Christmas Incarnation Series

A hooded figure trudged past Stationary Station, breathing heavily against the cold wintry air. The figure's eyes darted towards the bottom of a shelf near the entrance of St. Lovania Bookstore, where several children sat reading. A mixture of red, green and white mufflers were fixed on their heads, each fastened onto a little bell which emitted a small glow every few seconds. The figure smirked at the illuminated bells of the three children as she walked past.
The figure stopped walking as she reached a grubby-looking building. Looking up, a hanging sign with peeling gold lettering read: "The Simmering Cauldron - Brewers of Strong Liquids Since 1589."
Adjusting the cloak fastened around her neck, the dark figure strode into the building. The flecks of snow ceased its path into the building as the half-opened door was closed with a deafening snap.
The figure walked towards the bar located at the far left, undeterred by two gazing witches at the far end of the building. Both had instantaneously abandoned the task of cleaning goblin fingernails when disturbed by the closing snap of the wooden door. Instead, they now pointed their scabby fingers at her whilst clutching dirty garments. One of the two wore a dull expression with made you think of gloomy days.
The barman stopped washing several urns and looked into the eyes of the approaching woman. Sitting by a table not far from the bar, a toothy man with tattered clothing removed a frayed cap from his head and grinned at her.
"Good morning Sylvia. Earlier than planned, I see?" the barman said. "Take a seat."
The woman did not reply. Instead, she removed her cloak and draped it over the polished chair occupied by the old, toothy man. She remained standing, tidying her hair which had been pressed down by the cloak.

Silence met the bar for two whole minutes before the barman spoke.
"Would you like something to drink Sylvia?" he asked affectionately. "We have sherry, brandy, peppermint martini -" He was interrupted by the woman, who spoke in a calm tone.
"You wouldn't happen to have chopstick tea, would you?"
The toothy man coughed, and spoke in a rasping voice. "Another flask of blended snorkack horn and avocado juice, if you don't mind, Bryal."
He handed his flask to Bryal with a rather shaky hand.
"Surely you could have it separate, Frisus?" Sylvia said in a worried tone. "Those chest upsets aren't getting worse?"
"Oh yes they are m' lady," replied Frisus heavily while attempting to grin. "The pain gets stronger everyday, yes indeed. I wonder how excruciatin' it will be when Christmas arrives. No, no, I don' anticipate Christmas as I used to." He coughed yet again and gazed at the stony ceiling.
Bryal returned Frisus' flask, now frothing vigorously while emitting loud popping noises. "Drink up Fris. I sifted in a bit of powdered dragonroot to ease the side effects. And here is the chopstick tea you requested, Sylvia."
"Cheers, Bryal," said Frisus. "Your drinks are a real aid. Ye should be workin' in the kitchens of St Mungo's - they'd thank you for it. Slip in a bit o' frogspawn in the porridge, you know the drill ..."
"Ta, Bryal," said Sylvia as she took a second sip at the beige liquid. "Still having a grudge against St Mungo, are you Frisus?"
"Nah, jus' those Healers," replied Frisus bitterly. "I'm better off livin' life in the street than stayin' constricted in that ward." His face turned gaunt and sour.
Bryal knew that Frisus was better off in the ward, but did not utter a word to him about the matter. Instead, he busied himself by arranging dull holly on the bar surface.
Sylvia remained purse-lipped and stared at Frisus, who coughed harder than ever. She struggled to get the words out of her mouth.
"You know, Fris," she began, "the Healers at St Mungo's aren't that bad. You can't blame them for doing their job -"
"For goodness sake Sylvia!" burst Frisus suddenly. "How many times have we gone through this? It is a miracle that the Healers of my ward are still keeping their jobs. I thought they'd be sacked during Christmas, what with the constant flow of people pouring into the Internal Injuries ward.
"Mind you, all three o' those Healers won't last long in the next day or two. The amount o' patients they lay their eyes on during Christmas will drive 'em senseless. I can guarantee that they'd be makin' more mistakes than ever. Take that from someone who has experienced a small mishap last month," he added with a wry smile.
Sylvia remained silent. Bryal, who had been listening intently to Frisus, returned his focus to the holly.
Frisus drained the last of the flask contents. "That was powerful, Bryal, cheers!"
The door of the Simmering Cauldron swung open. Flecks of snow surrounded two newcomers. Only their silhouette could be distinguished against the white of the snow. Both made an attempt in unison to close the door against the force of the cold, icy wind.
Raising her eyebrows, Sylvia pointed her wand at the door and muttered, "Distrivu Enclosia!" The door snapped shut at once. Both figures fell in a heap onto the ground. They were clearly seen now. An elf was perched on the neck of a stout-looking witch.
"Mrs Porpington, would you care to join us?" said Sylvia sweetly whilst slipping the wand back into her cloak pocket draped behind the chair.
The stout witch managed a weak smile, and barked at the elf on her neck, "Get - off - now - before - I - wallop - you - with - Nick's - fossils -!"
The elf hopped off instantly, running towards a chair a few tables away.
Mrs Porpington slowly got to her feet and ruffled her blouse, muttering, "Pathetic, really ..." several times over. The wooden door of the Simmering Cauldron slammed towards her as it opened once more. She fell flat on her face on the cold, hard stone.
Mrs Porpington's round face faded from pale olive to maroon. The colour varied much quicker than the length of time in which Bryal, Frisus and Sylvia appeared at her side.
"STUPID ELF!" yelled Mrs Porpington. Sylvia's lips twitched slightly, but remained pursed. Frisus hid a guffaw by fixing the empty flask to his lips. Bryal remained shocked, occasionally opening and closing his mouth.
"An excellent way of a greeting, if I do say so myself," sounded a man who entered the building. "I seriously thought I was the one dropping in for a visit."
Frisus pulled the empty flask away from his mouth and walked towards his chair, noisily filling the entire bar with unsuppressed laughter. Mrs Porpington however, was not amused.
"You'd better do something about that wretched elf, Nick!" she said through gritted teeth as Sylvia and Bryal lifted her onto both feet with much difficulty. She made a grab for the elf as it ran to her husband and missed by inches, nearly falling yet again. "We could have so graciously taken in Alastair's elf! What was her name - Frilly! "Dear, we're better off with a male elf. Dear, wouldn't you like a strong, manly creature in the house?" Painless indeed, NICK!"
The elf hung onto Nicholas' ankle, trembling from head to foot. Nicholas rolled his eyes and skipped his way past Mrs Porpington and the others, saying, "This elf is perfect, Acacia. Alastair's elf is a pushover. Did you hear recently that his elf nearly set fire to the living room while trying to light the fireplace?"

"Nearly, Nick, nearly! There always has to be a small word which changes the course of everything. It's like a fully, perfectly, fresh cake compared to one with a few unbaked crumbs," replied his heated wife.
Nicholas sighed. "Imagine the result of the living room if it ended up catching fire. I mean, there is a high risk of the whole house being affected by the blast. It can't be perfectly replaced down to the single cob-web, Acacia. But certain pains like yours can be cured."
Frisus shifted in his seat. Bryal and Sylvia exchanged slight glances.
"Well, maybe a few scars here and there, but -" Nicholas continued, before his wife's fist met his jaw.
"FOOL - AS - YOU - ARE -!" she shouted heatedly, slapping her husband each time she paused. "DISGRACEFUL! COWARDICE! JUST LIKE THE ELF! HOW -"

"Accio fat lady!" yelled Bryan and Sylvia.
Mrs Porpington's hand met the air in the next pausing interval. Her eyes grew wide as she swung her hand at her husband yet again. For the second time, her hand did not come to contact with the jaw. Mrs Porpington took a step towards Nicholas, but was dragged backwards further by an invisible force. She turned her head and noticed Bryan and Sylvia with outstretched wands, pointing at her.
"STOP THIS AT ONCE, BOTH OF YOU!" she yelled pleadingly, tears slowly forming in her eyes.
Frisus and Nicholas were sniggering madly. Frisus had fallen off his seat, unable to resist the urge of rolling on the dusty floor. He coughed while laughing.
Bryan and Sylvia lifted the charm once Mrs Porpington was at least three feet from her husband. She fumed at Nicholas while staring at him through slitted eyes. Clenching her fists, Mrs Porpington marched out of the building with her nose in the air.
"That ol' chicken pie, on and on it goes eh?" said Frisus with a small chuckle while examining an antique tea set perched above a shelf filled with cutlery. "A few mufflers won't even cover an inch of that sound."
Sylvia did not chuckle nor suppress any sign of laughter. She walked behind the bar and filled half her glass jug with strawberry martini. Swirling it around and sipping from a straw, she said, "The children will be arriving soon, I suppose?"
"I'd say so, Sylvia," replied Nicholas while stroking his elf's ear. "Third year students in Binn's History of Magic class."
"The poor man, he needs a rest, Nick. Surely someone could take on the History of Magic teaching post?" said Bryan worriedly while wiping a chair leg.
Nicholas sat on a chair opposite Frisus and said, "As far as I'm concerned, there's no one else. Auvise Bomardark sent Owls to wizarding schools in Britain, Switzerland, and Malaysia a week ago. I'm not sure if he had much success though. I think my -"

Nicholas whirled around, and noticed a dozen children surrounded by Bryan, Sylvia, and Mrs Porpington at the doorway. Mrs Porpington shot the elf a venomous glare and offered the children a plate of fruit cake. She placed the plate on a table beside a girl with short blonde pigtails.
"Thank you aunty Acacia," said the girl. She was holding the hand of a stout boy who had bruises on his forehead. He kept looking at her and at the plate of fruit cake. He broke away from the girl and dived straight at the silver plate. Bits of cherry and raisin flew from his mouth as he took one munch after another.
Mrs Porpington smiled at the boy. "Would you like some more cake?" she said kindly. This was quite unnecessary, since the platter kept refilling itself. The boy ignored her. After eating as much as he possibly could and removing his belt (which had gone tighter after the absorption of fruit cake), the boy slowly shook his head and fell into a deep stupor. The other eleven children became whirring blurs.
Mrs Porpington smirked at the boy and made her way towards Sylvia, who was adjusting another boy's tie.
"There you are," said Sylvia. "You'll be perfect onstage. Just try to open your mouth a little wider when singing, won't you sweetheart?" Sylvia broke her gaze from the boy and stared curiously into the chuckling face of Mrs Porpington.
"Is something the matter, Mrs Porpington?"
"Nothing at all, dear," she said. "Just making sure everything is perfect."
Sylvia noticed the plate of fruit cake on the table beside the bruised boy and said, "Mrs Porpington, no food should be made available until the conclusion of the singing. It simply -"
Mrs Porpington interrupted her. "All for a good cause, my dear. We wouldn't want evidence of a bad image on Christmas day, now do we?" She drained the last of her butterbeer.
She strode away whilst smiling at the bruised boy who was now tended by the girl with blonde pigtails. Sylvia stood stunned and remained purse-lipped. Mrs Porpington returned from lecturing several third years and whispered in Sylvia's ear.

"Have you seen Nick at all?" she said pompously while trying her best not to sound worried.
Sylvia surveyed the entire bar for Nicholas amid the babble of preparation. He was nowhere to be seen. Frisus was also missing. Sylvia frowned, and noticed two pairs of grey eyes staring at her at the far end of the Simmering Cauldron.
"He must have gone out with Frisus," said Sylvia.

Mrs Porpington frowned. "But he is supposed to be here. He knows he is. Maybe I was being too hard on him ..."
"Now don't you be so hard on yourself," said Sylvia comfortingly. "I'm sure he just went for a quick stroll. I mean, how far could he get in London?"
Mrs Porpington sighed, and pulled herself together. "You're right, dear. Absolutely right. There's - there's nothing to worry about." She walked away, this time to refill her mug. She flicked her wand at the plate of fruit cake as she passed. The plate and its contents vanished immediately.
Sylvia stared at Bryan as he ordered spoons and forks with the assistance of three other third years. She frowned and walk towards Mrs Porpington.
"Excuse me, Mrs Porpington, but perhaps we could check around the building for your husband. The guests will be arriving soon, I'd expect."
"Yes, dear," said Mrs Porpington benignly. "He's the closest thing to a Santa Claus we have. Goodness knows where we'd find a better one." She chuckled and walked up a flight of stairs nearby.
"I'll check outside," said Sylvia. "Be careful Mrs Porpington, those blasted stairs are rickety. Boris Crockford fell down five steps on the second floor yesterday."
"Yes, thank you dear," called Mrs Porpington as she reached the first landing. "I heard that his wife, what's her name - Weghy, was carrying his walking stick, for some strange reason. Stupid lady, thank goodness Boris scraped through death."
Sylvia hid a chuckle and strode outside. Closing the door behind her, she looked around the wilderness of the falling snow. Nothing was discernable except the lit windows of various shops. Sylvia shivered against the whipping air and made to tighten the cloak around her, but noticed she had left it in the Simmering Cauldron.

As she doubled back, an ear-splitting scream sounded the moment she had touched the handle of the Simmering Cauldron.
Sylvia fumbled against the slippery handle, and kicked the door open in panic. She quickly searched around the place and ran up two flights of stairs, following the sound of the scream. As she reached the third landing, the screaming ceased. Voices could be heard on the left side. Running towards the source of the muttering, Sylvia opened door after door on her search. She hardly heard sounds of footsteps climbing the staircase after her. Opening the second last door on the left side of the landing, a gruesome scene met her eyes.
Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington lay motionless on the ground, his left leg protruding outwards at an odd angle. His head was cleanly separate from his body except for a thin fraction of flesh and vein clinging onto his left shoulder. Just visible behind the thick ruff worn around the base of his neck were thin shards of antique glass.
A shadow loomed over Nicholas. Wand held high, the gaunt face of Frisus stared menacingly at the woman who sobbed at her husband's side.
Sylvia stood rooted to the spot, horrified at the scene which lay before her. She realised her wand had been taken into possession by Frisus as it lay clutched in his dirty hand.
Frisus slowly raised his head smirked at her arrival.

"Welcome, my darling Sylvia," he said in a voice quite unlike his own. Sylvia thought it sounded more like a hiss. "I know you better than to come to the rescue of your saintly friends. No, in answer to the thought in your mind after you heard the scream, I have not killed the woman at my feet. But no matter, I will in a few moments. Goodness knows why she is crying, the relationship never interlocked from my observations."
Sylvia continued to remain silent. She found it difficult to take her eyes away from Frisus. Among her avalanche of thoughts, Sylvia managed to catch a brief glimpse of the room. Glass phials and potions were smashed everywhere. Emerald ink was splattered over the wooden floor.
By the closet, an entire Santa Claus suit hung on a protruding metal claw. The suit gave Sylvia the impression that Nicholas had entered this room to change for the party downstairs.
Frisus clucked his tongue and pointed the wand at Mrs Porpington. She sobbed harder than ever, her body almost bent double. Sylvia snapped her gaze back to Frisus. Her throat was blocked. She found it hard to draw breath.
"So, who could the next victim be, I wonder? Glass wouldn't be enough to penetrate the flesh of this one," Frisus said while staring at Mrs Porpington. His voice was softer this time and resembled a stronger hiss. "I suppose the pond of blood here is enough to kill her of fright." He let out a long, cruel laugh.
Sylvia remained at the doorway. She felt around the doorframe and considered yelling for help. A hand suddenly closed around her right hand. She felt fizzing butterbeer drip down her hand. She whipped around and saw not Bryan, but one of the frail witches that was sitting on the far end of the bar.
A thin stream of purple light shot through Sylvia's body the moment she had been pulled backwards by the frail witch. Both were sent flying backwards towards the banister of the landing. A loud CRACK sounded through the air as the thin body of the frail witch came to contact with the wooden banister.
Sylvia broke free from the hand grasp of the frail witch and turned around. The frail witch was dead. Her head and half of her body dangled flexibly from the edge of the banister. Sylvia toppled down, her right hand clutching her abdomen. A scream echoed around the entire Simmering Cauldron from the room ahead. She looked up to catch sight of an approaching Frisus. He was accompanied by Bryan, who continuously muttered under his breath. As Frisus neared closer, his cold eyes were fixed on Sylvia. His gaunt face held no expression. The wand tip was pointing directly at her.
"Kill me," said Sylvia with difficulty. "St Mungo's will take you in for insanity as they had once done," She coughed and a stream of blood erupted from her open mouth. The blood splattered at Frisus' shoes. "Being among the last members of the Order -"

"The last members of the Order are not the last to see fate at my feet. I have many more candidates after you, Sylvia. Death Eaters, as I have chosen to name my future association of dark wizards, will all bow and pay allegiance to me.
Revamp the circle of the Death Eaters, Sylvia. Come to a new Order, a new view of the world, and a new life. The Order has indeed been cruel to you, Sylvia. The penetrated magic in the tasks has troubled your life. Come into a more beneficial branch of magic," said Frisus with a snarl in his voice.
Sylvia's voice trembled with fury.
"The Order has not troubled my life, but yours," said Sylvia, "And this is proof! The troubled life which you have is not beneficial to any wizard or witch." She spat on the ground at Frisus' feet. "You simply couldn't resist grasping the power of the dark side. Each time we fought dark wizards, you were in deep conflict with yourself. You constantly felt a surge to use dark magic and hexes instead of charms and counter-curses."
"My ambition has always been power," said Frisus, his lip slowly curling into a smile. "And I have shown good use of power in the eyes of the Order."
"Fiend-like snake!" seethed Sylvia. "When they arrive -"
Sylvia choked and spluttered as an invisible hand clasped around her throat, squeezing tighter and tighter each second.
"I have killed the remaining members of the Order," said Frisus while fiddling with his wand. "I finally had my revenge. Weakening me with paralysis and apparating me to St Mungo's hospital does not go pass without unforgettable repayment. You wanted me to suffer in that dreaded place and face death. Your sisters' tricks to poison my daily dose of medicine succeeded fractionally. Bryan has been incredibly helpful with his remedial potions. My full strength will be restored in good time."
He smiled wider than ever, ignoring Bryan's mutterings. "While visiting me, he killed your sisters when discussing the plans of the Order."
Sylvia's eyes widened. She winced as the invisible hand continued to clutch her throat tighter. She could hardly draw breath. A golden aura surrounded her. The light pierced into Frisus' eyes, the brightness causing him to shield his vision. As the light faded away, only the clothes worn by Sylvia were visible. She was gone.
Frisus landed a high-heeled buckled boot onto the bundle of clothing. Cursing, he used the same foot to kick the frail witch cleanly off the banister. A squeaky voice sounded from behind.
"Blood shall have blood," said the elf. Its pointed nose and stern expression was similar to Sylvia's.
This time, Frisus' eyes widened. He whipped around and swiftly pointed his wand at the elf just as it pointed its finger at him. A blue streak of light shot out of the elf's thin finger. The blue light met the spell conjured by Frisus. Both spells collided, a mixture of gold and blue causing a vivid green effect.

Frisus shielded his eyes yet again, grasping the banister with his left hand. The banister produced several creaks.
A streak of black light erupted from both finger and wand. The result caused both men and elf to stagger backwards. What happened next occurred in quick succession. The elf lost its balance and fell down the steps to the second landing. It raised a fraction of its head in difficulty to catch a glimpse of Frisus and Bryan. Raising a trembling hand, another black spark appeared at the end of its finger. No light was sent towards either man.
Another loud creak sounded before the entire banister gave way. Floorboards came crashing down the Simmering Cauldron. The railing of the banister was sent crashing down all three floors. Struggling to gain balance, Frisus and Bryan scrambled forwards. Both were thrown downwards as the floorboards belonging to the third-landing loosely disconnected.
Frisus fumbled with his wand as he fell. It fell loosely from his hand and streaked downwards. The wand made a soft, clanking noise as it collided with the floor surface and splintered in half.
The elf slowly closed its eyes, waiting for the impact. Within a few seconds, loud shrieks and yells rang throughout the air prior to the loud crash which followed. A tear struggled to drip down the elf's left eye as it dropped his head hopelessly onto the dusty floorboard.