blankparchment

[blankparchment]

Imagine Sirius Black comforting you when you’re falling apart.

9. Everything was falling apart. “I’m fine.” They were, of course, lying. [x]

[trigger warning: for a kinda panic attack and the death of a family member (mentioned)]

War is hard. It's easy to ignore at Hogwarts. At Hogwarts your problems were the three-foot potions essay and boys and NEWTs and the house cup. But that isn't the real world. The real world is death eaters and war and Voldemort and blood purity bullshit. And the real world is that your brother died because he was on the wrong side of it.

You thought you'd know. You thought that if something like that ever happened, if your only living family ever died, that of course you'd know. You'd feel it. You would know something was off. You would feel sick or tired or scared or something because you had to feel something. There was no way your brother could leave this world without you knowing about it.

But he did. You were in the Great Hall when you got the letter. Between an overprotective brother and far more newspaper subscriptions than any girl had a right to have, you hadn't thought anything of it. You opened it, paying half a mind to it as you laughed at James' dramatic rendition of the first time he had asked Lily Evans out for tea. You picked up your glass of water as you pulled your attention away from James and onto your letter.

It is with great sorrow that we must inform you of the death of . . .

Your world froze. The glass slipped from your hand and shattered across the table. The entire table fell silent. But you didn't notice any of that. Your eyes were on the page. 

The death of. 

Death of. 

Death.

And suddenly the war was very real. And the room was very cold. And you were very alone.

Lily was trying to talk to you. " . . . okay? Hey, just look at me. It'll be okay, I promise" and then, to someone else, "Did you see what happened? Why's she suddenly in shock?"

You clumsily shot to your feet, nearly tripping over the bench in your haste. "I need . . . I need air," you managed to say. The letter was crushed in your hand. The entire hall was whispering. Before you turned around, you even caught eyes with Dumbledore, who seemed to be staring with growing worry at the scene. 

You fled. You didn't know where you were going at all. You took every turn you saw, in any direction. You didn't really care where you were going, except that you couldn't be there. So you went and you ran and ran until you were good and properly lost, and as soon as you reached a dead end corridor, you finally let yourself breathe.

He was dead. Your brother was dead. Your only living family. Gone. Murdered. Taken by a war that he never wanted any part of. He had always taken care of you. It had been you and him, it'd been that way for years. And now he was gone and you didn't even get to say goodbye. You hadn't seen him in months. You never would again. And it wasn't fair, he didn't do anything wrong, all he ever wanted was equality, and he was so good, so so good and taken by a war so so dark, and it was wrong and impossible and stifling and scary and it couldn't be true, please please don't let it be true, it's not, it's not, it's not, it's not, he can't be, you refuse to believe—he can't, he can't, he can't be gone— 

You were crying before you even knew you believed it. Tears fell to stone. You remained standing, facing the wall at the end of the corridor, so alone, so very alone, always alone—

"Are you okay?"

It was Sirius. You almost wanted to laugh at the question. You leaned forward to brace one hand against the wall to keep your balance. You didn't turn to his him. You couldn't. He couldn't see you like this, crying and afraid and broken. Your hand was shaking against the wall. Your mind was spinning. Everything was falling apart.

"I'm fine." You were, of course, lying.

"You don't have to be," Sirius pressed cautiously. "It's okay if you're not."

You pressed your fist against your lips to prevent the choking sob you could feel rising in your throat. You closed your eyes. It's okay. He's not dead. He can't be dead. You'd know if he was. It can't be true. It can't be. It's not. They're lying. Lying. Lying. Lying. Please just let them be lying.

Your resolve shattered. Your knees fell weak under you. You collapsed.

"Shit!" Sirius muttered, and then suddenly he was beside you, so close, and he had a hand on your shoulder and he was shaking it, just enough to grab your attention, and he was so warm, so warm after all of the cold, and before you realised it you had wrapped your arms around him as tightly as you could, holding up like he was a lifeline.

"He's dead." Those were the only words you could get out. 

Sirius stiffened and slowly, carefully, eased back and pulled out of the hug to look you in the eye. He didn't have to ask who you were talking about. The look in his eyes was so sad you were sure he knew.

"Y/N, I—I'm sorry." He didn't know what to say. You weren't sure if that was better or worse than what you had anticipated. Sirius always knew what to say. He always had a joke or an excuse or a comment. But for a moment he was as lost as you were, and for that moment you felt far less alone and slightly less afraid.

You wiped the tear tracks from your cheeks, as if they wouldn't quickly be replaced. And carefully, you slid back and out of his grip, moving over to lean against the wall. "I-I can't believe it. The letter says he's gone. But I can't believe it. He-he's all I have left, you know? And if he was gone . . . he just can't be. I'd know. I'd feel it. Or-or I'd have been there. He can't just disappear without a trace, that's not—that's not how it works." Your voice was shaky but you fought to keep it away. You wrapped your arms around your knees and clasped them together tightly to try to stop the shaking. 

"I'm sorry," Sirius repeated. His eyes were glassy and his voice was oddly strained. He cautiously placed a hand on your arm. "But . . . but you know that's not true. We're at war, and . . . and well . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault." You gave a bitter laugh and cut it off before it could become a sob. "It's not your fault so stop apologizing. You know what? It's fine. There's nothing to be sorry over. I never see him anyway, it's only two months and then I'm here and I don't see him until the next year. I-I'm nearly 17 now anyway, I own the house too. And he was too busy over Christmas for me to go over, so clearly we weren't close anyway, so you know what? I don't care. I don't care that he's de—" Your voice cracked.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sirius breathed. He tightened his hold on your arm so you'd look up at him. "Don't do that. You know you loved him, Y/N, and you can't just talk yourself out of it as soon as it gets hard. It's okay to just feel sad, alright?"

"I can't," you disagreed. "I can't be sad. We're at war, Sirius. And we're not on the winning side right now. Every minute I spend upset and moping is another minute that I'm not fighting. And I have to. I have to be strong. I have to stand up. I-I want to kill him. Whoever killed my brother, I want them dead. And I can't just sit here and cry and mope, because that won't get anything done!"

Abruptly, you shot to your feet. You almost lost your balance, but Sirius was quickly up beside you, a steadying hand on your arm. 

"Y/N, stop!" Sirius shouted. You froze. He took a deep breath and then lowered his head. When he next spoke, it was gentle. "Do you hear yourself? Your brother is dead. You don't have to be strong. No one is asking you to be strong. Could you just take a moment and breathe? Look, you're not fighting this alone. We're all on the same side, and we are going to win. And it's not just on you."

You hadn't realized you were holding your breath. As soon as you began your first deep breath, all the tension dropped from your shoulders and you had to lean on Sirius for support.

"I-I don't know how to fix this, Sirius," you whispered. "I don't know what to do." You leaned your head on his shoulder as he guided you off to the side to lean against the wall. "He was all I had left."

Sirius put his arm around you and cleared his throat, taking a long moment before he spoke. "I was disowned in fifth year. I know it's not the same thing. But at the time . . . in the middle of everything else, all the chaos and all of the war, and the death eaters rising . . . it was hard." He swallowed and tightened his hold on you. "I always hated my mother. But my father was still in that house. And . . . and Reggie. I wasn't allowed home anymore. And I lost them all. All of my family was gone. And it sucked. But—but—I still had people. I still had James. And I still had all of my friends at Hogwarts. I still had you. It helps. I know it doesn't feel like enough right now, but it helps."

"I just . . . I just don't know how I'm ever going to be able to go back into that house," you said quietly. Your mind had settled to an eerie calm. Part of you knew it could never last, that something would happen and you would just burst, and all of your emotions would tear you apart, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Sirius nodded. "You won't have to do it alone. You can. But you don't have to."

You took a deep breath and nodded back. "I-I don't think I can do this much longer. I don't think I can be strong."

"You are strong. You are still standing here because you're strong. But," he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You don't always have to be. It's okay, Y/N. I promise it'll be okay."

 Tagging @mistressoftorture

Note from the author: so that got away from me real quick. Can’t lie, I wrote this in about an hour in a desperate attempt to get out of a writing slump. Did it work? Couldn’t tell ya. But yikes. This was in some places really hard to write and in some places really easy, and I can tell based on my writing in some of these sections that it was a sLOG through some parts. Oh well. 

ANYWAY, if you’d like to make requests, I love requests. I linked a prompt list in this one, so I’ll accept prompts from that list, any other list, or even just from your brain. Just give me an idea, some characters to use it on, and we’re golden ;)

Hope you enjoyed this one, hopefully I can write something less depressing next time around. And more Marauders centric. Like I said, I got carried away with this one. I definitely meant to focus more on Sirius. Whelp.

[blankparchment]

Imagine you find out Remus is a werewolf

You were ready to kill someone. Or at least maim them. At the very least hex the everloving shit out of them. Remus had been hurt before and you had let it go but you were done. This was the fourth time he’d been in the hospital wing since you had become friends with him and you were beyond pissed off.

When Remus hadn’t shown up for breakfast, you were ready to pass it off as him sleeping in or feeling a bit under the weather. He had seemed stressed the last couple of days anyway and he deserved a bit more rest after all of his recent revision. If it hadn’t been for how suspicious everyone had acted, you probably wouldn’t have thought twice. But James jumped at the chance to distract you, Sirius started telling old stories from classes you had shared, and Peter dutifully avoided your gaze. No one dared to even mention Remus’ name.

It didn’t take you long to figure out that Remus wasn’t in the best state and that they trying they’re damndest to keep you from noticing. You only just had the patience to wait until the end of breakfast before you were able to sneak away from the Great Hall under the guise of going to class. With barely a passing thought to the class you were skipping, you raced down to the hospital wing, undeniably certain that Remus would be there.

Stepping into the hospital wing, it seemed almost as though there was no one there. Pomfrey didn’t seem to be there at the very least; she usually spent her time bustling around and cleaning sheets and finishing up a few potions and mixes for her healing. She was undeniably absent from the main room, however, and all the beds were empty. You weren’t deterred. There were a couple private rooms in the hospital wing, reserved for extremely sensitive or private matters. You had earned yourself one of those back in fourth year when you had fallen to a dark curse in Hogsmeade. The damage had been brutal and the whole school had heard of it. Pomfrey didn’t have time to deal with distraction so she had ensured you had the privacy you needed to make the painful recovery.

With no preamble, you wordlessly unlocked all the doors in the room with a swish of the wand and threw the nearest one open. No one there. It was at the second door, at the back of the hospital wing altogether, that you found Remus, laying in bed with so many wounds you couldn’t count them. He might have been sleeping, but as soon as the door open he shot upright. The sound he made was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper at the pain of it, the sound freezing you in place.

“What happened to you?” you managed to say. You could hear the strain in your own voice but there wasn’t much you could do about it. You hadn’t expected it to be this bad. Remus was covered in scratches and wounds, crisscrossing his arms and his collarbone, a couple landing on his neck. His shirt covered up most of the damage but you could see the blood seeping through some of the wounds that must have been lining his chest.

Remus opened his mouth and then shut it. He usually had such a way with words; he was a mediator and peacemaker for the most troublesome kids in school, so he had gotten used to such things. This time he had no idea what he could possibly say to make things right and that realization alone made your head spin.

“You-you’re in the hospital wing. And those wounds aren’t gone yet, which means that they’re not just scratches. That’s dark magic. It has to be.” You might have been talking to yourself. Even you weren’t actually sure.

“Y/N,” he said, raising a hand in front of him. “I—uh, I can explain.” He dropped into silence. He was at a loss for words but you weren’t.

“Who did this to you, Remus?” you asked. You noticed your hands were shaking so you crossed your arms to hide it. “Who the hell is it? Because you keep on ending up here, you keep on ending up hurt and in the hospital wing and I’m not stupid, okay? I know you’re not just-just tired or clumsy or being dumb, because you’re not like that. And I don’t know if your friends believe that but I don’t. Someone is hurting you and you’re going to tell me who.”

Remus breathed raggedly, struggling to shift to sit further upright, his hand raised in front of him in an appeasing gesture. “Please, Y/N, it’s not like that. I’m fine. You shouldn’t even be here.” His voice was clearly strained but whatever pain he was in, he seemed determined to hide it from you.

“I shouldn’t be here?” you repeated. You were finding it hard to keep your tone in check and before you knew it you were nearly shouting. “Remus, do you hear yourself?! You’re in the hospital wing, and we’re in the middle of a war! You can’t be keeping secrets, not now. If someone is hurting you, you have to tell someone, you can’t just go it alone!”

“Y/N, please, just let it go. Leave it alone, I’m fine, I promise I am. Just trust me!” Remus’ voice took on a pleading and broken quality and you winced. Finally quieting, you moved closer to sit on Remus’ bed. He slid back with a grimace at the movement to make more room for you, pulling his legs in so you could sit at the foot of it.

“Remus, I—” You paused and took a deep breath. “I need to know what’s going on with you, okay? Because you’re my friend and I really care about you. And-and I hate seeing you hurt. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s happening.” You waited to see if Remus would speak up but he didn’t. “You’ve been in the hospital wing four times in as many months. And look at you! You’re covered in blood and scratches and it has to be dark magic because the only things that don’t heal are dark magic and—and—”

You froze. You looked quickly from Remus’ wounds to his eyes and realized that he suddenly looked terrified.

“Please just drop it,” he whispered. “Just go, Y/N, please.”

You felt sick suddenly. “You disappear all the time. Even before we were friends I knew that. Except now I know where you disappear to. You go here. You’re-you’re always here, Remus. You get hurt and you come here, at least once—” At least once a month. You shifted approaches. “We had an astronomy lesson a couple days ago. You were there for that one, but you looked-you looked sickly. I asked you if you were okay and you told me you were. I-I remember Professor Toren saying that we couldn’t see some of the stars so well. Because it was too bright. The moon was almost full.”

Remus looked agonized. “Y/N—”

“And that was a couple days ago. The full moon was last night, wasn’t it? And if I looked up the dates, i-it would line up with the times you’ve been hurt, wouldn’t it? All the days you mysteriously go missing, it’s always right after the full moon, right?”

Remus’ shoulders dropped. You could see the exact moment when he gave up on keeping it from you, the moment where the tension leaked from his frame and all that was left was a shadow of who he had been.

“Please let me explain,” he said hollowly. “At least give me that, please give me that.”

You were too shocked to speak. Without meaning to, you shifted slightly back in your seat. Remus’ eyes followed the motion with a pained expression. After a moment, you nodded.

Y-you have to understand I would never hurt anyone. I would never hurt anyone on purpose, I-I can’t help it that I turn but we’re doing everything we can to keep everyone safe. This school—it was my only chance. Dumbledore was the only one who would take me in, no one else would be willing to accept a-a werewolf as a student. This is my only chance, Y/N, just—please don’t tell anyone.”

You shook your head and cleared your throat, putting your hand to your mouth. “Werewolves . . . they have to be turned, right? You weren’t born like this?” You dropped your gaze to the bed so you could collect your thoughts. “I-I know you’re a good person, I’ve seen it. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. But when you turn, you aren’t like that. You’re not you, right? We talked about it in class. Werewolves have no control once they turn. That must be . . . horrible.”

You took a deep breath and wrapped your arms around yourself. 

“When did it happen? When were you bitten?” You were afraid to know the answer but you had to. Your world was spinning in front of your eyes and you couldn’t make sense of it. Everyone described werewolves as monsters and mutts, but Remus was sitting there right in front of you, with sad eyes and a terrible weight on his shoulders that you couldn’t begin to understand.

“I was four,” he answered quietly. “My dad worked in the Ministry. He realized one day that a man brought in for questioning was a werewolf. He tried to convince the Ministry but they didn’t believe him. He got angry and said—said terrible things about werewolves. And the man turned the next night and came to our house. He attacked me to get back at my father.

“My dad, he managed to fight the werewolf off, but he didn’t get there in time. I was bitten. And I’ve turned at every full moon after that. And you-you have to know what that’s like. I didn’t want this, I didn’t ask for it. I-I hate that I turn every month and I hate what I become. I ruined my parents lives, being like this. We were always moving, and we never had enough money, they were always looking for ways to help me. If I get kicked out of Hogwarts, it’ll—it’ll destroy them, Y/N. They’ve already sacrificed so much for me. And this is the only shot I’ll get, if this falls through—”

You lifted your head to look Remus in the eye and he stopped. After a moment you finally found it in yourself to speak. “You were four,” you said. “You were four years old when a werewolf broke into your home and attacked you. And you’re sitting there looking guilty and trying to convince me that you deserve a second chance. Remus, I-I’m not going to tell anyone. None of this is your fault, it’s just—I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’ve got it so hard and that no one even knows. Everyone hates werewolves—that’s just how it’s always been but that doesn’t make sense. You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met and—” 

You realized suddenly that you were choked up. “Shit, Remus. You’re hurt and bleeding and—and I can’t even beat up the person who did it to you because it was, well, you. I mean, if I ever find the werewolf that turned you I’m going to kick his ass. He deserves hell for what he’s done to you. But—”

“Y/N,” Remus said firmly. “I’m okay. Look at me, okay? I’m okay.”

Your resolve vanished. One moment you were sitting and the next you had lunged at him, tackling him in a hug so sudden that he fell back onto the bed in surprise. He let out a surprised gasp at the pain and you were quick to jump back. “Shit, sorry, you’re hurt,” you realized. You quickly began to move back and give him more space.

Before you could get too far away, Remus grabbed your wrist to keep you near.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said earnestly. “You don’t know how much your support means to me.”

You gave a slightly watery laugh, shaking your head. “That’s dumb. You’re the same old Remus anyway. You’re just a lot tougher than I gave you credit for. But . . . yeah. I’m here for you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

This was just a quick shot I felt like writing. Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it! I also take requests if you’re interested so feel free to shoot me a message if you’ve got any ideas. See you around! :)

[blankparchment]

Hey love, could you do a Doctor (10) x reader where they’re Kissing in the rain and getting soaked before running inside laughing or something along those lines? Maybe with a bit of angst at the beginning and then a really fluffy ending or something? Thank you!!

You were still shaking. Adventures with the Doctor were always a surprise, and this one was no exception. Even now, sitting on the TARDIS bench while the Doctor piloted away from the cursed planet, you couldn't get rid of the shivers that plagued you. It had been a long day to say the least. It wasn't often that you and the Doctor were separated on an adventure, but this one had been more harrowing than most.

The Doctor wordlessly landed the TARDIS, and as soon as the wheezing of the landing halted, there was silence. Neither the Doctor or you knew what to say after what you had just experienced. Finally, after a short time, the Doctor found words: "Are you okay?" he asked, still standing at the console, not near you.

You looked up at him, not surprised by the question. You shrugged and then nodded. "Yeah. Uh, I'm fine. I'll live," you said. It felt like a lie but it was the best you could do.

"Good," he said quickly. "Good, it's good that you're okay. Because we need to talk."

You took a deep breath and looked away. "Can it wait?" you asked. Absentmindedly, you pulled one leg up onto the seat, wrapping your arms around you knee. You couldn't keep yourself from fidgeting.

"Oh, I don't know," the Doctor said, his voice growing harder by the second, "are you going to risk your life like that again? Are you going to try to get yourself killed again?"

You winced. "Doctor, that's not what happened—"

"You're going to have to do better than that!" he snapped. You flinched in your seat and the Doctor immediately softened, the tension dropping in his shoulders for a moment. He didn't move closer to comfort you.

"It was the only choice, Doctor. They were going to hurt that kid, I-I had to do something or they would've—" You cut yourself off to take a deep breath. "I only volunteered to take his place because I had to. You would have done the same thing."

"That's different, Y/N, just because I would do it doesn't mean—"

"Doesn't mean I should?" you interrupted. "How is that fair? That kid would've been hurt, Doctor, and you didn't have a plan. I did. And that kid is okay now because of it. I'm not going to apologize for helping someone in need!"

The Doctor took a step toward you and you shot upright, raising a hand to stop him from coming closer.

"You don't get it, do you?" you asked shakily. "I'm not going to let people get hurt. I'm not just going to wait for you to save the day. You invited me into the TARDIS, you promised all of time and space. Watching people die was never part of the deal, Doctor. If I can help people than I damn well will."

"Not when it can hurt you," the Doctor disagreed. He took another step closer, shaking his head, eyes sharpening in a determined glare. "You can't just walk into danger to get someone else out of it. I won't let you."

"You won't let me?!" you shouted. You stumbled away from him and toward the doors of the TARDIS. "I-I can't do this right now. It's too soon. I-I'm sorry I'm not what you bargained for, okay? I'm sorry that I disappointed you, that I'm not as good as you at helping people. I-I'm sorry. I really can't be here right now, not when you're looking at me like—like that."

Immediately the Doctor faltered, his shoulders dropping, his eyes growing sad at your words—but you had already turned your back and barrelled out of the TARDIS. It was pouring heavy rain but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Instantly you were soaked. The Doctor had parked a good three blocks from your house—maybe he had been distracted when he had landed.

When you heard the TARDIS door open again behind you, you tried to quicken your pace. The last thing you needed was to listen to the Doctor shout at you or see his glare—

It was too late. All too quickly, the Doctor managed to catch up and grabbed onto your arm.

"Let go!" you said immediately, spinning around to face him. "I-I don't want to talk right now, I know you think I'm incapable of protecting people but—"

"Y/N, please," the Doctor interrupted. His tone cut you short. There was a desperate and pleading quality that hadn't been there before. "Please just listen to me."

You hesitated and then nodded. "Okay," you agreed quietly.

"You're not incapable of anything. You're one of the strongest people I have ever met. I'm not mad at you because I don't think you're good enough at protecting people." The Doctor sighed and put one hand on your cheek, moving closer to you. "Don't you understand, Y/N? I don't want to see you hurt. I-it scares me, thinking what might happen if you get hurt or if you—if you—" The Doctor stopped speaking, instead just lowering his head.

"That's not fair. What about you? I-I'm not more important than you, Doctor, if anything, it's you who should be careful. The universe needs you," you said. Your voice was growing weaker by the second.

"No, you don't get it," he disagreed, closing his eyes briefly. "I am over 900 years old, Y/N. I am very old and I've done a lot of things I regret. But you—you're young. And you're kind. You have so much left for you. I don't know if the universe needs me—maybe it does. But, Y/N, I need you."

You let out a shaky breath. "What?"

But the Doctor was tired of words. Instead, with the rain falling upon both of you, he leaned in and kissed you. Nothing could be compared to the shock when it happened; you almost froze in surprise. If there was one thing you had never expected it was this. And then you realized it was familiar and kind and this was the Doctor and—you kissed him back.

When it finally ended, you were both breathing heavily. You were shaking, but you got the feeling that it wasn't from fear or the cold.

Carefully, you leaned back to look him full in the face. "Was that meant to distract me from our argument?" you asked with shaky laughter.

The Doctor searched your eyes and then nodded, slowly beginning to grin. "Did it work?" he asked.

"I think," you said. "I'm not too angry anymore."

The Doctor's grin widened. "Is that so?" The bastard sounded so smug you would've hit him had you not been so surprised.

"Hey," you said warningly, jabbing his pinstriped chest with a finger. "I'm still going to be helping people, you know."

The Doctor only shrugged. "We can talk about it later," he said with a shrug, his voice dropping lower. "I think there are more important things to talk about right now."

You managed another shaky laugh, reaching up to push some soaking strands of hair from his face. "I think you're right," you agreed, leaning in closer. "We really need to talk about—" you leaned in closer "—who's going to—" and closer "—eat that last slice of pizza on the TARDIS."

"Yeah," the Doctor agreed distractedly, leaning in to kiss you again. Abruptly, he stopped. "Wait, what?"

You broke through his grip and ran away, back toward the TARDIS, sneakers slipping on the wet ground. "First one there gets to eat it!"

You could hear the Doctor sputtering behind you in the rain. "What?!" he exclaimed again. "Oh, it's on!"

His pounding footsteps were coming after you now but you had already reached the TARDIS doors. It was a guaranteed win. The pizza was yours. Your whole life had led to this moment—

The doors wouldn't open. Oh, the TARDIS was playing games now. Laughing at your plight, the Doctor grabbed you by the waist from behind, spinning you away from the doors and then just spinning, over and over again until you were both dizzy. He tried to set you down and you lost your balance, tumbling over and dragging the Doctor down with you.

And so there you both were, soaking wet and laughing, closer than you had ever been. And yeah, maybe you had forgotten about the pizza. For now, being together was enough.

(P.S. You totally get the pizza later. The Doctor caved in surprisingly easily. Must have to do with loving you or something weird like that).

Author here: Okay, so hopefully that was okay? I’m going to be real, I don’t do a lot of, uh, kissing stuff? I’m ace/aro for anyone who doesn’t know, so I have zero experience with romance lol. But thank you so much for requesting! I always like to try to write new things and this was certainly new for me haha! I really hope you like the end result! And for anyone else reading, please feel free to request as well! Thanks for reading and have a great day!

Also, the TARDIS now ships you with the Doctor I guess. So take that as you will aha.

[blankparchment]

Imagine the Doctor meeting a psychic girl who accidentally saw the Time War in his head.

(this is written in third person, mostly because I didn’t feel like second person today. The OC is written specifically for this fic, you’re not missing any information)

The streets had been nearly empty. It was odd for the time of year, though it shouldn’t have been surprising that the cold had finally caught up with the locals of Blackburn. Still, a week before Christmas, Wren hadn’t been expecting the quiet that became the streets once the sun set.

But it was. Quiet. Maybe that was the cause for the dark foreboding feeling she couldn’t manage to shake; maybe it was the cold and the dreariness and the quiet that left her with shivers up her spine and a weight in her head that felt entirely uncomfortable if not entirely familiar. But she doubted it. She could the sense that something was coming and it was all she could do to keep moving forward when all she really wanted to do was collapse.

And then it happened. Someone had been walking on the pavement ahead of her, heading her way. She didn’t think much of it; she slipped off further to the right to let them pass, he moved to the left, and then their hands brushed. She wouldn’t have noticed if not for the blinding pain that arced through her at the contact.

It took everything in her just to breathe. All she could see, all she could feel, was war. She watched families torn apart, she watched space ships burn entire cities, she heard the screaming of man, woman, and child, and then it disappeared, white static tearing apart her consciousness, and all she could feel was loss and pain and the realization that everything they had fought for was gone. It was heartbreak like she had never experienced before, the kind of pain that made her wish that she could still see the war and the screaming and the chaos because at least then there’d be something, they would still be alive, there would be a chance— 

It was over. Just as quickly as it started, everything was over. Distantly, she heard shouting. When she managed to open her eyes, she realized it was the man she had passed on the street who was calling for her, concerned and holding her on the ground where she must have collapsed. She squinted as his face came into vision, the bleariness slipping away. “Doctor?” she asked quietly.

He stilled, his expression melting into surprise. Even she was shocked by the word that had escaped her lips—Doctor. It was him, she knew. She had been in his head. All of that loss and all of that pain had been from him. She could still feel it now, with his hand on her shoulder, but there was more. Kindness. Concern. Hope. “Have we met?” he asked cautiously, helping her sit up slowly.

Wren shook her head, wincing at the headache. “No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he interrupted quickly, “no need to apologize. No one’s mad. Are you okay?”

Wren wondered how much he had guessed about her already; she had to assume it wasn’t much if he was still looking at her with so much concern and so much kindness. “Yes,” she said. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry, it was just overwhelming. I really didn’t mean to—I didn’t even know who you were—I—”

“It’s okay,” he said. His voice was gentle and slow, patient in all the ways she wasn’t used to. “Just tell me what happened, it’s okay. I’m not angry with you.”

“You won’t believe me,” she said. Even as she said it, she wasn’t actually sure. She had been in his head, seen spaceships and war like she couldn’t have imagined, felt his consciousness and realized he couldn’t possibly be human. He was the Doctor, even if she wasn’t sure what that meant yet.

He offered her a small smile. “I think I will. Try me.”

Wren took a deep breath and shifted to sit up straighter. Realizing that Wren no longer needed his support, the Doctor slid away and instead just crossed his legs on the ground in front of her to sit. Absently, Wren felt bad for ruining his trench coat and suit, soiled by salt and ice from being on pavement so long.

She cleared her throat. “I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. You have to believe me. If I could control it then I would have done, trust me. You just caught me by surprise and I didn’t expect everything to happen so quickly. I—” Wren took another deep breath before she continued, grounding herself. “When I touched your hand, I-I saw things. Um, a war. A terrible, terrible war.”

The Doctor’s expression became guarded and he shifted in his spot to lean in closer and get a better look at her. Wren pulled her legs in close to her and wrapped her arms around herself. She looked away.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. One moment there was a war and then it was just pain and loss and-and a void, really. I was in your head. And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be, it’s just, you were in so much pain and you’ve lived so long, it was too much for me to block out, I—” Wren stopped. She didn’t know what she could say. She had seen into a stranger’s mind and voiced his greatest secrets and his greatest tragedy. He had never asked for that. She managed to glance back at him and for the first time, she recognized the pain in his eyes, so much older and so much deeper than she could fully comprehend.

“You saw the Time War,” the Doctor said. His voice was carefully guarded and blank, but she could sense the loss dripping from every word. “One of the largest wars in the universe. Between the Time Lords and the Daleks, many years ago.”

The last thing Wren had expected was for him to explain it. She had expected him to rebuke her, to shout at her, to be angry. Instead he was raw and honest. “You ended it,” Wren said. She knew that without knowing why she did. There had been war and then there was nothing, and somehow she knew that it was the Doctor who created that void, the Doctor that silenced every screaming voice in that war.

“I did,” he said. She could hear the pain in his voice without reaching out, without sensing it. It was there and open and plain to see. “I became the last of my kind that day. The last Time Lord. An entire planet burned.”

“I’m sorry,” Wren whispered. She reached out slowly to put a hand on his arm. She expected him to flinch back, to knock her off, to plead with her to stay away, to get out of his head. But none of that happened. He slowly looked down at her hand and then back at her face solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

The Doctor cleared his throat and shook his head. “No. No, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

“No one should,” Wren said hollowly.

The Doctor leaned forward toward her suddenly, his eyes focusing on her with such intensity she almost looked away. A determination burned inside him that hadn’t been there before, as though he finally found a way to fix it. Fix everything.  “Do you want to forget?” he asked. “It isn’t your burden to bear. If you want me to, I could make you forget it.” 

The words should have been ludicrous but they weren’t. His eyes were so earnest and so sad, and she knew without a doubt that he could do exactly that like it was nothing. He could pick through her memories and pull them away. Wren removed the hand she had on his arm and held it up between them appeasingly. She could feel her heart rate speeding up at the thought of him taking memories from her mind, but despite her fear she didn’t think he would do it without her permission.

“Do you want to forget?” she asked.

“Always,” he said solemnly. “And never.”

Wren let out a strangled, sorry laugh. “You’re the last of your kind. You’re the only one left to remember the Time War.”

“Yes,” he said. 

Wren nodded and pushed some hair from her face. “I don’t want to forget, Doctor. No one should have to deal with the Time War alone.”

“You weren’t there,” he said. “These aren’t your memories.” He was giving her a chance to reconsider. He was trying to be kind.

“No, they’re not,” Wren agreed. “But they’re real. I saw real people fighting for their planet. Real people standing up for what they believe in—dying for what they believe in. And no one remembers them. Someone needs to remember them. I-I would like to. If you’ll let me.”

The Doctor sighed. For a moment, Wren was afraid he would take the memory from her after all. It wasn’t hers, she had no right to the thoughts in her own mind. She hadn’t been in the War, she hadn’t fought for his planet. She was only one human girl who happened to see it through. The Doctor nodded. Her relief washed over her like a wave.

When the Doctor switched subjects, she couldn’t blame him. She went along with it, if only to keep their minds off the pain. “So you’re psychic then?” he asked.

“I think so,” Wren said. She leaned back on one hand, ignoring the bite that the thin layer of ice left behind. “I’ve been able to sense emotions as long as I can remember. I always thought it was normal. But I-I don’t get flashes often. When I was young it happened a lot, but I learned to block them out. I only get them now if someone’s really upset or really emotional. Most people don’t know about it.”

The Doctor nodded. “Psychics, empaths . . . they can be the loneliest people in the world. People have trouble trusting someone who can get inside their head, you see.” He knocked on his own head a couple times to demonstrate, which Wren had to smile at.

“Used to be hard,” Wren agreed. “I could always tell when someone was lying to me, or when they were upset with me, or bored or what have you. Never got good at lying myself, so everyone always caught on that I knew more than I let on.” Wren shrugged. “Uh, I’m alone a lot more often now. Family’s gone. Friends all moved away or left. Mostly just me now. I guess it’s easier but . . .”

“But it doesn’t always feel that way,” the Doctor supplied. “And easier doesn’t always mean better.”

Wren nodded. “Yeah.”

The Doctor got up so quickly that Wren almost fell back. One moment he was sitting in front of her and in the next he was standing, holding out his hand for her to stand with him. “How about I show you something?”

Wren couldn’t think of a reply, but she took his hand and let him pull her up to stand before letting go of his hand. “What kind of something?” she asked, the corner of her lip tugging up against her will.

“Oh come on,” the Doctor said, slowly beginning to smile. “You’ve been inside this daft old head, you know what comes next.”

Wren couldn’t help smiling back. “I-I think I’d like to hear you say it,” she admitted.

“Well then. Sure. Will you—ooh, sorry, no. I don’t know your name,” the Doctor cut off. Wren let out a bark of laughter. It was odd that she knew his life story and he hadn’t even learned her name.

“Wren Atwood,” she supplied.

“Would you, Wren Atwood, like to see all of time and space with me?” the Doctor asked, stepping to the side so she could see his blue box at the end of the road.

Wren could scarcely keep herself from laughing at the incredulity of the moment. “All of it?” she asked.

“Well,” the Doctor said, considering, “any of it.”

“And you’re sure?” she checked. “You just learned my name.”

“Only one way to learn more about you.” He smiled. 

“Okay,” she said quickly.

The Doctor’s expression lit up, a wide grin overtaking his features. “Okay?” he repeated. “You’re in? All of time and space and one blue box?”

Wren nodded. “Hell yes,” she laughed. “And you know what?” She took a careful step to the side, one step closer to the TARDIS. “Winner picks the first destination.”

“What?” The Doctor looked confused, but willing to go along, his smile contagious.

“First one to the TARDIS, go!” Wren shouted. Before he had even comprehended her statement, Wren was already running.

“Oh!” The Doctor cried behind her. “So that’s how it’s going to be!”

And then he was running after her, the two of them racing to the TARDIS, the Doctor slowing down so he wouldn’t beat her there, letting her smash into the doors with red cheeks and laughter and the realization that she wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. And neither would he. Not for a long time coming.

[blankparchment]

Imagine Loki Laufeyson teleports into your house and refuses to leave.

Imagine the famed Loki, destroyer of New York, appears in your house with the intention of hiding out from the Avengers.

It was supposed to be a normal, quiet day. After the Battle of New York, it had taken so long to get back into the routine of normal. And you had been doing so well. You began going to work again a couple weeks after the Incident and eventually managed to live again after the whole city had been turned upside down. It didn't help that your apartment looked directly into Stark Tower, that you were in the heart of the chaos, watching the city rebuild from a skyscraper.

You had been looking forward to your day off work. You could sit down, read a book, have some ice cream, sketch a bit. Relax. You know what's not relaxing? The God of Mischief and Lies and the Destroyer of New York suddenly appearing in your living room.

You had been reading a book on the couch when it happened. The faintest thump behind you, audible breathing, and a burning realization that you were no longer alone. You jumped up from your spot and spun around and there he was. Anyone would recognize him. Loki, the so-called "god" who took it upon himself to destroy New York city. And there he was in front of you, looking at you curiously, in full evil villain ensemble, topped with the ridiculous gold horned helmet he was known for.

Weirdly enough, you were almost too shocked to panic. Slowly, you slid your bookmark into place in your book and set it down on the couch between you and him. He didn't move. "Please tell me you're not real," you finally managed to say.

His lips twitched into the barest semblance of a smile. It was not comforting. "No luck, I'm afraid," Loki said calmly. He took a step forward and you took a short step back. "I am in need of this property you call a home."

"What the fuck?" you breathed. Immediately you winced, surprised you had actually said that. Loki's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Um, why? I mean, do you want me to leave?" You took another step back, closer to the door, jabbing your thumb back in that direction to indicate it.

At your movement, Loki raised a hand and appeared in front of you, moving as if to grab your arm. Reacting on instinct alone, you threw your own arm up to punch him. It was so fast you couldn't comprehend it until it was over, but one moment you were about to punch him in the jaw and in the next he had your wrist in his hand, effectively stopping all movement. You pulled back on your wrist and he didn't let go, so you pulled harder until he finally did with a short roll of his eyes.

"I'm afraid you can't leave. You see, I have no idea who you might tell of my presence," he said smoothly. He was so close to you that you had trouble breathing, so you took another step back and then sidestepped further away from the door so he wouldn't think you were about to run.

"No one?" you tried. His look was unimpressed. You threw your hands up. "They call you the 'God of Lies,' surely you can just tell if I'm lying!"

"It doesn't work that way," he said flatly.

You opened your mouth to argue and then stopped. Frustrated, you spun around and began to pace, taking it as a moment to breathe and clear your head. You pointedly ignored Loki's eyes following you.

"So what now?" you asked sharply, turning on him. "Are you going to kill me?"

He raised a brow. "Do you want me to?"

You sputtered in anger and incredulity."No," you said shortly. "Clearly not. But I have to say that living with you doesn't seem much better, asshole."

Loki's eyes darkened. "Careful how you speak of me, mortal, I am a god—"

"So I've fucking heard!" you spat.

He chuckled angrily, taking a step forward. "A lady shouldn't speak—"

"Holy shit, do you still live in the dark ages?" you exploded. His expression twisted and he took a step forward, but unthinkingly you raised a hand up to stop him. He paused (probably in confusion at your nerve) and you took the opportunity to say all the things you had wanted to say since it had all happened. "Let me make this unequivocally clear for you. You ruined everything. You took it upon yourself to come here and destroy everything you touched; you killed men, and women, and children mercilessly under the delusion that Earth would accept your rule. But you know what? You failed. So not only did you ruin everything, but it was all for nothing.

"You waged a war that benefited no one. People died, you killed people's families—" your voice cracked but you barrelled on "—and now you're standing here in front of me, correcting my language of all things. If I had it my way, you would be dead. Failing that, you would leave this house and never come back, because I could do with never seeing you—a walking and talking catalyst of the worst day of my life—ever again."

Loki was frozen. You took a moment to look away and pull your hair back from your face, ignoring the heavy breaths you were now taking from that.

When Loki opened his mouth to speak, you almost flinched in anticipating for his words. What he said was not at all what you were expecting: "You're brave."

"I guess mass murderers bring out that side of me," you breathed. You shook your head. "So what's the plan then? You want this place to spy on the Avengers, I'm assuming. Keep your friends close, enemies closer kinda deal. You can see the Tower from my window, I'm guessing that's what drew you in. And what? You kill me because I mortally offended you? You watch and wait for the right moment to kill the Avengers and take back what was rightfully yours and all of that?" You were proud of yourself for how steady you managed to keep your voice through that.

Loki rolled his eyes and stepped closer. "So determined to believe I'll kill you. But after that . . . I think I may just let you live. Call me curious, but I haven't been spoken to that way by a mortal in a long time."

"I'd rather you leave," you say tightly, resisting the urge to step back again.

Loki's lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile, leaning in ever closer. "And failing that, I do suppose you'll just have to get used to me."

[blankparchment]

Imagine you meet Newt Scamander in the woods and you save a magical creature’s life together.

(written in third person because I wasn’t feeling second person that day; this OC was created just for this shot and you’re not missing any info!)

Eris Carrow didn't know that other students entered the Forbidden Forest. Silly of her, of course. Anything forbidden was guaranteed to be entered, but truthfully, it hadn't occurred to her that on a Friday evening at sunset, another person might be in the Forest with her. Eris walked alone, her head spinning with thoughts and troubles, until she was no longer too familiar with her surroundings and then stopped, wringing her hands.

It wasn't every day that Eris felt so desperately that she needed an escape, but after a Ravenclaw boy cruelly pressed for details about her mother's death and her dad sent a letter to her at Hogwarts, she wasn't feeling particularly good about her day. In the woods she felt far more at home, far safer than she had in that common room, filled with people and chatter and movement until it was stifling.

Without realizing it, Eris began to pace, still wringing her hands. That kid should have known better than to talk about her mother. Everyone in the school spoke only in whispers of her parents when they thought she wouldn't hear, retelling rumours and charges of her mother's murder. That alone was hard enough. Pretending that she couldn't hear them when they said all those awful things, those accusations toward—

Eris' head snapped up suddenly when a wail echoed through the forest, shattering her thoughts like glass. In a moment, her wand was in her hand and she was taking careful steps to her left where she had heard the cry—not a howl or a roar, but the pained screech of a creature that she had no doubt was injured. She picked up her pace and jolted at the sight when she broke through the trees.

A boy was kneeling on the ground, eyes unfocused and panicked, covered up to his wrists in blood. The animal in front of him evokes a gasp from Eris that she didn't register until the boy's gaze snapped to hers. She couldn't pay him any mind, instead stumbling forward to crouch beside him, her hands hovering uncertainly over the bleeding creature laying in front of her. It was a thestral, a skeleton of flesh and sprawling wings dying on the forest floor.

She wasn't sure what happened to it but it was awful. Blood streamed from its torso where a ghastly wound sat, some sort of bite that had torn a chunk out the poor thing. The thestral's breaths came in whimpering gasps and it twitched with every motion. Eris felt sick when she realized that the thestral, while not a calf, was not yet fully grown either.

"I can explain—" the boy began quickly.

"No time!" Eris interrupted. "We-we have to save it, but I don't know what to do!"

Her words struck the boy to silence, his eyes wide. It took Eris another moment to recognize him—Newt, a Hufflepuff boy from her herbology class—and by then he had collected himself enough to speak.

"You can see her? The thestral?" Newt asked. Eris tensed, preparing for accusations and assumptions—but they never came. Instead, he reached for her hand and pressed it to the thestral's wound with no warning, too hyper focused on the creature to realize she had jumped at the contact. She adjusted her grip a few centimetres to the right to better cover the wound, realizing suddenly that Newt couldn't see the thestral at all and had been trying to save it without sight. Unthinkingly, Eris shifted her other hand to the thestral's hand to stroke its nose, shshing the creature's wails under her breath.

"It's a bite," she said quickly, risking a brief glance at Newt. "I-I know you can't see it. But-but it-she's young. Not-not fully grown."

"A bite!" Newt realized, immediately turning to grab something from his satchel, shoulder deep before he came out with a thick potion in a rather large sealed beaker. "Of course, what else could cause it? I need you to put this on her wounds. We can't mend anything until she's calm. This should numb her pain."

Eris hesitated before grabbing it. "Are you sure?" she asked. "I-I don't know what that is or how much to put on—I don't want to hurt her."

Newt paused to look at her fully. "Okay. Yes, you're right, this step can be . . . finicky, especially if she's not fully grown. I can do it, I just need you to help me. Help me see."

Eris was struck by how calm he was, how easily he changed his plans without a word of judgement at her inability. Seeing that, she did best to swallow back her own panic as she slid over to the side, out of Newt's way, and gestured for him to hold out a hand. He was quick to do so and Eris immediately pulled his left hand down on the wound, removing her hand entirely. The creature whimpered the beginnings of a wretched cry but Eris was quick to stroke its head and lean down, whispering quiet assurances that everything would be okay, hoping her tone would soothe her.

"You can feel it, right?" Eris whispered to Newt. "It's a bit bigger than your hand but you're covering most of the wound. It's—it's deep. Um, 10 centimetres or so at its worst. And the blood, it's pooling. Inside the wound. Any potion you add would be swimming in it."

Newt nodded. "The Numbing Potion should be able to mix without doing harm," he muttered to himself. And then, louder, "Thank you, Eris. Really. Thank you very, very much." With his free hand he grabbed the potion and pulled out the cork with his teeth, holding it with his mouth with his jaw clenched in concentration. Carefully, he poured some of the potion into the wound and then all around it.

The thestral let out a wrenching cry, one ring rising and flailing. Immediately, Eris was reaching over to its back with one hand, stroking near the base of the creature's wing, whispering hurried assurances through a tight throat that the pain would be over soon.

Newt looked rather pained himself, but was determined not to dwell on it as he grabbed another potion. "Blood replenishing potion," he said quickly, and Eris had no idea who he was saying it to. He used that potion and another in quick succession as Eris fought to keep the winged stallion calm, only finding breath when the numbing potion was clearly setting in. Newt had just put his third potion away when he stilled, hand hovering uncertainly over the opening of the satchel. "Tell me more about the wound," he insisted suddenly. "Is it-is it clean? A clean bite, with a defined hole, or is it mangled?"

Eris hesitated. "It's grisly," she said quietly. "I've never seen flesh torn like that—in some places the skin is-is holding together and in others there's just, there's nothing."

Newt looks pained but he spoke through it. "I'm sorry Eris, I'm so sorry. If it was clean I might be able to do it, but I can't see the wound. I can't—but you can." Eris' mouth opened but she couldn't form words. "It's a mending charm. I know it's advanced but you've studied it, you can do it—"

Eris' voice was strained. "A mending charm?" she repeated. "Newt, I've never done it on a living creature before, I can't! I could kill her!"

"She'll die if you don't!" Newt's voice took on a sorrowful pleading quality. "I know it's a lot to ask but it's her only chance."

"We could find a professor—"

"She has minutes left, Eris, please!"

Eris took her wand in her hand before she even knew she agreed, poising it carefully over the thestral's wound. Gently, Newt took hold of the base of her wrist. "You're shaking," he explained quietly. "And you're tense. Just breathe, Eris, I'll help you through this. Heal from the inside out. Deep to shallow. Veins first, anywhere that blood is coming from. The movement's gentle, like-like you're tying a slow knot around her injuries."

Eris nodded, giving herself one more deep breath before she began—and then she dove in, with concentration at which she heard nothing but her own heartbeat, Newt's words falling to nothing in her ears. It was an art, like her drawings and sketches, only alive, sculpting and mending flesh, her magic guiding her with an uncanny clarity that made it feel sentient. When the skin closed and she dropped her wand, she had no idea how long it had taken. She only lifted her head when she heard Newt whispering. He had taken her place at the thestral's head, assuring it that all was okay, in a tone somehow both carefully measured and full of relief. When he looked up at her, she realized that his eyes were glassy.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you, Eris, thank you very much. Saving this creature . . . it means more to me than you know."

Eris couldn't remember a time where anyone looked at her that way that Newt was, with kindness and awe and earnest thanks. She swallowed hard. "There wasn't really a choice. Not when you can see her. It's—she's— "

"—beautiful," Newt finished. And somehow in that one word, Eris realized that Newt understood her in such a way that no one had in years.

[blankparchment]

hey, i heard you did writing requests. i was wondering if you could write like some comedy shorts about fury trying to hide the fact that goose is an actual alien/ covering for stuff that goose just kinda does so no one will ask any questions

Fury and the Flerken

No one messed with Nick Fury. He was one of the fastest rising agents in all of S.H.I.E.L.D. He was a veteran of war, he was quick, he was battle-minded, and he was—the owner of a cat? Everyone knew that something had changed ever since Carol Danvers had gotten involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. Fury betrayed the organization, allied himself with a stranger, saved the world, and then came back to work with one less eye and one more cat.

It was the cat that caught most people’s attention. Maybe because it seemed so uncharacteristic of Fury. Maybe because it was so damn cute. Maybe because it was a cat named Goose. Or maybe because it was, just a touch, suspicious. Everyone thought so, much to the chagrin of one Nicholas Fury.

-

Nick Fury himself was lounged in his office, petting Goose and whispering sweet nothings into its ear. “Who’s the cutest cat?” he whispered. “You’re the cutest cat. Who’s the cutest cat? You’re the cutest cat!” Goose looked up and Fury gasped with a smile, scratching the cat behind the ear as a reward.

He didn’t notice anyone had knocked on his office door until it opened. Fury never bolted upright so fast. “I mean,” he cleared his throat, “you better not misconduct yourself again Agent Goose. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. represent the entire organization. I will not tolerate disobedience.”

It only occurred to him a moment after that not lecturing his cat would be far less suspicious than what he had done. He cleared his throat again and gave his full attention to the agent who had walked in. A low level agent, didn’t even have clearance to be on the floor most of the time. Fury relaxed infinitesimally. An agent like that one wouldn’t dare say a word against Fury, no matter what he had walked in on.

That was close.

-

Take a moment to imagine how Fury felt when he walked into his office and noticed Agent Maria Hill sitting on his chair with Goose in her lap. His initial outrage at an unannounced intruder quickly devolved into panic as he slammed his door shut. Maria Hill was not one to be startled, merely raising her head calmly to look him in the eye. Goose must have softened her up, because she even gave him a smile.

“Fury,” she said pleasantly. He watched in dumbstruck awe as Goose leaned in toward Agent Hill and brushed up against her stomach. Hill merely reached a hand down and pet the cat with one hand, still looking Fury in the eye. She looked the part of an evil villain.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to enter my office, Hill,” Fury barked as he eyed the cat suspiciously. Any moment, he thought, and that cat could kill Agent Hill.

“I don’t recall asking, Sir,” she responded smoothly. “But there’s a mission update I thought you should hear in person.” She picked up a file and held it out for Fury, but he just took it from her and put it back down.

“I would appreciate it if you would put the cat down,” he told her plainly. He hoped she wasn’t keen enough to notice him sweating.  Maria raised an eyebrow at him and went to move the cat, but the traitor flerken instead climbed up to her shoulder, forcing the agent to tilt her head away to give it room to sit. As the cat leaned in toward her face, Fury couldn’t help the bark that escaped his mouth as he shouted “No! Don’t eat—” Fury cut off abruptly.

Maria’s eyes widened in surprise. The cat harmlessly licked her cheek and then leaned its head on her shoulder. Fury could feel his cheeks heating up. He cleared his throat.

“My apologies, Agent Hill. My cat has a tendency to … bite. Again, I’d appreciate it if you would put it down,” he said stiffly. He gave the cat the most suspicious glare he could muster.

Hill made a sound that almost sounded like a chuckle as she picked the cat up from her shoulder and lowered it to the floor. “I’m an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., Fury. I believe I can handle Goose. And besides, she has been nothing but kind since I entered your office. To business then?”

Maria Hill glanced up from the cat to Fury. The second her gaze was off the cat, Goose opened its mouth to expose several tentacles toward Fury. Hill made a sound and looked down at the flurken abruptly, but by then the tentacles were carefully hidden away again. Not a flurken, but a cat. An ordinary housecat as far as Maria Hill could see.

“I thought I saw …” Hill began, giving Fury a look. “Nevermind.”

-

Fury had been ready to hand off the assignments to the agents. They were already gathered in the bullpen, he was sure. All he had to do was check in with Rumlow and go over them. No problem. Except that it was. Because Goose had shredded them. Every folder. Every piece of paper. Shredded.

Goose had never very much liked Rumlow. So when the agent in question stepped into Fury’s office to ask for a brief summary of the assignments going out, neither agent nor flerken were happy to see the other.

This was a dilemma. Fury couldn’t give Goose up. Rumlow had hated Goose from the beginning, and if Rumlow realized the cat had shredded the folders, he would push for the cat to be banned from the premises. And he wasn’t the only one the cat disliked.

“So, where are the assignments?” Rumlow said after a moment of silence. He and Fury never beat around the bush or dilly dallied with greetings, and Fury’s opening silence was not usual.

“Not here,” Fury said shortly. Rumlow crossed his arms.

“Not here?” he repeated doubtfully. “Fury, we do this every week. Don’t make it difficult now. Just hand me the folders.”

“No,” Fury shrugged. “I will not. These will go out tomorrow.”

“They’ll go out today,” Rumlow said. He sounded frustrated as he approached Fury. He opened his mouth to add more but was sidetracked by the sight of folders on Fury’s desk. All of them clearly marked “Initiate Assignments” and all of them shredded. “If you’re covering for your damn cat—”

“You think my cat did this?” Fury interrupted. “Sorry, Rumlow, but I do believe you’re overestimating my cat’s ability to conceive the will to hinder S.H.I.E.L.D. matters. Unless you’re implying that my cat is a traitor?”

Rumlow opened his mouth to interrupt but Fury wasn’t done.

“This was clearly the work of a traitor, isn’t it? And forgive me for the assumption, but I don’t believe that the traitor is a cat. Now—” Fury stood up and planted his hands on his desk. “I assured you that these documents would be ready by tomorrow. Trust in my ability to deal with the one who did this. Cancel the meeting and go.”

Rumlow glared at Fury and then at the cat, who growled at him with hair raised. But he couldn’t very well accuse one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s finest.  He turned on his heel and stormed off, not noticing Fury sinking back into his chair in a cold sweat, digging his fingers into the fur on his cat’s head. “Close one, Goose. That was close.”

Notes from the author:  I took a bit too long to get this one done but it’s here! Idk what I think of it yet, haha, but I’ll get back to you on that. Hope you enjoyed it! I don’t usually write Fury and Flerken fluff so this is certainly new territory! Thanks so much for the request!

[blankparchment]

Peter Parker: *talking to literally anyone* So I was walking down the street—

J.K. Rowling: Dobby and the Sorting Hat did the do

Peter Parker: ??? I didn't

J.K Rowling: Wizards are all lizards in disguise

Peter Parker: wait stop

J.K Rowling: Wizard lizards

Peter Parker: Ms. Rowling, I don't feel so good

[blankparchment]

Everyone: Dude, I wonder how Fury lost his eye

Tony: I bet the pirate lost it in a bet *cackles*

Natasha: Rumours say it was from an old KGB mission and a grenade *as she sharpens a blade*

Thor: The man of fury must have lost it in a grand battle

Peter: Who cares?! It's so cool! He has ONE EYE guys! ONE EYE!

Coulson: *sighing dreamily* It was cut out of his face when he defended Earth from the abuse of alien tech

Fury: *running away from a cat* I WILL NEITHER CONFIRM NOR DENY THE FACTS OF THOSE STORIES

[blankparchment]

Oml Arthur Pendragon x servant reader pls

I’m too Gryffindor for this lol. This is probably not what you wanted but this is what happened, so whelp. Bit long but I hope you enjoy!

You hated Merlin. But he was busy and you were nearby and damn him for taking no time at all to drag you to Arthur Pendragon’s bedchambers and beg you to clean up before the prince noticed anything amiss. So there you were. In Arthur’s bedchambers. Cleaning up after the prince. Alone.

It wasn’t too hard a job. Arthur was a bit messy, but it was all just thrown clothes and leftover breakfast, which were no trouble at all to clean. You were nearly finished when you realized there was a sword laying abandoned under his bed. Who loses a sword? You picked up the blade and grimaced at the weight. Upon inspection, you realized it well sharpened and upkept. Perhaps hidden rather than lost? It didn’t matter. You decided to put it back right when the door opened with a loud bang.

You reacted on instinct rather than thought. In a matter of moments you strode to the foot of Arthur’s bed—toward the danger, not away—and held the blade out as though challenging the offender. It was heavy enough that you had to use two hands. You had no training with a sword. You had tried out daggers before, but never a sword like this one, so heavy you could barely wield it. You hadn’t yet comprehended who had come in before your sword met another, it arced and flew out of your hands, and you were pushed back onto the bed where you fell.

The air didn’t clear until a sword was leveled to your throat and you recognized the wielder as none other than Arthur Pendragon himself. His expression was one of surprise rather than hatred and it wasn’t until that moment that it occurred to you that he likely reacted on instinct just as you had.

“I promise this isn’t what it looks like,” you managed to say.

Arthur shook his head slowly. “Y/N?” he asked. “What—what are you doing here?” He looked hopelessly confused, but the blade remained firmly leveled to your throat.

“Um,” you began, throwing an obvious glance at his sword. He hastily moved back and sheathed his weapon, an embarrassed blush settling on his cheeks. “I was just cleaning,” you continued. “Gaius sent Merlin out on chores. It was faster if I did it. I, um, didn’t mean to point a sword at you?”

“Right,” Arthur nodded. “Yes, of course. You were cleaning. Because you’re a servant. And I didn’t mean to point a sword at you either but—” Arthur cut himself off. “Why were you pointing one at me again?”

“You surprised me,” you quickly put in. “I was just about to put the sword back. The door banged. I thought you were an intruder.” You blushed and straightened yourself, moving a few steps back.

Finally, some of the tension in the room settled, understanding dawning on both parties. You did know the prince, of course. You ran into him at times, he had asked for a couple of favours in the past. Merlin was always talking about him too. And Arthur was kind to you, or as kind as a prat of a prince could really be.

Arthur’s eyebrows suddenly furrowed and he took a step closer to you. “You thought I was an intruder?” he repeated. You nodded confirmation. “But I saw you. You heard me come in and all but charged for me. If you thought I was an intruder … Y/N, why not run?”

You blinked. That was one of the last questions you had expected. “Oh. Um, generally someone breaking into the prince’s bedchambers isn’t a good sign. They could be dangerous.”

Arthur sighed impatiently. “Yes, obviously. So why not run? Or hide? It’s like you said. It’s dangerous.”

You finally realized what he was getting at and shrugged. “What would happen then? I might be safe. Or I might be found, but let’s pretend I got away. The intruder gets what he came for. Keys to the dungeons or the vault maybe. A jewel or two. Then they run about the castle, kill a few other servants along the way. If I don’t alert a knight in time, they make it all the way to the dungeons and they let prisoners go, and then more people die. Or they take a magical artefact and all of Camelot is at risk, or—”

Arthur crossed the distance between you two and put his hands on your shoulders. You fall silent.

“Y/N,” Arthur sighed. “I know what the risks are. I know that intruders can be dangerous. But surely you know that protecting Camelot is not your responsibility? You could’ve been killed if it wasn’t me who walked through that door.”

You took a step back and his hands fell from your shoulders. “I can’t stand by and watch people die,” you said with narrowed eyes. “I won’t. A-and maybe I’m not so good with that sword. But I have to try.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, you don’t. You should run. Protect yourself.”

“Is that what you do?” you asked, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“It’s different,” Arthur denied, his voice raising. “I’m the prince and I’m a knight besides. It’s my job to protect Camelot.”

“It’s not different!” you argued. “You’re not the only one allowed to protect people—”

“I don’t want to see you hurt, Y/N!”

You froze. Arthur was breathing heavier and took another step closer. “What?” you managed to say.

When Arthur put his hands on your arms, you didn’t stop him. “Look, you could’ve died today. You don’t even know how to use that sword, Y/N. And I-I don’t want to see you dead or injured, especially not on my behalf. You’re too—you’re just—” He fell silent, unable to articulate what he meant.

“O-okay,” you stuttered. “But I can’t just stand by. If there’s a next time I mean. I can’t. Not even—” you blushed “Not even for you.”

Arthur ducked his head down for moment, tightening his hands on your arms just slightly. “I know,” he sighed. “So I guess we’ll have to start tomorrow.” He abruptly let go and stepped back, heading for the table where he began unbuckle and put his sheathed weapon down.

Your head was spinning from the change of pace. “What?”

Arthur shot you a small smile and leaned back on the table. “Well, any Defender of Camelot needs to know how to use a sword.” At your shocked silence, his smile dropped just a tiny bit. “And I suppose I’d feel better if you knew how to defend yourself.” He cleared his throat and looked away.

You couldn’t help but smile too. “In that case … okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You headed for the door, only pausing to pick up the fallen sword and toss it onto the bed. Just before you left his room, you stopped. “And Arthur? Thank you.”

[blankparchment]

Hey hey, can you write me a Fred Weasley x reader one shot about their first date? Maybe to the three broomsticks, love ya!

I’m not qualified to write about dates lmao, but I tried for you!

Dates are awkward. And okay, maybe it was just because you’re awkward or because you were expecting something more grand and fun, but either way, the tension was building in the Three Broomsticks. You awkwardly slurped your butterbeer. Fred awkwardly slurped his. He caught you looking at him and gave you a wink and then immediately looked away. And bloody hell, how did this ever happen? What happened to the Fred that bewitched his own broom to leave trails of red, the Fred that proceeded to fly and flip and turn and draw some awful pictures in the sky of what you guessed was a girl and a boy and a heart and a scribble that was maybe meant to say “date.” He had probably meant to embarrass you but you hadn’t let him live it down.

That Fred was mysteriously absent, and instead you got the Fred that glanced away every time you looked him in the eye. It didn’t take long for you to get fed up. With him not looking at you, it was no trouble at all to pull your wand out under the table and begin casting non-verbally. And he didn’t even notice when you took a candy from your pocket and dropped it into his drink when he looked away.

After that it was just waiting. You smiled at him and he cleared his throat. He grabbed his drink and took a long sip. And then he coughed. Just a little cough. Barely noticeable at all really. And then he coughed again. And again. A couple more times. He grabbed the butterbeer again and took another sip to calm the coughing, flushing red. He coughed louder and a puff of smoke escaped his mouth.

He didn’t understand what was happening until within the minute, every cough brought a cacophonous bang! and an explosion of fireworks from his throat, and then other students pointed and laughed with comments of “serves him right!” and “no way those are fireworks” and “who the hell managed to get the drop on a Weasley?” and, your favourite, a deadpan “George looks pretty good with fireworks coming out of his mouth.”

Fred shot to his feet and the entire pub burst into laughter. His pants had been turned into clown pantaloons, far too large and brightly striped. They were glowing and changing colours with the fireworks. Fred fell over in his own surprise and knocked the chair sideways, and before you realized, you were on the floor too in laughter.

Oh, the bartender came by and pushed you both out the door, but the laughter continued outside, with Fred barfing fireworks into the white and snowy day. He realized it was your fault quickly, and before you knew it you two were rolling in the snow, him trying to bury you in white while he came up with a counterattack, digging into his pockets to find a candy to force you to eat.

Students gathered to look and you paid them no mind. Your whole world was in front of you—covered in white snow and ginger hair, an explosion of fireworks and glowing pantaloons—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Note from the author: I don’t know how dates work but I guess Fred got nervous, whelp. This is likely the beginning of a prank war that lasts a very. long. time.

[blankparchment]

Holaaa, please write me literally anything with Peter Parker, maybe meeting aunt May?

Thanks for requesting! There’s not a lot of Aunt May but hopefully you still enjoy! It’s pretty long, so hopefully you’re okay with that!

It was cold. Not the cute red-nosed cold, with fluffy snowflakes and children playing. No, it was the kind of cold that was dark and damp and windy that left you damn miserable locked outside your own house.

And okay, maybe it was your fault. A tiny bit. You shouldn’t have left your keys at school. But your apartment was on the first floor, the back door was locked, and you never had the keycard you needed to get through the front. There was no way around the fact that you couldn’t  get inside.

After ten minutes of self-regret and pitiful attempts of picking your own lock with a paperclip from your pocket, you finally decided to sit on the wet ground and call Peter. You didn’t know if you wanted company or a hand, but damn it, you weren’t about to sit in the cold all alone for the rest of the night. And on a Friday night too. Weren’t people supposed to be going to parties and hanging out with friends? Well, not you. Clearly.

Peter, to his credit, picked up after two rings with a distracted “Hey! Y/N! What … what’s up?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “You sound … busy?” you said, not intending for it to sound like a question. “Is this a bad time?”

There was a thump on his end of the phone. “No, no! Not at all. It’s just … uh, late. Wasn’t expecting a call. I’m, uh, here though. Not busy. What’s going on?”

You moved the phone from your ear to peek at the time, and shit, when did it become 11:00PM? How long had you been reading in that coffee shop earlier? “Oh. I didn’t even notice it was getting late,” you said lamely. “And I locked myself out of my house, so … yeah.”

Peter scoffed on a laugh. “You locked yourself out? Again?” There was another bang on other side of the phone, this one accompanied by a slight groan.

“Woah, you alright?” You weren’t sure, but it sounded like he’d just been knocked over.

“Hm? Yeah, I just—I just walked into a pole. How’d you lock yourself out this time?” Peter asked, sounding slightly winded. For his sake, you decided to brush past his embarrassing tumble with a pole, admittedly with every intention of making fun of him for it later.

“I left my keys at the school. And I wasn’t locked out last time, you jerk. I’m pretty sure you had my keys and I got them back,” you insisted, shifting in your spot. The cold was settling in deep in your bones but you resolved yourself to ignoring it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter said dismissively. “Look, your house is off 15th, right? I’ll swing by, just give me a few minutes.”

You sat up straighter. “A few minutes? Peter, no, I don’t need you to swing by. What’s the point of us both being locked out?”

Peter let out a huge breath of air and you could hear wind warbling through the speaker. “Y/N, it’s nearly below freezing right now. You can’t sit outside your apartment all night. May won’t mind the company, I promise.”

You froze. “Your house?”

You could hear a quick breath on the other side, as if Peter just realized what he said. “Uh, yeah? I meant, uh, if you don’t mind? You know. Just for the night. Because it's—because it’s cold.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” you denied. “Your aunt doesn’t know I’d be coming, plus it’s just a night. I can run back to the coffee shop—”

“No!” Peter cut you off quickly. Your eyes widened and you moved the phone away just slightly. “I-I just mean that it’s dark. And the coffee shop is nowhere near your place. You shouldn’t be-be walking a-alone, you know? In the dark. When it’s … dark out. Look, I’m almost there.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Peter, you live like 10 minutes away. How could you almost be here? You didn’t get a ride, did you? You really don’t need to come by, it’s fine.”

“I was already out,” Peter said. There was another thump on his end, and then some rustling. When he next spoke, his voice was distant. “Seriously, give me like, 30 seconds. And then we can walk back to my place, yeah? I’ll text Aunt May, she’ll be cool with it.”

“Peter,” you groan, but by then he’d already hung up the phone.

True to his word, you could see him jogging through the parking lot half a minute later, his backpack over his shoulder. You rolled your eyes, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see it anyway, and then stood up and jogged to meet him.

“You didn’t need to come for me,” you said, flicking his shoulder. He just shrugged and gave you a wan smile, looking oddly nervous. “Even if I was going to your house, I know where it is.”

Peter jerked his head in the direction of his house and began walking. “Sure, but like I said, it’s dark. No one should walk alone in the dark.”

“You walked alone in the dark,” you point out. “And I just walked to my apartment. It’s not even midnight yet, Peter, you’re being silly.”

Peter was about to respond when a gust of wind blew through both of you. You couldn’t help shivering through your hoodie, which certainly wasn’t warm enough for the weather.

“Oh, crap,” Peter said, already throwing his backpack on the ground. “You’re freezing. How long have you been outside like that?” Before you could even get a word of protest, he had taken off his jacket and dropped it over your shoulders.

“No!” you insisted, brushing it off. “You’ll just be cold then. That doesn’t make sense.”

“I wore the jacket the whole way here,” Peter shrugged. “It’s your turn. You look frozen, Y/N, just take it. I-I promise I’ll take it back as soon as I get cold.” He wasn’t going to take the jacket back and they both knew it.

You wanted to reject the offer, but the warmth of the jacket was doing wonders and he didn’t look cold at all. You put your arms in the sleeves and wrapped it around yourself.

“Okay,” you breathed. You smiled at him softly for a second. “Thanks, Peter.”

-

“Peter, maybe I should just go,” you said, backing up from the front door. “I really don’t want to bother your aunt.”

“C'mon, Y/N,” Peter said, grabbing the sleeve of your jacket (well, his jacket) and pulling you closer to the door. “She already said yes. I’m pretty sure she’d kill me if I let you walk back now. It’s just for the night and it’s on the couch. We’re not even going out of our way.”

“I haven’t even met her before, Peter! For all she knows I’m an axe murderer!” You pulled your sleeve back and crossed your arms over your chest, eyeing the door warily.

Peter laughed but suppressed it to a smile when he saw your expression. “You’re not an axe murderer. She knows your my friend, Y/N, I’ve told her a lot about—” he cut himself off and flushed red. “O-okay, let’s go.”

You didn’t have time to protest before he opened the door and dragged you in by the sleeve. You quietly let out an alarmed “Peter!” as you crossed the threshold but it was too late, the door already slamming behind you. A young brunette woman who must be May was sitting on the couch and stood up as soon as you arrived.

“Y/N!” May greeted, walking up to you. “Peter told me you were coming!”

“It-it’s not too much trouble, right?” you asked. You didn’t mean to sound so nervous but there was something nerve-wracking about meeting Peter’s family so soon. Not that it meant anything. At all.

“No, not at all! I’m May, by the way. Peter’s aunt.” May said brightly. She put a hand on your shoulder and pulled you further into the room. “Peter can show you around, but there isn’t much. You can sleep on the couch if that’s okay. There’s a guest room but it’s a bit of a mess.”

“The couch is fine,” you breathed.

“Great!” She smiled again. “I’ll go grab some blankets from the closet. Peter, can you help me out?”

You awkwardly sit down on the couch as Peter and Aunt May head to the back of the house.

You’re not sure, but amongst the immediate whispering that takes place between the pair, you could have sworn you heard May say “You were right, Peter, she’s just as pretty as you said!”

Thoughts from the author: I had a tiny bit of fun with this. And yeah, Peter was 100% fighting crime when the call came in. Hence the distraction and the falling over and the banging. And he literally swung her way when he heard, hence the wind. And you could hear him changing his clothes, with rustling and the distant voice. So yeah, he was Spider-man mode and then just stopped for Y/N. How sweet lmao.

[blankparchment]

Imagine the Doctor tells you that you’re going to die; he knew your death was fixed before he met you

This is written with an OC because I’m not a fan of second person. It’s the 11th Doctor in my head but you can imagine it however you want.

I take requests if you’re interested!

"Doctor?"

The door had never been open before. Every adventure, every moment with the Doctor began by opening that door. But not this day. Today it was open. Ryland stepped inside the TARDIS quietly and closed the door behind her, watching the Doctor at the console. He was heaving his breaths and muttering with a tone too low for her to hear. The TARDIS hummed quietly, and the sound was almost forlorn.

It seemed like the Doctor hadn't even heard her. Cautiously, she stepped up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. He was shaking. "Doctor?" she repeated.

"You need to go." His voice was steel. The silence after his words was suffocating.

"Doctor, what are you talking about? What's wrong?" Ryland moved beside him and turned to face him, trying to look him in the eye. He didn't look up from the console. She ignored the pit rising in her chest and the sudden tightness of her throat. Something was wrong with the Doctor.

"You need to leave. I don't care where you go. You need to go and get as far away from me as possible," he told her lowly. Ryland didn't attempt to leave. Instead, she slowly reached for his arm, waiting for him to say more.

He took a quick breath and shook his head. Without warning, he slammed his hands down on the console. Ryland jumped but didn't say anything. "Go!" he shouted. "There is no place for you here! Not anymore."

"What is this about?" Ryland asked, grabbing his arm fully. Her voice was beginning to shake. "You can't just say things like this and expect me to understand."

The Doctor scoffed and brushed her hand off. He turned his back on her and moved to the other side of the console, pulling a lever and hitting a few buttons. "I don't expect you to understand, I expect you to go!"

Ryland shook her head rapidly, stepping back. That wasn't what he meant—that couldn't be what he meant. The Doctor was the one constant in her life, the one person—no. No, this couldn't be right. "What the hell is this? You can't just . . . just shout at me and expect me to go away without an explanation. That's not how this works."

The Doctor stormed up to her, glaring. Ryland took a step back without realizing it. "This works how I say it works!" he snapped. "This is my ship!"

"Screw that!" Ryland snapped. She tried to push him away but he didn't even move. She had to fight not to step back again. She had never been afraid of the Doctor, but then, she has never seen him like this before. "I don't care where we are, you don't get to do that! You don't get to-to invite yourself into my life and then push me away!"

"Ryland, I am only going to tell you this once—"

"Good, then we can finish this conversation!" Ryland shouted, crossing her arms protectively. She let herself have only a single moment to breathe before she pushed on. "I-I don't care what your reasons are, I know something's wrong!"

"Something is wrong!" the Doctor roared. "I don't want you here!"

Ryland took a step back and looked away. She didn't see the Doctor close his eyes briefly or clench his shaking hands into fists. When she looked back at him, all she saw was bitter anger.

"I don't care," she said. Her voice shook and she was tense. "I'm not leaving until you explain."

"There's nothing to explain." He wasn't shouting, but somehow the dead tone of his voice was worse. "There's nothing I want to say to you. I just need you to leave."

Ryland took another step back, until she was against the cold banister of the TARDIS. She grabbed it with both hands, trying to stop herself from trembling. "You promised I wouldn't be alone again. You promised. This isn't you. You've never done something like this before, j-just calm down. We can talk about this. We have to talk about this. I'm not going to leave, Doctor. I can't just leave—"

The Doctor shook his head. "You can't stay!" he bit out. "Do you understand me, Ryland? You can't stay. You don't have that option. You need to leave and get far away from here, far away from me."

"Doctor—"

"Just trust me!" he exploded, throwing his hands out widely. "For once in your life, just trust me!"

Ryland looked down at the floor, taking a deep breath. "How can I trust you, Doctor? I-I don't even know who you are right now."

The Doctor sighed and, for the first time, Ryland could see the fear in his eyes. The tension in his shoulders dropped in resignation. "Ryland. Brilliant Ryland." He stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. She tensed without meaning to. "I'm so sorry. But there's nothing I can do. I tried everything, I went through every timeline, looked for every loophole, but there's nothing. I can't save you."

"Doctor?" she asked. He watched her expression change and his eyes softened. "What are you talking about?"

"Ryland, it's a terrible thing to know when you're going to die. But I know. I know when you're going to die, Ryland, and I can't stop it. I can't. Every time, in every situation, it's always you or the world. And I've tried. I've thought of everything. But it isn't enough."

Ryland swallowed hard and her breaths became more difficult. "Doctor, what . . . how could you know this? You're being ridiculous, how could you know when I'm going to die?" Her voice shrank and he could hear her trembling deaths. "D-doctor?"

"Ryland, I'm so sorry," he breathed. "The first time you met me wasn't the first time I met you. I met you on your last day on Earth. And I knew you were dying, I knew it was a fixed point. I knew it the moment I met you. But you grabbed my hand and you told me that you didn't want to die alone. You were so afraid." He moved a strand of hair from her cheek with his thumb. "And you were so brave."

"You went back," she whispered. "Y-you went back into my time stream and you . . . met me. You got to know me. Took me on adventures. You became my friend."

The Doctor smiled but his eyes were still pained. "I did. And it's been years since I first met you Ryland. Back then, it was about you. I didn't want you to be alone. I didn't want you to die with a stranger."

Against everything in her, Ryland started to cry. "And now?"

"Now I wish more than anything that you didn't have to die. I wanted to help you, Ryland, but I didn't count on caring about you this much. But how could I not? You're brilliant. Truly magnificent."

"Why would you do that?" she asked. "I was no one to you, and I was going to die either way. Why-why would you go back and befriend me if you knew I was going to die? You must have known it would hurt you. I could have died and you wouldn't have felt a thing. The world would've kept spinning. No one would have mourned. I could have just died and that would have been it. For everyone. No one had to get hurt." Ryland let out a sobbing breath and the Doctor pulled her closer to him, looking her in the eye.

"Oh, Ryland. Innocent, wonderful Ryland. Can't you hear yourself? You're worth so much more than that. It's been an honour to know you."

The Doctor wrapped his arms around her and held her close, letting her cry into his chest.

"I don't want to die," she cried, "I don't—I can't—"

"I know," the Doctor said, holding her closer. "I'm sorry."

[blankparchment]

Drop of Magic | Merlin + OC

“You’re making the usual supply run for Gaius for some herbs in the forest. Merlin accompanies you. Danger ensues, and in a panic, Merlin uses magic. You never knew.”

It's an OC fic because I don't like second person. Word count is around 3k because I'm a lunatic.

I take imagine/oneshot requests too if you're interested!

Sneak peek at this one:

"Run!" she shouted to Merlin, reaching back for her sword and shooting upright. She barely registered the click of an arrow loosing from a crossbow, barely heard it slicing through the air, before she reacted. One moment she was standing and the next she was weightless, falling in the place that Merlin had just been. She was sitting up before she had even registered she'd hit the ground, and then—

Everyone was dead.

It wasn't a good day to be in the woods. Ana didn't typically travel with Merlin when he searched for Gaius' herbs, but this day was an exception. With the dark clouds rolling in, no one wanted to be caught in the woods alone, and Ana would only speed up the process of gathering. With luck, they would both be back in the castle before the first drops fell from the sky.

Ana had practice collecting herbs, though Merlin certainly had more. Still, she found that she already knew where to find the herbs on his list, and could identify on sight which she could pick and which required digging, which she could store together and which she dared not crush between her fingers. Ana was staring critically at two plants in her hand when Merlin appeared just behind her, looking over her shoulder. Ana jumped when she felt his breath on the side of her neck and he smiled guiltily. She should have heard him coming, but she had been far too preoccupied with her findings.

"I can't tell the difference," she told him, holding up the two leaves she had in her hand. They were both the same yellow-tinted green hue, with pointed ridges and thick veins. If she hadn't collected them from two different spots, she wouldn't have known they were different plants at all. Merlin grimaced and plucked one from her hand, tearing it gently. He showed her the inside edge of it, clearly lined in yellow.

"This one is poisonous," he told her, crushing it and dropping it to the ground. "Look, you can see it here, this stem grows thick where it touches the base of the leaf." He used his pinky to poke at the plant still in her hand, gesturing to the stem in question. She felt it and realized it was textured.

"Right," she sighed, slipping it into her pouch. "You always know, don't you?"

Truthfully, Merlin had an advantage over her. The poisonous plant wasn't natural; he could detect a tiny bit of magic in it and he always could. He didn't have to look for the tiny signs he was showing her, he just knew. He didn't say this though, instead just nodding. "I gave Gaius the wrong ones a few times. He wasn't happy."

Ana grinned at him as she knelt down and picked a couple more from the base of a tree. "I imagine he wouldn't be. His business is healing, not murder."

Merlin laughed. "A plant like that would give you a stomach ache," he told her. "You'd be fine by morning."

Ana watched him carefully as she stood up, adjusting the shortsword in her sheath as she did. "You picked up a lot, you know. About Gaius' healing. You could probably become an apprentice or something, if you wanted to."

Merlin chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, not me," he assured her. "It seems more impressive than it is."

"So you say," Ana hummed, taking the list from his hand and looking over it. "We need the aethrils, but after that, do you think we could risk going back?"

Merlin peeked and shook his head. "We need to get some more dreamroot. We didn't get enough for him to make his powder."

Ana nodded and followed him when he began heading in the correct direction. "You know," she began thoughtfully. "I used to live so close to forests like these. But kids . . . we would just starve, get sick, die or recover. All the plants in here, they were just plants. But now every single one of them is a different kind of medicine."

Merlin gave her a side glance, his steps slowing. "If Gaius was always around, everyone would be a lot healthier," he mused. Ana pretended that she couldn't see the sadder look in his eyes, the look that told her his life in Ealdor was not as different as she may have thought to her own.

As they continued walking, Ana began to feel uneasy, and not just because of the topic of conversation. They slowly fell silent and Ana was hyper aware of the quiet between them, thick and—

And not just around them. Slowing down, Ana put her hand out to touch his arm gently. Merlin slowed in suit and gave her a confused look, opening his mouth to speak to her. She shook her head quickly, waving her hand in front of him to shut him up. When they stood still, she became certain. The woods were silent. There were no critters that she could hear, and certainly no birdsong. Part of her thought it was because of the coming rain, but she couldn't bank on it.

Something must have scared the creatures away.

Ana put her hand on her shortsword and Merlin's eyes followed the motion. Ana didn't move to pull it out.

"I get the sense we should run," Ana told him quietly. She could fight but Merlin couldn't. As strong as she was, Ana didn't trust herself to protect him and herself at once.

"Brilliant idea," someone said from behind them. Ana turned around quickly, her sword out before she could even see who she was facing. It was too late. The man who had spoken stood only a few feet away, his sword safely stowed. And that told Ana everything she needed to know; he had nothing to be afraid of. She could hear the shifting in the woods, and she caught the sound of a click. She dropped the sword without a word. Merlin made a sound of confusion but Ana just looked around more openly, enough to attract Merlin's attention to the situation. There were two other men, one on either side, both wielding crossbows pointed directly at them. "But I'm afraid it came a bit late."

Ana clenched her jaw and crossed her arms, not unaware of the archers tracking her movements. "What the hell do you want?"

"That's no way for a lady to talk," the man said, shaking his head. "Even if you are a servant."

Ana wanted to swear. He knew they were from the castle. It was a funny thing how quickly you could gain enemies just by being near to the prince or king. Ana didn't need to ask any further questions. "What do you want?" she repeated. She knew the answer. They wanted to get to the prince or the king, to get information. Feigning confusion was the safest bet to assure them they knew nothing.

"You know what I want," the man scoffed. "The king needs to fall. And you have the information I need to make it so."

"We don't," Merlin said, taking a step forward. He froze when the archers followed his movements. "We're just servants, we don't know anything. I-I just work in the stables. She's in the kitchens. We've barely even met the royal family."

"And you also don't know the entrances to the castle? You don't know the rotation of guards? You don't know what food the king eats to poison him?" The man took a step forward. "You, girl, you had a sword. You learned how to use that in the castle without knowing how to get past the knights?"

Ana shifted and crossed her arms. "We're servants. We don't have time to watch the guards,we don't know what entrances are best, we go through servant entrances. We don't have what you're looking for. Just let us go and we won't say a word."

The man shook his head slowly, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword. "No, I know a lie when I see one." He gestured to Ana. "Come this way, slowly."

Ana bit the inside of her cheek but took a few steps forward, aware of the archer on her right following her path.

"Let's see if servants are as brave as knights. Boy, you'll want to answer me if you want her to live, do you understand me?" The man looked to Merlin and must have found the answer he was looking for because he took another couple steps toward Ana and took his sword out, holding it in front of him, still a foot from touching her. It was redundant and for show as long as the archer was on her right, but it did the job of reminding Merlin the stakes. "You said you worked in the stables? When does the king leave the castle then? Or the prince?"

"I-I don't know," Merlin answered quickly, his voice slightly higher than usual. "The prince sometimes goes on hunting trips. But he just went on one, I don't know when he'll go again. . . . You don't need to hurt her, we'll talk."

"I need more than that. Think hard. How do I get to the king?"

When Merlin stumbled for an answer, Ana stepped up. "There's an entrance. To the castle. I don't know how you'll get to the king, but it'll get you in. It leads just above the prison. Some of us use it to avoid the guards when we're feeding prisoners."

That entrance didn't exist. There was an entrance that lead into the prison, but it was barred off with metal and unusable. There were no other hidden passageways leading in or out of there; it would be undefendable.

"I see," the man hummed. "Was cooperation so difficult? At nightfall we'll go and scout the area. But you'll be coming with me to do it." He tilted his sword toward Ana.

Ana heard Merlin take a step forward and then halt quickly. "That wasn't the deal. She can draw a map, just let us go!"

"A deal?" the man laughed. "You're down by two bows and a sword, we don't need a deal. Her I'll take. And if the king dies, I might even let her go. But you I can't have messing with my plans; can't have the king knowing what's happening before he's dead, hm?" The man raised his offhand halfway, and Ana recognized it as the beginnings of his signal for the archer to shoot.

Faster than she could have planned, she leapt forward and grabbed the blade right above the hilt, twisting the sword out of his grip and slicing her hand on its edge. Unable to make use of it fast enough, she threw it away from the both of them and then fell back back, hitting the ground and just managing to dodge an arrow that nearly hit her from the archer on her right.

"Run!" she shouted to Merlin, reaching back for her sword and shooting upright. She barely registered the click of an arrow loosing from a crossbow, barely heard it slicing through the air, before she reacted. One moment she was standing and the next she was weightless, falling in the place that Merlin had just been. She was sitting up before she had even registered she'd hit the ground, and then—

Everyone was dead. Or it looked that way. They flew back, they collapsed, all of them, all at once, and she hadn't touched them, and she hadn't felt a thing, and that wasn't possible, it just wasn't, unless—and when she turned around she had her answer. Merlin was behind her, his hand raised, breathing heavily, gold fading from his eyes. He had magic. Ana didn't even know how that was possible. How was he a practicer of magic in Camelot? Without Gaius or Arthur finding out, without anyone finding out? Ana didn't realize she was breathing heavier or that her fingertips were beginning to shake; Merlin, however, noted it with panicked and pained eyes before he spoke.

"I—I can explain," Merlin said quickly, raising both of his hands in innocence. Ana tensed instinctively at the gesture and he dropped them, concealing a small wince. "I can explain, I swear, but first—" He floundered and then gestured to her.

It was only when she shifted to sit straighter that she realized what he was talking about. She was bleeding. She immediately moved to put more pressure on her abdomen, stifling the bleeding at the cost of pain, her fingertips reaching around the shaft of an arrow to do so. "You want to . . . what? Heal me? Merlin, I . . . I don't even know how you got magic, you can't just—"

"You're going to bleed out," Merlin said, pleading. He took a couple steps forward. "Look, I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to—"

"Don't be stupid, Merlin," Ana scoffed weakly, "I know you're not going to hurt me. Just . . . come over here, all right? At the least you can help me stop the bleeding."  

Merlin was evidently cautious, but after watching her expression for another moment, he was beside her and putting another hand on her abdomen, pressing harder. "Ana, I can't heal this without magic," he said, his voice pitching up. "I-I don't know how."

"I need you to explain first, Merlin," Ana insisted, attempting to sound severe. She shook her head. She couldn't let him. Not yet.

"Just trust me," Merlin insisted, breathing in sharply. She felt his hand tremble slightly where he was applying pressure. "I was born with magic, I didn't choose it, I was born with it. I'll tell you everything, but I need to heal you first, please just—"

"I trust you, Merlin," Ana sighed, wincing at the movement. "You're right, I trust you. So . . . so do it. And I expect that explanation after, all right?" Cautiously, and not without a glance at Merlin to see if he would stop her first, she grabbed hold of the arrow, took a deep breath, and pulled it out in a swift motion that left her in dizzying pain.

After the immediate shock faded, Merlin's eyes lit up in relief at his new opportunity, his shoulders relaxing minutely. Ana expected him to prepare her, or explain, but instead he gave her an uncertain look, ducked his head, and muttered words she couldn't make out under his breath. After a moment, he applied more pressure to her wound and repeated the words again. She jumped when the wound began to sting, but it was over as quickly as it came. Merlin slowly eased the pressure off her wound and no blood poured between his fingers.

Ana shifted to lean back immediately, putting both of her hands on the place the wound used to be. "Shit," she breathed. "It's not—it's not bleeding. It barely hurts. How did you—?" Ana cut herself off when she saw his expression, nervous and uncertain. "I . . . don't think you're evil, Merlin. I just don't understand. I—why didn't you tell me? And what do you mean you were born with it? And what about all the magic that happens in Camelot? Are you the one doing it? Because a lot of that is—" Ana caught herself and stopped, waiting for him to answer.

Merlin kept his eyes on the ground, propping up a knee and leaning on it. "I was born with magic," he said again. "It's not common, but it happens. Some of the druids are born with magic too. I can't just stop. It's a part of who I am." He risked a glance up to see her expression and then looked down again. "I only use magic to help people, I swear. Like Arthur. I protect him. And I can't tell anyone or—"

"You'll be sentenced to death?" Ana offered. "That's a reasonable answer." She paused, digging her fingers into the dirt as she thought. "I didn't know people could be born with magic. It's, um, it's different. To know you didn't choose it. I mean, I don't think all magic-users are evil but—" Ana dug her fingers deeper into the ground.

Merlin watched her movement carefully but didn't comment on it. "How are you so calm?" he asked. "No one else who found out were, were like this."

"I'm not calm, Merlin," Ana said plainly. "I—I'm freaking out. This isn't normal. Or okay. I just don't—I don't know how I'm supposed to feel right now. You're not the first magic user I've met, but even then . . ."

"But you still trust me?" he asked. His voice was cautious, if hopeful. Ana paused to fully look at him and realized suddenly that he must have been rejected before, that he couldn't possibly be used to acceptance.

Ana opened her mouth and then closed it. It took a moment before she attempted to speak again. "Of course I do. You're still Merlin." After another moment, she even managed the smallest of smiles. "And I have the slightest feeling that Arthur's not lucky at all. Puts all the dropped branches, swords, and chandeliers into perspective."

Merlin's eyes widened and he barked a laugh, far giddier than he should have been. "You don't know the half of it," he assured her. His words were punctuated by the first few drops of rain that began to fall through the trees, splashing dew on their skins.

Ana cleared her throat. "I don't suppose you could stop this rain then?"

Merlin wouldn't have dared try and Ana didn't expect him to. Both of them knew that it was too soon, that she wasn't ready for it and he wasn't ready to witness the reaction. But that didn't keep either of them from smiling at the question, or put a damper on Merlin's mood when he stood up and offered her a hand to stand as well. There was something about the air around them that assured them it would be okay soon.

Gaius would have a word with them when he saw the pair, soaking wet and muddy, with blood dotting their clothes. He would notice Ana's behaviour and Merlin's careful avoidance of the suspicious and realize the secret had been told. Of course nothing would ever be the same. But in that moment, Ana and Merlin thought of none of that. Instead, they hurried home, still shocked beyond what they could express, with an odd sense of relief filling their bones.

[blankparchment]

Imagine Sirius in Hogwarts when he gets emotional. A lot of people might imagine him shouting and freaking out and being obviously and deeply angry, kinda like how we see him in PoA when he’s mad at Peter. But headcanon that he wasn’t like that at all.

Think about it: Sirius came from a judgemental home that he hated, with a mother that was always screaming at him and insulting him and making him feel small. So in Hogwarts when he gets mad, he tries not to be like her at all. He’s reserved, he’s quiet, he forces himself to listen to the other person even when it’s really freaking hard. And when people are mad at him he can’t stand it, because every time someone shouts at him he just remembers what it was like to be “home”

So imagine someone is shouting at Sirius, like a professor, and Remus walks by and realises that Sirius’ hands are shaking. So Remus calmly walks up to the professor and he says “Sir, can you stop shouting, it makes me uncomfortable, I can’t stand hearing it” and the professor apologises profusely because they realise that Remus must have gone through stuff that made him hate shouting and they didn’t mean to do that, and Sirius just looks at Remus and he knows what his friend just did and they just never mention it again.

And that brings context to PoA too because when Sirius saw Peter again he was raving and furious and everything he tried to never be in Hogwarts because he’s just so angry that he’s blind to it and he lost everything, he lost James, the closest thing he had to family, he lost 12 years of his life, he was betrayed by such a close friend, and he was so blindly angry that he completely lost it for one of the first times in his life and he was never the same

[blankparchment]

One Full Moon Night | Marauders + OC

“After Sirius tells Severus to meet the Marauders outside on the full moon, she intervenes and gets hurt. The Marauders are really concerned.”

This is an OC Marauders one-shot because I hate writing in second person. The only things you need to know is that Rory is female, is friends with the Marauders, and doesn’t 100% hate Severus Snape. She knows that Remus is a werewolf. 

WARNING: THIS IS SO LONG HOLY CRAP. It’s 5k words. There is a bit of violence (because hello werewolf) and a lot of angst.

(I accept one-shot/imagine requests!)

Rory had no reason to be in the halls on that particular full moon night. It was against the rules and pointless, but Rory had long since lost her fear of being caught roaming late in the corridors of Hogwarts. She felt her usual apprehension before the Marauders took off to the Shrieking Shack but she knew that her place in the castle didn't help them any—excepting, of course, the fact that being in the castle meant that she wasn't outside. The one time the idea of her even stepping out those doors during a full moon came up, Remus completely shut down.

She was just wandering the castle, wand idly spinning in her hand, with no purpose or plan. It wasn't uncommon for her to do in the slightest and she hadn't been caught in upward a year. Rory didn't pause until she passed alongside a grand window revealing the outside world to her. With a sigh, she crossed a couple steps to get to it and leaned against the wall beside it, watching.

She never liked the idea of Remus transforming every full moon. Even now, with the Marauders at his side, she still felt nervous before the moon and slept restlessly during it. She knew by looking at the placement of the moon that he would be beginning his transformation soon.

Rory began to turn away but before she managed to step back, she caught sight of a silhouette in the darkness. Suddenly tense, she lunged back to the window, pressing against it; sure enough, there was a figure slowly walking outside, in the direction of the Shrieking Shack.

Severus Snape.

Rory acted before she could even think. She was running, her sneakers hitting the floor hard and loud, far from her usual subtlety in the nighttime hours. Subtlety didn't matter just then. All that mattered was the fact that Severus was heading straight toward a danger that she was sure he didn't even know about.

She was lucky that there was a simple exit from Hogwarts in that corridor. She slid through a passage with ease, scuffing up her jeans against the stone, and then she was off, sprinting across the field with a speed only possible with the urgent adrenaline running through her veins. She didn't dare shout, worried about alerting Remus, as a werewolf, to their presence.

She reached Severus just short of the Shrieking Shack and nearly lunged, grabbing his arm hard and pulling him to face her. He startled and his eyes opened wide when he took her in.

"What ar—?" Severus was almost immediately cut off.

"You shouldn't be here," she hissed, keeping her voice low (though logically she knew that a werewolf would hear it anyway). "It's not safe, we need to go."

Already she was pulling him back in Hogwarts' direction, with frantic and stumbling steps. He brushed her off.

Rory had no patience with him. "You're going to get yourself killed!" she snapped, pulling her wand from her pocket and holding it securely in her duelling hand. "Why the hell are you here?"

She didn't wait for his answer, grabbing his arm again and forcing him another step in the right direction before he shoved her off.

"Who do you think told me to be here?" he nearly snarled. "Your friend Black,  and if it's so dangerous I'm sure Potter was in on it too."

Rory didn't have time to feel the fury that lit her veins form hearing Severus' words. Sirius had somehow told Severus to be here—Sirius had told Severus to walk into the danger that Remus created. She blocked the recklessness that would have come with that anger.

"That doesn't matter!" Rory snapped, giving up on keeping her voice down—if Remus was a werewolf now he would sense them, no matter the noise they were making. The bloodlust was strong in him, she knew that. "We have to go—"

A howl broke through the air, shaking the trees and freezing the two in their places for the briefest moments.

"Now!" Rory shouted, shoving Severus with all the strength she had. He stumbled but didn't fall and began running in the direction she shoved him, back to Hogwarts. She was quick to follow in his footsteps. Even he had the sense to avoid a fight with a werewolf. Behind them, Rory was aware of the sound of Remus breaking out of the Shrieking Shack, could hear his snarling and loud footsteps behind her.

The werewolf was gaining. Severus stumbled a step and slowed down. Rory wanted to swear—Severus began running again, but it was crooked and he was slow. He'd hurt himself. Shoving Severus away once more, Rory spun around, wand raised, hoping against hope that she could find a way to stall the werewolf, knowing the moment she saw it that none of Remus remained within it.

She was relieved and terrified when James, in his stag form, caught up and ran into the wolf, slicing it where the antlers connected. Sirius growled and attacked Remus from the other side, but Rory realized immediately that the two were both holding back.

The werewolf was not.

Severus had stopped running, his wand out and trained on the werewolf. Rory could tell by a glance that he understood the situation. The werewolf knocked both Sirius and James away and turned back to Rory and Severus, the both of them still. The werewolf growled and took a step forward. If either Rory or Severus began running, the werewolf would give chase, and neither of them could outrun it.

"James," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Severus can't run. Distract Remus and then I'll lead him away."

The werewolf wouldn't follow James, Sirius, or Peter, not when there were human beings around. She could lead him away, but she'd need a head start. Rory wondered if Severus would refuse to run, if he would try to be brave. He wasn't Gryffindor but he was a good person, she knew. She couldn't risk it.

Sirius growled and Rory knew that he disagreed with the plan. The werewolf's ears' peaked, catching the sound. Rory didn't have time to argue with them.

Finally making the move, the werewolf jumped forward and lunged at her and Severus. Quicker than Rory thought she could act, she shot a quick "Stupefy!" at Severus, knocking him backwards and forcing unconsciousness the moment he hit the ground. Without waiting to see him land, Rory turned her wand on Remus and shouted the same spell: "STUPEFY!"

The werewolf wasn't pushed back much, but it was enough. Sirius and James both took the opening and lunged for the werewolf—Remus, her mind reminded her when she saw the blood her two friends were leaving behind—giving Rory enough time to slip by them and run past, toward the Forbidden Forest.

Once she had made it halfway there, she trained her wand on the werewolf. "Periculum!" A red spell shot from her wand like a firecracker, straight toward Remus, now damaged, battered, and completely inhuman. The light hit Remus and burned him enough to catch his attention, hovering there before it went out. She hadn't even been sure that it would work.

Remus growled at her from across the field and she took a few steps back, her wand still raised. Every part of her was terrified that he would turn around and see Severus, the easier prey. He didn't. He ran right for her at a speed she could never replicate.

Sirius and James followed after Remus as quickly as they could but Remus easily kept ahead. Rory only just had time to hope that Severus would be okay and far from the trouble before she was running again.

"Impedimenta!" she threw behind her. She knew without looking that she had missed. Stopping her run for the briefest moment, Rory spun on her heel and trained her wand on Remus. "IMPEDIMENTA!"

She didn't miss that one and so she turned again and ran at a dead sprint until she had made it to the outskirts of the Forest. Her slowing jinx barely worked on Remus, and he caught up to her before she could make it into the confines of the trees.

One swipe of his claws to her leg and she collapsed. The pain was dulled but her fear was urgent and she spun onto her back to see the werewolf looming over her. She had her wand trained but couldn't think of a single spell.

She didn't have to. Just then, Sirius made it and lunged at Remus, knocking him away from her a few paces. Rory's mind was spinning, trying to find a way out of the situation. She needed to get away from Remus—from the werewolf—but she knew that even James and Sirius both couldn't keep the wolf occupied long enough for her to do so; Peter couldn't do anything to help her if he tried in his small Animagus form.

They had to distract Remus. Rory was panicked and her mind was moving too fast for her to keep up, but she knew that they had to distract him. How? How can we distract him?

Rory forced herself to stand, her left leg shaking under her weight, bleeding onto the ground beneath her. Her movement caught the attention of Remus but James was there with Sirius, the two of them fending him off for the moment. She took another step back just as Remus howled and charged into James, shoving the stag back into the woods where Rory could hear a bone crack.

Wincing, Rory threw her wand up, denying the urge to run to James and check on him, knowing it would only lead Remus there to his injured friend. Sirius kept up a good fight in desperation, Remus' frontside almost shredded with all the marks his friends were leaving. Rory was still taking wobbly steps back, feeling the weight in her throat when Sirius, too, collapsed.

The werewolf snarled, and unlike the last times, he didn't wait. He lunged at her with a burning ferocity that Rory would always remember. The wand slipped from her hand when Remus' claws sunk deep into her chest, raking through her and introducing an explosive pain that forced her mind blank. She distantly thought she screamed but for a moment, all she could see was black and she could only hear silence.

Reality slammed into her a moment later, her senses returning like she had come out of freezing water. Through blurry eyes, waves of pain, and her ears ringing she could hear James' shout.

"MOONY!"

James must have thrown something or shot a spell out because the wolf turned from Rory not a moment too soon; unbeknownst to her, the wolf's bite would have come in another second if James hadn't turned Remus away.

Rory struggled to find her wand, her hand skimming the ground around her, pain radiating with every movement. Her hand closed around the handle and she forced the wand up with no thought in her mind but one: James would die if Remus reached him.

"REPERTICUS!"

Her reasoning hadn't even been fully formed when she shot out the spell. It was one of the older spells she had created, one that would create a high pitched frequency. When Rory was in her right mind, she could hear the faint whisper of it, and if she cast it too frequently, she got a headache for her trouble. With Remus' enhanced hearing, it would have been hell.

The werewolf collapsed before he ever reached James and even Sirius, still in his dog form, began to whimper. When Rory shouted it again, losing her energy, the werewolf ran into the woods to escape it.

"Sirius," Rory managed to whisper. "G-go . . . with him. Keep him busy . . . p-please."

James had already appeared at Rory's side, cradling his left arm. "She's right," James insisted urgently. "You can't let him hurt anyone else, he could leave the Forest any second. Go, Padfoot, I'll take care of her."

Plainly horrified, Sirius nodded, still in his dog form and shaking. It took a few seconds before he took off, guilt plaguing him every second of the way, inspiring his own speed and resilience as he took off after the werewolf by scent, meeting him and guiding the werewolf all night, far from Hogwarts. Far from the people he had already hurt.

-

Remus thought he understood fear. He could distantly remember Fenrir Greyback attacking him in his own room when he was four years old. He could remember the ricocheting panic that plagued him even after his father fought the werewolf off, the haunting realization that one single night would define his life for the rest of his days.

He thought for certain that that was fear, that the event had taken him to the heights of the human capacity of the feeling.

That fear could not compare to what he felt waking up at the edge of the Forbidden Forest covered in blood, with the burning realization that not all of it was his.

-

Rory woke up with a gasp that only barely contained the scream she had in her throat. She only became aware of James beside her when he immediately took one of her hands in his own, his other arm reaching over her to push her far shoulder into the bed, ensuring that she wouldn't move in her panic.

"Shh," he urged her, trying to stay calm for her, "you're fine, just breathe, you're okay."

Rory could only feel the pain and the terror of the werewolf tearing into her. Struggling to listen to James' voice, she nodded desperately, a sound in the back of her throat that edged into being a concealed sob. The confines of her nightmare loosened as James continued to speak assurances, his grip tightening on her hand as he held her firmly in place to stop her from hurting herself.

"I'm fine," she breathed when she could form words again, "I-I'm fine, I promise."

She wasn't fine. She wasn't fine but she had stopped panicking and struggling, which is all that anyone could ask of her in that moment.

"This shouldn't have happened," James growled after he released his grip on her, hitting the wall behind her head hard. Rory flinched visibly but did her best to hide it from James. "How the hell did this happen?"

"It do-doesn't matter," Rory managed to force out, hating herself for her stutter. It did matter, but there was no use in telling James in that moment, when he too was panicking and the other Marauders weren't present. "S-Severus?"

James eyed her for a moment before dropping his head, rubbing a hand across his face. "He's fine," he said through gritted teeth. "He's fine because you're not."

Good. "You?" she asked, her eyes searching his before she dropped her gaze to himself, to his recently broken arm.

James' eyes softened. "I'm okay," he told her, gentler. "I fixed the arm myself before Pomfrey could see, I thought it would be suspicious. I also got rid of the blood. I'm okay. Sirius is okay, too, Remus didn't get him as badly as me."

"Remus," she breathed, horrified. "Oh no, he's okay, right? Where is he?"

James sensed her panic, grabbing her hand again and briefly shushing her. "I'm sure he's fine, Rory, just calm down. He's used to dealing with the injuries, remember? He always used to get them," he assured her. "Remus and Sirius aren't back yet, you weren't unconscious for long, the sun's barely gone up."

A horrible thought occurred to her. Remus wasn't even here yet, he didn't know. And she realized suddenly that she was evidence. She proved everything that Remus wanted hidden. "H-his secret," Rory rasped, her stutter returning. "Ja-James, his secret, th-they can't know! It's not fair!"

James had to put his hand back down on her shoulder to keep her still. "Hey!" He raised his voice. "Hey, we'll think of something, all right? It'll be okay, it will all be okay, just calm down."

Madame Pomfrey stepped into the room again and jumped in surprise when she saw the two of them. "You should've told me the moment she woke up!" she snapped. "You're riling her up, Potter—you're going to have to go—"

"No!" Rory nearly shouted, trying to sit up unthinkingly. James made a sound in the back of his throat as he held her shoulder down, forcing her to remain still until she stopped pushing against him. "He-he's helping me, I promise, please don't make him go."

Pomfrey's eyes softened with pity and Rory had to look away at the expression. "Of course," she conceded. "Dumbledore wishes to speak with you, however, and if he asks your friend to leave, you know he'll have to go."

Rory nodded quickly, catching onto Pomfrey's irate tone. The healer was, evidently, not pleased with Dumbledore questioning Rory so soon.

The Headmaster entered the room as if on cue, his cloak flowing behind him. The wizard did not have the usual cheery glow in his eyes and he walked with urgency. Rory shared the briefest glances with James, trying to conceal her own worry, and he briefly grabbed her hand to comfort her before dropping it. Pomfrey slipped out of the room to ensure the privacy.

The Headmaster stood at the foot of her bed for a moment, staring at Rory closely, before he began to place privacy charms and spells, one after another, not saying a word until it was complete.

"It wasn't Remus," Rory said, the first one to speak. "I was being stupid, I went into the Forbidden Forest after dark and somewhere in there was a werewolf—it wasn't him. It attacked me and I fought it off—" Dumbledore looked like he meant to interrupt, but Rory rushed to finish, talking over him. "I panicked when I realized I'd been hurt and I was afraid it would come back but I managed to send a patronus to James—I know I should've sent it to you or Professor McGonagall but I wasn't thinking straight and—"

Dumbledore rose a single hand to silence the rambling girl. "It's a believable story, Rory, one that I could quite easily confirm by discovering the most recent spells your wand has performed."

Rory flinched as if she had been struck, realizing in that moment that she didn't know how to get out of this or protect Remus. He could be expelled for this. His secret would be revealed. He would leave to protect himself, to find people who didn't know. He may never get another chance at another school. And it was all her fault—

"It wasn't Remus' fault. And it wasn't Rory's. Please, sir, you've got to believe us—"

"I do," Dumbledore interrupted calmly. "But I'm sure you will both understand if I ask you to begin this story from the beginning."

Rory began the story, telling the truth as much as she could to convince Dumbledore. She left out the fact that James, Sirius, and Peter were unregistered Animagi and chose to leave Sirius and Peter out of the tale completely, seeing no reason to convict them. She told him that she had seen Severus walking toward the Whomping Willow and panicked. James had been the only one with her and the two of them ran to stop Severus when it went awry. She admitted to knocking Severus out to keep him from hurting himself and explained that herself and James were doing their best to distract Remus before they managed to rile him up and Rory was caught in the crossfire. She went on to explain James' act of bravery when he tried to distract Remus from her at his own potential expense and then told Dumbledore of the spell she'd used to drive Remus away. Very occasionally in the tale, James interjected with his point of view or more information to make the story more convincing. At the end of it, Dumbledore nodded.

"What you two did today was no small risk," Dumbledore said quietly. "You both could have suffered much worse than you did." Dumbledore cast a glance at Rory, who was clearly still hiding her pain, her entire frontside bathed in blood from her injuries, even after it was bound by Madame Pomfrey. "Madame Pomfrey informed me that you suffered no bites."

It hadn't even occurred to Rory that that had been a risk. If the werewolf—Remus—had bitten her, she would have suffered the same burden of his curse. For the rest of her life, she would have turned every full moon into a beast like the one she had just fought against. The thought turned her throat dry.

"She's rather confused about the whole matter, I'm sure," Dumbledore continued. "For her to treat you, you will have to admit that it was a werewolf attack. Injuries from lycanthropes are quite unlike others." For a moment, Rory couldn't breathe, focused only on Dumbledore's grave eyes. "I would recommend you polish that first story of yours. That is, if you are still wanting to protect your friend's secret." Rory caught the briefest spark in Dumbledore's eye before it vanished.

The relief in the air was palpable. "You won't punish Remus for this then?" James asked, hesitant in a way that was unfamiliar to  Rory.

Dumbledore sighed. "Remus Lupin has done nothing wrong. The circumstances were unfortunate, but they were not caused by Remus' lack of trying to keep others safe. But you have to understand this: if anyone learns of what happened to you, Rory, and understands that your friend Remus was the one to cause it, I may have no choice but to remove him from the school entirely."

Rory and James both nodded, understanding the gravity of this situation. No one could know. They would polish the first story, do everything they could do keep Remus' secret as they were entrusted to do. Remus couldn't be expelled for this. He couldn't.

Dumbledore spoke a few well wishes and warnings before he left her with James, just in time for Remus to slip into the doorway with Sirius at his side. Somehow, Sirius must have forced Remus to clean himself up and likely healed the visible injuries—Animagi scratches were not nearly as cumbersome as those of a werewolf—to avoid anyone suspecting Remus of being involved. Still, he looked vulnerable and honestly awful, tired and emotionally beaten.

When he saw the state Rory was in, he had absolutely no words. Even Sirius had frozen completely in place, his eyes locked on hers. Both of them stood, individually blaming themselves for the horror she had suffered.

It took six stiff strides for Remus to reach Rory's bedside and he looked ready to collapse. For a few seconds, all he could do was stare at her and breathe.

"I'm okay," she told him, her voice raspy. "I promise I'm okay." She wanted to ask him if he was okay but she knew he wouldn't take that question well in that moment. "I'm fine."

Remus swallowed hard, looking away from her to gather himself. "D-did I—did I b—"

James understood Remus' meaning. "You didn't bite her. She's not a werewolf. She has scratches, but nothing that won't heal. She's okay, you didn't hurt her too much."

"But I did hurt her," Remus stated, his voice almost cracking. He couldn't look at her at all.

James cursed his own wording.

"This wasn't your fault," Rory said in place of James. "You're not you when you turn. I know you're not. Y-you couldn't have been, not-not when you—" Rory cut herself off, forcing a breath through her lungs. He didn't need to hear that. He didn't need to be haunted by the memories that haunted her, she didn't need to voice the ferocity and malice that had scared her so badly. "We all know the risks, Remus, we know. I know. I shouldn't have been out there—"

"Damn right, you shouldn't have been out there!" Remus shouted. Rory couldn't conceal her wince when he raised his voice at her and she watched as Remus deflated instantly, recognizing the fact that he'd scared her. Never before had he scared her, not even in the rare moments that he was like this. Not until he had attacked her in his werewolf form.

Rory wanted to explain herself, tell him that it wasn't him she was afraid of, that she did the same when James hit the wall. It was different, of course, but not extremely so. She was not afraid of Remus, not in any way that counted. He'd startled her after a traumatic experience, that was all. "Remus, I—"

He cut her off, his voice lower. "You shouldn't have gone outside, you shouldn't have put yourself in a place that I could hurt you—"

"It wasn't all her fault," James said, still sitting in the chair next to Rory. He didn't look any more pleased with the situation and his knuckles had gone white from how tightly he clenched them. "Snivellus was outside, heading for the Shrieking Shack. If she hadn't gone, he might've been killed."

James' tone communicated everything that he wanted to say. He didn't think that Rory should have gone to protect Severus. He didn't think that his life was worth hers.

Remus was losing his grip, his voice weakening, cracking. His hands twisted in his hair. "Why? Why would he go there, there's no reason for him to—Rory could've—I could've—"

"It was my fault."

The room froze. Rory bowed her head, having been wondering if it would come down to her having to tell the other Marauders what Sirius had done.

"What?" James asked, clearly confused. "How is it your fault? You protected them both tonight, you didn't—"

"I told him to come," Sirius admitted, his tone defeated.

The reaction was immediate. James rose quickly, his chair sliding back and hitting the wall. Remus stepped once toward Sirius and his eyes were livid, dark enough to force Rory to look away to keep the memories of the wolf from surfacing.

James spoke first, his voice dead with anger. "You did what?"

It was clear that James was not thinking of Severus' potential for injury, but of the injuries that Rory had received, the scratches Remus had torn into her, the wounds that would scar her permanently and absolutely, for the rest of her life. He was thinking of the blood loss she suffered, the blood loss she had only managed to survive because of how quickly he got her into the Hospital Wing and sent the Patronus out to Madame Pomfrey to wake her. James didn't blame Remus for Rory's experience. It seemed that he finally found someone to take all the blame.

"I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt," Sirius said, his eyes heavy. "He pissed me off. He suspected something was off with us and he was getting close to guessing what it was. He said something about Regulus and I—I just snapped, okay? I told him how to get into the Whomping Willow, told him when to do it. I-I wasn't even sure he would listen. I thought he might just catch a glimpse of Remus, that it might scare him—"

"You didn't think." Remus' tone was low but icy cold. "I could've killed him. If Rory hadn't come out to help him, I might have actually killed him, Sirius. But Rory did come out and she stopped me from hurting him and she nearly died in the process! I could've turned her into a werewolf today! It's just chance that I didn't, some twisted version of luck that stopped me. Do you not see what you almost did?" Remus' voice was pitching higher in his desperation. "What you almost caused? I'm a monster, Sirius! And you just handed me two victims today."

"Remus, stop!" Rory tried to interrupt, forcing herself halfway into a sitting position.

"You lie back down!" Remus growled, turning on her. His eyes were blazing and he was completely tense, as if ready for a fight. Rory couldn't prevent her mind from drawing the connections between Remus now and the werewolf he had been, she couldn't stop her mind from repeating the experience of the attack on a loop, driving her slowly to hysteria. But to her absolute credit, she did manage to stop herself from flinching, saving Remus in the only way she could, even in front of his madness. "You put yourself into danger, Sirius didn't force you out there, too. Having Severus out there was bad enough, how do you think having two people out there helped any matters?"

Rory understood where he was coming from but absolutely disagreed. If she hadn't gone to Severus when she did, he would have entered through the Whomping Willow and walked right into the Shrieking Shack without knowing the dangers he was facing. In such tight quarters, fighting a werewolf off wouldn't have been easy, and the werewolf would have sensed Severus first. Unless a miracle occurred, Severus wouldn't have made it out alive.

She didn't say any of this, instead letting Remus shout, knowing that he was going through his own trauma, completely different from hers and just as raw.

"You put yourself in danger, Rory, and you could've died because of it! I could've killed you because of it. You don't have to play Gryffindor, you have to keep yourself safe, you knew it was dangerous and you went out anyway and I ALMOST KILLED YOU!"

And that was it. That was Remus' breaking point.

"Look at you," he said, almost whimpering. "You're suffering, you're broken, and I—I did that to you. It's my fault. I never meant to hurt you, I wasn't supposed to hurt you, Rory, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry, I wasn't—"

Remus broke down into tears, collapsing on the floor beside her bed, lacking the strength to stand.

Through his sobs, his muttering kept on, "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, I never meant for this to happen, it's all my fault, I'm sorry, Rory, I'm so fucking sorry, I didn't mean—I never wanted this to happen."

When she slipped to the floor to sit with him, in spite of her near-overwhelming pain and her still-untreated injuries, not even James stopped her. She sat herself down beside Remus, wrapped an arm around him and shifted close, letting him turn to cry into her own shoulder as she responded to each apology with another assurance that everything would be okay.

"It's okay, Remus, I forgive you."

[blankparchment]

Here Be Dragons | Charlie Weasley + OC

"Before the first task, she was walking in the Forbidden Forest when she found a freaking dragon. Charlie Weasley appears, looking completely baffled that she was there."

Random Charlie Weasley/OC one-shot because I don’t write second person. Also, there’s action in it. And not really any romance. This is what happens when an ace/aro person writes fan-fiction.

Warning: It’s long. If you like it, feel free to check out my page and request an imagine/one-shot! 

-

The woods were familiar. They shouldn't have been, mind you. Dumbledore would probably have a heart attack if he knew how often Wren visited the Forest after dark. It was blatantly against the rules in several different ways, but that didn't matter. Even on the cooler night like this one, she found that the woods comforted her. She could breathe easy in the woods; oddly enough, the Forbidden Forest was one of the only places that she didn't find herself constantly looking over her shoulder.

Honestly, with her apparent stupidity and lack of attention, she probably shouldn't have been surprised when she walked right into a dragon. Except she should, because it was a freaking dragon.

She had been lost in her thoughts as she walked, looking up at the sky peeking between high branches of the trees. She barely noticed the woods becoming sparser as it opened up to a small pasture of sorts, with few trees dotting its insides. What finally stopped her walking was a low growl in front of her, a sound that immediately snapped her gaze forward, and almost too late at that.

The dragon was 20 feet from her, lifting its head with narrowed eyes, its silvery blue scales catching the moonlight. Wren froze, her hands immediately flying out between her and the dragon in what she hoped was an appeasing gesture. The dragon leaned forward and let out a huff of fire in a bright and brilliant blue shade. Wren was quick to pull her wand from her pocket, still raising one appeasing hand as she backed up a step. What kind of spells could be used against a dragon? As she took another step back, she stepped on a twig that cracked under her foot. The dragon reared back immediately, raising its front legs off the ground before landing again and immediately sending a wave of blue flames directly at her.

Wren swore loudly and dove to her right, ducking and hitting the ground in a messy roll, low enough that the flames passed right over her. The searing heat emanated from the flames, at such a temperature that it nearly burned her without a single touch. The second she was back on her feet she threw out a protection spell, a barrier landing between her and the dragon. The dragon lunged forward but was forced back by a chain around its neck that she hadn't noticed before—and who the hell kept a dragon captive anyway?

The dragon's next bout of flames struck her shield and she moved close to it as the flames shot out on either side of it, singing her jacket. If that chain was around its neck, all Wren had to do was get away. She didn't want to fight a dragon today, and it seemed she wouldn't have to.

Wren waited for the dragon to stop its flames before she turned around and ran straight for the treeline she had come from, just managing to slip behind a large tree as the dragon blew another wave of blue fire directly at her. She sunk to the ground and wrapped her arms around herself, keeping as far away from the flames on either side of her as she could, wincing at the heat. Whoever had brought this dragon here had at least had the sense to spell the trees against flame.

Wren was trying to prepare her next move when she heard an unfamiliar voice cry out far to her right. "Bloody h—calm down!"

Wren risked peeking around her tree as the flames lapsed once more, catching a glimpse of red hair and a quick shot of red magic before she had to duck back behind the tree again when the dragon breathed another small bout of fire between her and the boy. Wren watched the red-headed boy shoot another one of his spells straight at the dragon, who growled and lowered its head when it landed. Forgetting Wren, the dragon turned solely to the boy and opened its mouth. Wren jumped out from behind the tree, her wand pointed with no plan in her mind, when the boy fired another spell of his own and landed it directly in the dragon's open mouth. The dragon cried out angrily but didn't shoot any fire, closing its mouth and opening it again.

The boy sighed and took another few steps toward the dragon, raising his hands in front of him. "It's okay, just, just calm down. You're okay," he said to the dragon, keeping his voice level and calm.

The dragon reared back again, growling loudly. As Wren took another step from behind cover, the dragon's gaze snapped to her. The boy immediately turned to see what had caught the dragon's attention and his mouth fell open at the sight of Wren, who winced and sighed in defeat. She hadn't even considered the possibility that the dragon boy hadn't seen her and she probably could've avoided a lot of trouble by just leaving.

"And here I thought that the dragon was just being nasty," the boy sighed, walking toward Wren. As he got closer to her, he slowed down and turned to the dragon, putting his hand out and shaking his head firmly. "You, just calm down. She's not a threat to you."

Wren got the sense that his tone was far more important than his words when speaking to dragons because the dragon bristled at the sound and his growling quieted just slightly. Finally dropping his hands, the boy turned to Wren, shaking his head and pulling a hand through his long red hair, almost at a loss for how to respond.

"Come on," he finally said, gesturing back the way she had come. "Let's talk away from the dragon."

Wren nodded silently and followed behind him as he lead her away from the growling blue dragon behind her, feeling simultaneously chagrined and confused (and maybe just a touch angry). The boy didn't speak until the dragon was out of sight and could barely be heard.

"I'm Charlie," he said first. Wren blinked and looked up at him with a bit of confusion. Admittedly, she thought he would have chewed her out first. At his name, some of her anger melted, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Charlie . . . Weasley?" she asked slowly. In hindsight, the red hair should have given it away.

Charlie only briefly raised his eyebrows before he nodded. He leaned back against a tree behind him. "Heard of me?"

"Hard not to. What with every other student in the school being one of your brothers," Wren responded wryly. There were literally only three of his brothers in the school, with Percy having graduated Hogwarts not too long ago, but Charlie chuckled anyway.

"I'm Wren," she offered. Wren relaxed a bit when the breeze blew through the woods, cooling her arms and hands slightly.

Charlie chuckled again, shaking his head at her. "Of course you are," he said quietly, looking up briefly at the stars. "I've heard of you. Fred and George have mentioned you in passing a few times. Figures that a friend of theirs would be the one who walked into a dragon."

Wren's eyebrows went way up. "You're the one who brought the dragon," she pointed out.

"You're the one walking through the Forbidden Forest after curfew," Charlie said, lowering his gaze back to her face with a vague sense of amusement.

She took a step closer and stared at him accusingly. "You're the one who brought the dragon," she repeated. Charlie rolled her eyes but didn't protest to her accusation, recognizing the point.

"It doesn't matter," he said dismissively. "Were you hurt at all?"

He leaned further back against the tree, looking up at the sky again. Wren grimaced as she pulled her jacket sleeve up to look at her arms and hands fully. "Only a little," she said when she saw how red they were.

Charlie's gaze quickly snapped to hers and he pushed off the tree, crossing the distance between them. He clearly hadn't expected her to say yes to his question. He took her right arm in one of his hands, grimacing when she winced at the contact. Her arm was hot to the touch. Her skin was plainly irritated and red, a testament to just how hot the dragon's flames were. Her flesh was still intact though, and while her jacket was a bit singed, it clearly hadn't sustained the full damage from the flames either.

"I didn't even realize you were close enough to be hit," he muttered, pulling out his wand. His voice was slightly strained; he was clearly kicking himself for not noticing before. He muttered a quick incantation and she watched as some of the redness faded, the shallow pain disappearing almost immediately. Charlie took her other arm and did the same.

"I sort of walked right up to it," Wren admitted, putting her hands in her pockets when he was done his magic. "I-I'm in these woods all the time, you know? And 'round these parts, there's not much to worry about, just centaurs and wolves and such, nothing too scary. I wasn't paying much attention."

"You weren't burned?" he asked doubtfully. "I mean, more?"

Wren shook her head. "I'm pretty fast," she offered. "And once I had time, I had a shield charm ready to go."

Charlie looked like he wanted to say something but he just shook his head at her, shoving his wand back into a sheath he had. "At the very least, if you're going to wander the Forbidden Forest, you should watch where you're going."

"It's not that bad," Wren protested. "I mean, sure I should pay more attention, but it's not like there's danger lurking at every corner!"

"You're not the only one who used to go into the Forbidden Forest," Charlie said, smiling appeasingly at her attitude. "Trust me, I used to go too. I just didn't walk into dragons."

Wren crossed her arms, looking down at her feet briefly. "Your dragon," she grumbled under her breath. Charlie chuckled.

"I should take you back to the castle," he said. "If anyone found out I let a Hogwarts student loiter near these dragons, they would have my head."

"I can walk back on my own," Wren pointed out.

"With your track record, you would walk into another dragon," Charlie sighed, beginning to walk in the direction of Hogwarts. Seeing no point in resisting, Wren followed.

"There are more dragons?" she asked incredulously, jogging a couple steps to catch up to him.

Charlie was quiet for a few seconds, wincing. "No?"