The Gang
Chapter 10: The Gang
Oswald smiled to himself. He couldn’t believe it. The girl of his dreams had said yes. She was everything he could have asked for and more. One more day, and they would be together. He looked back at the castle. It was everything he’d hoped it would be. Joy welled up inside him. This was his life. This was really his life. He rummaged in his tent, gathering a few items to take back home. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t need the tent anymore. He would live inside the castle with his wife. He took one more proud look at the castle. They would be talking about it for millennia to come.
Oswald arrived back in Winchester instantaneously. He had apparated. It was already getting dark, so he would have to move quickly. He looked around him. He was in the centre. Houses stood on either side of the street. It had been a couple of months since he had been there last. So much had happened since he’d left. He started to walk towards his mother’s house. She would be so surprised to see him. Even more surprised to learn that he was about to marry the most wonderful, and most clever woman in the country. He’d be able to tell his mother all about her. She would love her just as much as he did. His mother would come with him tomorrow to see them get married. This thought cheered him up, and he wore a smile as he moved about. His hands were in his cloak pockets, one firmly wrapped around his wand. It was a warm evening, sticky, but he didn’t mind.
“‘Ey lads, wha’ do we ‘ave ‘ere?”
An older youth spoke to his mates. He was obnoxious and spotty. His clothes were deliberately scruffy. He was part of a gang of about five who had suddenly appeared from nowhere. Muggles. They were laughing at each other, and they appeared to be in high spirits. Oh no, Oswald thought, not now. He didn’t need any trouble, not tonight.
“Look at these fancy clothes,” another one said, lifting up Oswald’s cloak.
The gang had now surrounded him. They started jostling him and were getting rowdier. He could smell the alcohol on their breaths.
“I’m just heading home. I don’t want any trouble,” Oswald said, with his hands up, a slight quiver in his voice.
They could smell weakness. This was their territory. This man would have to pay.
“Trouble!” the first boy said again. He seemed to be the ringleader. “Why would there be any trouble?”
They laughed, and then pushed him again, getting bolder. Oswald withdrew his wand, trying to scare them off. They all eyed it at once and stepped back. Oswald didn’t know what to do with it. They were muggles, he reasoned, and wandless. Maybe he should just make a shield. Maybe he should send a few warning sparks. Why wouldn’t they leave him alone?
“Big guy, are we?” the leader said, gaining confidence with time. “Wha’ you gonna do? Wave it around? Say some magic words?”
He laughed, and the others joined in.
“If you don’t leave me alone,” Oswald warned, “I will.”
He was getting more panicked now. He wanted anything but for the situation to escalate. He looked around at them in turn. Most were taller than him and stockier. They were closing in. He was just about to cast a spell when it happened all at once.
“Grab ‘em boys!”
Two boys from behind Oswald lunged forward and grabbed him. He felt his arms get thrust behind his back. The boys were lean and strong. He struggled. He couldn’t have gotten a decent shot with his wand, even if he’d tried. The leader grabbed his shoulders and then, with a thud, kneed him hard in his stomach. He grunted, winded, and collapsed. He was being held up by the two behind him. One of the boys grabbed his arm, then his wrist, and twisted his wand out of his hand. He cheered triumphantly. Oswald groaned in pain and gasped. He felt helpless and completely exposed without his wand.
“Please don’t,” Oswald begged. “Give it back. I’ll leave you alone. I’ll give you anything you want.”
“I want this!” the youth said, prancing about, holding the wand aloft.
“No!” Oswald cried frantically. “Whatever you do, don’t use it. Just drop it. Do whatever you want with me. Toss it wherever you want. Just don’t use it.”
“Oh, we plan to do whatever we want with you,” one of the boys cackled.
Then the boy punched him in the jaw.
“Not such a tough guy now, are we, without your stick?”
The boy with the wand shouted to his mates, “‘Ere, watch this!”
“No!” Oswald shouted, though his face ached.
The boy twirled the wand around, flicked it at Oswald, and shouted, “Alakazam!”
The wand backfired, and the boy cried out in pain and shock. Like a firebolt, he was engulfed. He dropped the wand. His face and skin blackened, his clothes smouldering. He rolled around on the ground, suddenly in agony. He screamed.
The other boys, terrified, clung tightly to Oswald, fear suddenly blinding their reason.
“What have you done to him?” one of them asked, frightened, as the sound of the boy’s screaming carried on.
“Quickly, let me help him!” Oswald cried.
“You think we’re going to let you go?” the leader asked indignantly. “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done!”
The boy thumped Oswald again.
Then he commanded his minions, “Quick, get the Reeve! And bring a woman to help him.”
“Look,” Oswald pleaded, frantic, “I can stop this. I can help him. Don’t be scared. Just let me have the wand!”
“No chance,” the leader announced. “So you can finish the rest of us off? Do you think we’re stupid?”
Why was this happening? Maybe he could do some wandless magic. Maybe he could apparate. Maybe he could summon his wand. He was no good at wandless magic. Without his wand, he was useless. The situation was absolutely perilous. Soon the boy on the floor stopped screaming and lay motionless, exhausted. His burnt flesh could still be smelled. Oswald tried to reason with them, but it was no use. They just told him to shut up and thumped him some more. It was well and truly night now. His wand lay on the floor.
The boy who had run off came back, carrying a torch. He had brought with him an old man who wore black robes, had grey hair, and looked absolutely thunderous. Another woman trailed after them, clasping her hair in one hand and her robes in the other.
“Well,” the old man said, coursing with anger, “you thought you’d attack this boy with magic, did you? You’ll pay for this.”
“No -,” Oswald cried.
“Not one more word,” the old man interrupted. “I know your sort. You’re helpless without a wand! Good thinking, boys.”
“Please, sir, please,” Oswald pleaded. “I warned him not to use it. It was an accident. I can fix this.”
“Bind him,” the old man said callously and produced a rope. “You will not corrupt these boys with your wicked lies anymore. Do not listen, boys. This is no man; this is a witch!”
Two boys bound Oswald up. He felt the ropes dig into his skin. They were so tight he could barely breathe. Neither his arms nor his legs could move. The woman attended to the boy on the floor. She did the best that she could do, but it was not much. She had to have him carried off to a nearby house for a bed. The old man had commanded that Oswald be taken away. The old man led them. The boys, in turn, carried him. He was practically dragged most of the way as the boys tired of moving him.
“That’s it, boys, only a little further,” the old man encouraged them, arm raised, pointing the way.
He had led them through the town to a clearing on its outskirts, next to a large forest.
“In the woods, boys, you’ll find a stack of sticks,” he said. “I keep ‘em ready for just such an occasion as this.”
The boys didn’t move. They momentarily looked at each other, uncertain of what he was suggesting. He wasn’t being serious, was he?
“Well, get them then!” he commanded.
“Sir, I can explain,” Oswald begged. “I can help that boy!”
“There’s no need,” the Reeve seethed. “We have witnesses.”
The boys were feeling uncomfortable now, slowly realizing that the old man was serious. They weren’t sure they had meant for it to go this far.
“Hurry up, boys. Do you want this witch to do to you what he did to that poor boy?”
They started to move. Just inside the forest, there were, indeed, piles of twigs and sticks. When they came back, they carried them on their shoulders and dropped them on the ground, forming a large circular pile. They looked to the old man for direction. Their faces and bodies were dark, but the occasional flickering of the firelight illuminated their features.
“I have the right to a trial!” Oswald demanded. “I have the right to be tried fairly!”
“You have no rights in this world,” the Reeve raged. “Men have rights, witches do not. Lucifer will give you your rights once you’re back in hell, where you belong.”
Oswald couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This couldn’t be happening. He twisted hysterically, but the ropes did not budge. They only dug in further. Seeing the commotion, some townsfolk had come to watch from a distance.
“Tie him up,” the man said. “Tie him to that big stick and stake it in the ground.”
His orders were obeyed. The boys were afraid not to. They took Oswald and tied him to the stick, placing the bundles around his feet. This had gone too far. But, in the last half-hour, they had become men. They must act like it. They had to do what was necessary, what was required of them.
The Reeve looked on with growing delight and spoke louder and louder, “That’s it, that’s it! We will purge the evil from this town! May God bring justice!”
He called out to the onlookers, his arms gesturing. He would make a spectacle of this witch. These monsters would think twice before bringing their magic to this town.
Oswald cried out incessantly. He could not move. Nobody would listen to him. The Reeve approached him, looking murderously. Then, as though he were doing nothing more than lighting his night candle, he plunged the torch deep into the stack of twigs beneath Oswald. They lit at once, like kindling. Immediately, Oswald could feel the heat clawing at his feet. The flames danced below him. The smoke rose. Soon he could taste the bitter heat in his lungs. He choked and choked. Would no one help him?
“Rowena!” he gasped between coughs.
What he wouldn’t give to see her one more time. She was everything to him. He had to see her again. This was all some horrible nightmare. He must wake up.
“Mother!” he cried.
He hadn’t seen her. He was meant to see her. He was supposed to be there now, safe at home.
“Let me go, let me go!” he howled.
He struggled in vain; the ropes wouldn’t move. The flames were at his feet now, and at his legs. The pain of his skin searing and melting away was agony. The smoke choked him, blackening his insides and searing his eyes till they watered. He could hear jeering and laughing above the crackling of the wood and flames. He could taste the burning wood and his burning flesh. He couldn’t keep his eyelids open any longer. He thought he could just make out a woman running towards him before they closed. A woman who looked just like his mother. Or was it her voice he could hear, calling him, calling his name, Oswald. She was screaming. It would be alright, he thought. It would be alright, don’t worry. I can’t bear for you to worry. He couldn’t breathe. The smoke and the flames engulfed him. He knew no more. He passed out.