| The Stranger StoriesSeason - 1 Episode 5 | 
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Best Friends
Best Friends. These are considered good things to have. I've got one or two kicking around somewhere or other. Take Neil. We've known each other for about, well, thirty years now. Went to school together, college and many a pub. Now we live a three-hour-drive from each other. We think its the only way our livers will last. We see each other two or three times a year. You may not think that's much for Bestest Friends, but the breweries seem satisfied. Last time we met was Halloween; it went just as per usual. Straight down the pub.
It was just about six o'clock, and we were sitting outside The 'Oak. I know it was a little cold, but that helps to chill the Guinness.
We were gently sipping our second or third pint of the evening, making fun of the gaggles of children being shepherded around by wary parents, using this night of the year to extort sweets from unsuspecting householders, when someone came and put his pint on the end of the table. He looked like he was somewhere between fifty and sixty, his hair was white and full, with a neatly trimmed beard. He was wrapped in a decent duster, it looked like a Driza to me.
He sneered to the world in general. "Fools." He said.
Neil gave me a "Why Do We Attract The Nutters?" look. I gave him a "We Just Get Lucky" look back.
"Look at them," the man said with contempt in his voice, "That Rowling woman's got a lot to answer for." He waved a hand at a nearby gaggle of four-foot high witches, wizards, ghosts and skeletons. Well they were probably children dressed up.
"There's no 'hidden culture' of wizards." He said; Neil and I agreed. "There's no 'ministry of magic'." He laughed, "And there's definitely no school where you can go and learn how to cast spells and mix potions." Neil & I nodded sagely. He stared at me and slowly moved his gaze to Neil. "There are four, no, five people in these isles that deserve the title 'Wizard'. Self taught one and all."
The hairs on the back of my neck stiffened. He looked back at me - his eyes seemed to bore into me. "You notice," he said, "In her books, they don't learn English or Mathematics at that 'school'" he laughed, "What good would a wizard be if he couldn't read or write or add up?" He put his pint to his lips. "Ach, nevermind." He said before emptying his glass and walking off.
"See." I told Neil, "Milton Keynes never fails to amaze."
"I hope he doesn't curse the 'Chinese." Neil replied. "I was looking forward to their egg foo yung."
---*---
I looked around the wizard's tower. The walls were dominated by bookshelves, a staircase spun up the far side and there was a wooden table, a workbench, covered in open books, candles, and an empty tea-cup. I didn't dare touch anything.
The Stranger came back in, the dead body happily gone. He walked in and stood in front of the bookshelves, shaking his head. "My people," he said, "all of my people have The Art. It comes so easily to us." He turned to me and smiled, "Humans don't have the same affinity; but strangely," He ran a finger over a line of books, "Humans often make the stronger mages."
He turned back to me. "Let's see if we can discover what happened here."
He dropped his head and began to chant - I couldn't make the words out - if they were words that is, then lifted his head up and brought his hands up in front and started spinning them slowly round in a clockwise motion, making circles in the air about a foot across. The air felt electric and seemed to thicken. I realised I could see ghost images of myself walking out of the room, and a translucent image of the dead man sat in the chair.
The image in the chair nodded a few times then, as the Stranger spun his arms faster and faster, he blurred and was then walking backwards up the stairs. The Stranger slowed his motions; he then started spinning them widdershins. I then realised what he'd done, he'd wound back an image like a video tape and was now running it forwards - I could see the man walking down the stairs, or at least a ghostly image of the man walking down the stairs with a cup and saucer in one hand. He looked sad, looking slowly around the room. Then he placed the cup on the table and walked over to the bookshelf beside me. Instinctively I moved to give him room. He pulled a book from the shelf, then slipped a couple of leaves of paper into the book then pushed it back in its place.
The image walked over to the chair, sat down and picked his cup up. He drunk the cupful in one swig, placed the cup back on the table; then he died. The change was immediate, he seemed to age a thousand years in just seconds, his hair fell out, his skin wrinkled and his nails... grew... I shivered.
My friend stopped spinning his hands.
"Don't touch the cup." He suggested. I acquiesced.
"I've met him." I said, surprised that I'd even spoken. The Stranger looked askance at me. I nodded. "Last Halloween," I smiled, sort of, "He took the piss out of Harry Potter."
"I don't know this Potter." My friend said; I smiled. He stepped next to me, "Shall we see what he put in the book." He stretched his hand out and pulled the volume from the shelf.
A voice by the door made me jump out of my skin. Not literally you understand, I thought I'd better make that clear, because strange things were happening.
"We know what it is, don't we brother?"
I turned; hairs-standing-up-on-back-of-neck-time again.
It was Her. The 'woman' from the library. "It's his last will and testament." She said.
Behind the woman was a young lady, maybe in her early twenties, long blond hair. She spoke with a smile that could have melted butter from a mile away, her eyes like spanners. "It will tell us how to determine his successor."
