches, and I thought exploring some Wendelin would be fun. It's kind of dialogue heavy because I need to challenge myself with writing more dialogue. SOOO without further ado, ENJOY.

Wendelin, disguised as an old women, had marched into Abbey Hill and announced she was a witch earlier that morning

She originally had thought her new approach to being caught as a witch and burned at the stake would be quick, easy, and would give her the delight that the flame freezing charm produced.

But, alas, NO.

Bloody muggles.

They had to prove she was a witch. Wendelin, who was locked in a wooden cage outside the town’s meeting place, heard them whispering in hushed tones to each other. Merlin, did they have to really do this? She had admitted to her “crimes” already! She picked at the fake mole on her face absentmindedly, and it fell off, landing in her lap. She flicked it at the dog sniffing at the edge of her cage. Her fake white hair was straggly, like straw, and it kept whipping into her mouth from the strong wind. Hair had not been an intended meal for the day, but seeing as the muggles weren’t feeding her…

“Listen to her hack away…clearly she’s choking on the darkness within her,” one muggle commented.

“We’ve never had a witch burning here in Abbey Hill, Sir Galahel!” another cried. This muggle was a young woman clutching her stomach nervously.

“A witch has never announced herself so assuredly and boldly before! How do we know she isn’t lying for more sinister reasons?”

As to what the more sinister reasons were, the muggles could not decide. What they did decide to do was test the witch for magical powers. Wendelin wished she had her wand. Then she could do magic and get this whole thing over with. Bring on the flames already! She had, however, lost it in the struggle that had ensued when she announced her witchi-ness earlier. A scuffle of the townspeople trying to overcome her had been quite unnecessary, but it happened nonetheless.

***

The first test involved….a duck. Now, if a woman weighed the same as duck, it was known that she was…a witch. The way these townspeople decided to tell Wendelin’s weight was by dropping both Wendelin AND the duck into the pond located on the outskirts of their village. If their bodies produced the same amount of the ripples, they were, indeed, the SAME weight, and therefore….Wendelin was a WITCH!

Wendelin began to wonder how dense the townspeople would be if she dropped them into the water.

“I’m a bloody witch—no need to do this test!” Wendelin croaked, still feigning old age.

“WITCH!” one shouted.

“WITCH!” shouted another.

“WITCH!” they all shouted.

“NOT YET—” came another call, the head of the village. “We have to prove it! Drop them in!”

Wendelin and the duck were both tied up, unable to move. A burly muggle kicked Wendelin into the pond while an actual and not fake moley elderly woman dropped the duck in. Water splashed the villagers, and a united groan from the group erupted in complaints.

“DID ANYONE COUNT THE RINGLETS?”

No one had managed to remember to count the ripples.

“What if we uh…drop them in at DIFFERENT times?” Asked the burly muggle.

The head muggle (as Wendelin began to think of him) thought for moment. “I suppose that could work. Reel them back in!”

The duck had managed to come loose from his ties, flapping viciously as muggle men waded in the shallow water to attempt to catch him. Wendelin did her best to paddle back to the townspeople.

“I’m a witch! I can do magic! I’ll put a spell on you all MUAHAHAHAH!” she cackled.

“Why haven’t you done it yet, then, woman?”

Wendelin was silent. This was an outrage. Could she manage to find her damn wand?

Once the duck was collected from the water, the muggles rewrapped it in rope and THREW it into the water. Wendelin tried to keep count of the waves, wondering if she wiggled in a certain way if she could, perhaps, produce the same amount.

“Fifteen! Fifteen ripples!” one muggle cried.

“Hey, no, I counted ten!”

“Nay, you’re both wrong, I clearly saw eleven!”

“I lost track at five!”

None of the muggles could agree on how many ripples the duck had produced. Wendelin was growing worried…it was approaching sunset and no fun burning times had been had.

“Ay…I know what we can do!” the head muggle announced. “Cats…and witches…get along very well. You—go find the meanest cat in town! That one that hangs out at the pub—go go!”

/Oh no/, thought Wendelin.

She was allergic to cats.

***

“Release the KITTY!”

Into Wendelin’s wooden cage went the thick-haired, black, hissing cat. Wendelin scurred to a corner as she HISSSSSSED right back. “Go away! SHOO! Shoo!” she tried to paw the cat, but it only hissed louder and arched its back.

And then, she felt it.

That itch.

That tingggggle tingle in the back of her nose.

That unwelcome feeling of little pinpricks nipping at patches of her skin.

Large lumps were forming, and suddenly,

AAACHOOOOOOOOOO!

One sneeze, then two, followed by three. The fourth sneeze is what caused the mass chaos that then ensued:

Cat screeched and leapt backward.
Wendelin began itching her hives.
Cat, irked by the movement, hissed more.
Wendeline sneezed. Five more times.
Cat extremely agitated by all the movement and noise then
Cat leapt at Wendelin, claws out.
Wendeline shrieked.
Cat made that aggressive MROOOOOOOW noise.
Wendelin began kicking at the top of the cage
Wendeline broke through, leapt out, and watched as the mad black cat sped off in the other direction.

She had probably scarred that cat for life. The townspeople, pitchforks in hand, surrounded, enclosing her in a complete circle.

“She ain’ a witch!”

“Go home!”

There were mutterings of “attention-seeking-shrews,” and that’s when Wendelin brushed herself off and dove forward, sliding under the legs of an unsuspecting one-toothed-man. She had spotted her wand!

She hopped up, holding her wand aloft, grass stains peppering her already dirty cloak as she squinted at the townspeople.

“Listen UP, muggles!” she sneered. “I AM a witch, and I will put a spell on you to pro—”

One of the muggles grabbed her wand before she could finish and began bending it.

“Slightly springy!” he cried, and he handed it over to another townsperson. And soon, all of the villagers had held her wand until the head muggle had it in the palm of his hand as he examined it.

“Give it back!”

The head muggle looked from Wendelin to the wand, then back to Wendelin. He broke the wand in half with a CRACK!

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL—”

“It was a twig! A simple twig! You cannot fool us, woman—”

Wendelin was then chased to the edge of the village’s forest by a gaggle of fumbling, bumbling muggles holding pitchforks and burning lanterns. It was only when Wendelin tripped over a stray tree root that they backed off, lumbering back to their village muttering under their breaths.

“Bloody muggles. Now I have no wand. And…” night was approaching. Wendelin looked at the sky; she heard an owl hoot ominously in the distance.