AN: The character Michael Stopkins in this fic is based on Matthew Hopkins, who was a real “witch finder� from 1645-47, when he presumably grew ill and died. We were learning about him in our History lesson, when I got the idea for this fic, as a bit of fun. My knowledge of the time hardly expertise, but I have kept it as realistic as I can.


Witch Hunt


There were whispers through the small village in Essex. This was not uncommon, and they rarely turned out to be based on truth, but this one, Richard Potter thought, probably was true. And he was worried.

Not for his own family, but for the village full of innocent people. He, his wife and children, owners of the largest house in the village, were hardly going to be accused of witchcraft. And if they were, they could always use genuine magic to get out of it.

But, if what he heard was true, Michael Stopkins was not well educated on genuine magic. He accused innocent Muggles of being witches, for things like talking to their cat around the house, and based these accusations on ridiculous things like “Marks of the Devil� – which were scars or boils or mouth ulcers that were entirely of the norm in this day and age. Instead of the accuser being ridiculed for his ideas like he should be, the victims were almost always hanged, after confessing – from being tortured.

This craze of witch hunting disgusted Richard Potter. He had heard that in Europe, people were being burned alive. For the true magical people, this was not a problem, but for the Muggles ...

He shuddered, and turned around from his walk to the woods to head back to his home. How could he protect the villagers he felt responsible for? They looked up to his family. He sighed. Maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe Michael Stopkins wasn’t coming to their village after all. Maybe Widow Thompson – who was also a real witch, and far more likely to be accused than the Potters, because she was old, had several cats, and the years had turned what was apparently a once beautiful face, into something old and haggard – had just been starting rumours to scare people again. She was a cantankerous old woman, but Richard liked her, and often visited her. Times were hard, and she appreciated his input during the winter months, so not a bad word was said by her about the Potters.

When Richard returned home, his wife, Marjory Potter, was making a lamb pie for their family of six. The four young children – from ages four to ten – were outside in the garden. The eldest, Judith, was seeking for the three younger, who were hiding in various bushes and sheds.

“Richard, I was talking to Widow Thompson earlier, and she insisted that it was not her who began these rumours about that ghastly man coming. She acted offended that I would suggest it, but I remember last summer when she had the whole village up in arms about the plague heading our way, which was just as tasteless as if this particular rumour had turned out to be her again. But she would admit it if I asked her, like she did last time, so I fear that it really is true,� his wife told him.

And indeed, it was only two days later when Michael Stopkins arrived in their village, on horseback.

The first place he went was to the Potter’s, where he knocked on the door in the middle of the afternoon. Marjory answered, but before she could greet the stranger, he was introducing himself importantly. Marjory’s eyes narrowed as he spoke.

“Greetings, my good woman. My name is Michael Stopkins, Witch Finder General, you may have heard of me. I was told by an old crone that you were the people to call upon. She directed me here, rather the long route, as it turned out, but I got here in the end. We must, of course, be sympathetic to the plight of the elderly,� he said, graciously.

Marjory recalled how many old widows very much like the one he described – who could only be Widow Thompson, sending him the long way around to their home, which involved a lot of overgrown bushes, and thick mud – that this man had hanged for “witchcraft�. She folded her arms sternly, and said nothing, just pursed her lips.

“Yes, well, you may have heard that I was coming to your delightful village to seek out the Devil’s servants – or rather, my good woman, witches. Do not be alarmed! Any worker of the Devil will be easily found and gotten rid of while I am here, and your village will be humble and clean again. It may shock you to learn that a witch would live in this beautiful place, but I can assure you, they are cunning beasts. That is where I come in. Have there been any mysterious illnesses or deaths lately? Any stories of women cursing, and the recipient later falling some sort of misfortune?�

Marjory frowned, disliking the man utterly, for he was too showy, and looking at her with greedy eyes. And, of course, there was the ridiculous words pouring from his mouth. “People have fallen ill before, of course they have, but that is hardly mysterious, and yes, people have died, but these are both common occurrences in our time. It is not particularly mystifying. As for women “cursing�, as you say, there have been arguments between the villagers, of course there has, and misfortunes have happened later on, but that does not mean it is of a witch’s doing. It is merely a coincidence of nature. However, if you insist upon staying here, I suppose you must talk to my husband. Wait there.�

She closed the door and left him on the step, and quickly went in search of Richard. “He’s here!� she hissed. His eyes looked panicked.

“Hide anything that would give us away. Wands, broomsticks, anything lying around. Get the children to help, Judith should be able to organise them. I’ll keep him talking, come to us when you are certain we look like an ordinary family.� He turned to head towards the front door before saying, “And Marjory – go quickly!�

It wasn’t an entirely difficult task, as the house had to be kept as ordinary looking as possible in case any villagers turned up unexpectedly, and with the help of the children, Marjory managed to complete her task in around five minutes. She returned to the front door and said, smiling, “Now, Richard, why don’t you invite our guest in? I’m sure we can stretch our meal for one extra person.�

“Actually, my good woman, I was hoping to begin my investigations as soon as possible...�

“Don’t be ridiculous!� she cried, her fake smile beginning to hurt her cheeks. “We would be only to happy to have you stay! There’s a bed for you too, if you need one.�

“Well ... I suppose it would be better than staying at the Inn ...�

“That’s right, Mr Stopkins. Do go into the main front room, won’t you?�

“If you insist, madam,� he said, heading into their house pompously.

Behind the man’s back, Richard mouthed, “What are you doing?� at his wife.

She leaned towards him, and whispered “Keep your friends close.� The ending to the saying rang in his ears; but keep your enemies closer. He smiled at Marjory, who returned it. They followed Stopkins into the main front room, where he was looking alarmed as four young children surrounded him, asking questions. A word from Richard, and they all ran outside, giggling.

“I do apologise,� Richard said, but he didn’t really mean it. He would have to thank his children later for putting such a look of fear on the man’s face.

For the rest of the day, Stopkins quizzed them both on all events that had happened in their village over the past few years, looking out for any suspicious characters that there might be. He often referred to witches as being old women, living alone, brewing curses to use on their neighbours.

“But it’s not just the old ones, my friends,� he said, sincerely, as Richard and Marjory tried their best to look interested. “No, I’ve seen many cases of young women too. Pretty little things who turn out to be in league with the Devil. It just goes to show, doesn’t it? You never know who to trust.�

“Surely there are males guilty too?� asked Richard, who was fighting off all his urges to curse Stopkins into being a three legged donkey for the rest of his life.

“Well, yes, but not nearly as many women. The females more easily susceptible, I think. After all, it was Eve who ate the apple first, was it not? It’s in their nature.�

Marjory frowned angrily at this insult. Stopkins noticed, and said quickly, “There are exceptions, of course! You, madam, are naturally a God fearing woman, of course, a beacon of hope for all women. It’s the ones who do not see this that I am speaking of.�

Marjory stood, and said briskly, “Dinner should be just about ready. Would you care to follow me through to the kitchen?�

As they did so, Richard laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, sympathetic to the stream of offensive remarks she was receiving.

The children were well trained not to give away anything of their powers, although occasionally Judith had to silence the youngest – a boy, Tommy – by giving him a quick kick under the table.

The next day, Stopkins left early to investigate for witches. Meanwhile, Richard summoned Widow Thompson and The Vicar to their house.

The Vicar, it needs to be explained, was born to magical parents, but had no powers himself. When this was discovered, because he received no letter from Hogwarts telling him he had a place there, he was thrown out by his parents, who were too ashamed of him to keep him any more. He was left on the door step of the church in this village (his former home had been some ten miles away), and the old vicar took him in when he said he was an orphan. Later, when that vicar died of old age, he took over, having learned much from the kind man who had taken him in.

He had no grudge against wizarding kind, as he knew that perfectly amiable people like the Potters were magical, along with Widow Thompson, and so he was also a good friend of the family. So, because he was aware of how Stopkins was a fraud, he was united with their determination to be rid of the man.

“What can we do to convince him to leave, before any innocents are put through the torture he uses to force people to confess? We have tried to talk him out of it already, but to no avail. I fear more forceful needs will have to be used. What say you?� asked Richard, pacing up and down in distress.

“Papa?� Tommy asked, in a small voice. Richard blinked, and picked up his son under the shoulders, wiggling the boy about until he giggled.

“What’s wrong, Tommy?� Richard asked, placing his dizzy son on the floor again.

“Are we going to hang?� he asked, scared.

Marjory gasped, and scooped the young boy up in her arms. “Of course not, honey! What on earth made you say such a thing?�

“Dick told me that the guest was going to hang us!� Tommy cried, bursting into tears. Richard frowned at the second eldest son, who was eight years old, and named after his father (although they shortened the name to Dick to avoid confusion. The third child was a six year old girl named Bethany, but who was only ever called Beth).

“Well, your brother doesn’t know what he’s talking about,� Richard said, firmly. “No one is going to hang us. I won’t let anybody touch you. Come on, this is no talk for children to hear. Judith, Dick, Beth, Tommy, go and pull the weeds out of the vegetable garden. I could swear I saw some dandelion leaves poking up in between the carrots the other day.�

Marjory kissed her youngest on the forehead, before releasing him, and letting him run after his siblings, calling for them to wait. When all four children were out of sight, she turned back to the others in the room. “We need to stop this. If the children start to hear even more about witch hunts in the village, they’re going to be scared whatever we tell them.�

“We should finish him off in his sleep,� Widow Thompson declared, cackling.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,� The Vicar said, “Whether we approve of Stopkins or not, we really shouldn’t resort to unethical action so soon, don’t you think? There must be something we can do?�

“Like scare him away?� Marjory suggested, hopefully picturing Stopkins riding away on his horse, checking over his shoulder in fear, while she ran after him, shaking her fist. However, she knew that this dream was unrealistic.

“How could we do that? We could hardly use magic, could we? He’s stronger than that, he would see straight through it, label us as witches, and the whole village would know. What would we do then?�

“Wipe their minds. Oooh, can I do it? Please? I do enjoy obliterating memories!� Widow Thompson said, cackling again. Marjory laughed, despite the situation. The old widow winked at her, as everybody else looked shocked, and Marjory was suddenly hit with the distinct impression that the woman was not as batty as she acted.

“I just don’t know,� The Vicar said, shaking his head. “But we must act quickly, before anyone is hurt. I think we are forgetting just how ruthless this man is. He may look like a gentleman, but ...�

“Yes, we know,� Richard said. He stopped pacing, and collapsed into a chair, his hand covering his eyes as he thought. “Oh, I can’t do this with no stimulation. Marjory, conjure some tea for us all, won’t you?�

She obliged, taking her wand from her apron pocket, and waving it in the air. Four mugs of tea appeared, and she banished them carefully to each person, leaving one for herself. She took a sip, but then looked up sharply. Her eyes immediately connected with those of Michael Stopkins, who was standing at the window, looking in, his mouth open in shock.

Stopkins came running inside the house, banging the door open. He was grinning gleefully.

“I knew it! I knew there was something suspicious about you! All of you!�

“Actually, I don’t believe we’ve met,� The Vicar said, raising an eyebrow calmly.

“I should have you all hanged this instant!� Stopkins cried. “But by law you will have to be tried, so for now, I will have to suffice with putting you all in the nearest gaol. Eight people! On my first day here, eight people! I had such a good feeling about this place ...�

“Eight?� asked The Vicar, confused. But Richard had already worked out the meaning of that. He leapt at Stopkins, grabbing him by the throat.

“If you DARE lay a finger on any of my children, I will not be afraid to kill you right then and there. Do you understand?�

“You are the Devil’s servants!� Stopkins rasped, as he choked. “Get your witch hands off me!� He swung his hand, which collided with Richard’s head, who fell and let him go in surprise at this sudden unexpected move.

As Stopkins raised his fist again, Marjory cried, “No! Obliviate!�

The Witch Finder stopped. His eyes reached Richard, who was picking himself up from the floor. “My good man,� he said, politely, “How did you get down there? Let me help you up.�

“I’m fine,� Richard said, standing on his own.

Stopkins looked tentative. “Do any of you ... do you happen to know where I am? Or ... or who I am, for that matter?�

Widow Thompson blinked. “What have you done? How far back did you go? He doesn’t remember a thing.�

“I ... I only meant to make him forget the past ten minutes,� Marjory said, shocked. “But because I was in such a panic, I must have ... I must have overdone it. What to we tell him?�

The Vicar smiled. “Don’t worry, Marjory,� he said. “I think you’ve just accidentally solved all our problems.� He stepped towards a rapidly blinking Stopkins. “My good man,� he said, calmly, “you’re name is Oswald Ibbot. You are living with me, as one day you wish to be a vicar just like me, but first I need to teach you how, just as I was taught the same when I did not know where I belonged either. You are living with me at the vicarage, and you do not believe in witchcraft. You are a God fearing man, who has never done an unkind deed in his life. Do you understand?�

“Yes,� Stopkins – or rather, Oswald Ibbot – said, dazed. “Yes, it’s ... it’s all coming back to me. Thank you, Vicar, for showing me the way. May we return home now? I ... I rather feel like a nice lie down.�

The Vicar smiled. “Of course, Oswald. And I am sure you will be a most wonderful pupil. You will make an excellent vicar one day.�

“Yes ... yes, I rather imagine I will. Good day, sir,� he said, inclining his head to a bemused Richard, “Madams,� he said to Marjory and Widow Thompson, both with identical expressions of humour and satisfaction on their faces.

As he left the house, and started tentatively down the path, The Vicar turned, and smiled at them through the window. They waved, laughing.

“Well,� Widow Thompson said, smiling a little. “That was most entertaining. Now, if you don’t mind, I must get back to my chickens. I’m training them to wander into next door’s garden and pick at their crops, you see. That will teach them to call me deformed when they think I’m out of earshot ...� She left, cackling madly.

Richard shook his head, pityingly. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to actually lead a normal life once in a while?� he asked his wife.

She laughed, and kissed his cheek, “Like eating lamb pies every day of the month ... completely unpredictable and boring.�

“But Marjory,� Richard said innocently, “We DO eat lamb pies every day of the month!�

She gasped theatrically, “The cheek of it! Just last week I made us all a most delicious mutton pie!�

They laughed loudly, happy in the knowledge that they had no need to worry about innocent people being hanged ... because the previously feared Michael Stopkins was now calling himself Oswald Ibbot, and stumbling over Bible verses under the beady eye of their good friend The Vicar ...

*~*~*

AN: Tee hee ... Oh, if you were unsure “gaol� is basically the correct English way of spelling “jail�, until we just adopted the easier American version. Just in case you didn’t know (I only found out myself recently, and I’ve lived in England my whole life ...). I would dedicate this fic to my history teacher, for it was down to her I got the inspiration to write this, but since she is hardly going to read this, I’ll dedicate it to my best fish and history buddy, Chomione. Thanks for reading this, it’s my first try at a Historical fic, so review and let me know what you thought!