Out of all the things you expected to see today, this was not one of them. It was meant to be just a normal walk, the stuffy silence of your apartment having gotten to you finally. You had been walking all of five minutes when you had found the trail of golden fluid, and whilst you usually would have ignored it, quite use to seeing strange and questionable fluids in a city like this, something tugged insistently at your soul.
Despite the fact that it was night time, and alley ways were not the sort of places one wanted to be at such a time, you reluctantly followed the trail of shimmering liquid. The trail hadn’t gone all too far, coming to a stop directly behind some trash cans, and a pair of leather boots.
There, you found a man weakly slumped against the wall and clutching his stomach. For a moment, you almost bolted, until you realised that they were still breathing. Reluctantly you moved closer, hesitantly leaning over and reaching out. Instantly their free hand snapped around your wrist, squeezing it tightly and painfully.
As they looked up at you, eyes sharp and angry, you realised that they were very much not human. This was further amplified when you realised that the golden liquid was their blood. You winced at their grip, having a feeling that, if they had been at full strength, they could have snapped the bone with ease. As it was, you could feel them rapidly loosing strength.
“Please… let me help you” You whispered lowly, unable to fight your genuine concern for this stranger, even with the obvious danger.
Even if they had wanted to deny you, which by the look in their eyes, they did, they were unable. Weakly, their hand released yours, dropping back into their lap and fruitlessly pressing on the still bleeding wound, mouth opening to make some sort of scathing retort, only to let out a quiet pained breath, strength quickly leaving them.
Deciding to throw caution to the wind, you sank to your knees, pulling off your scarf and doing your best to slow the blood flow. The stranger glared at you weakly and distrustfully the entire time, occasionally hissing in pain, dark lips twisted into a grimace.
Giving them an apologetic look, you murmured a soft warning and then slowly worked them into a standing position. They weren’t exactly small, and with their muscular body leaning on you almost completely, it was quite a struggle to get them back to your apartment. By some miracle, no one saw either of you, and you counted your lucky stars at that much.
Carefully, you laid the stranger down on your bed, ignoring how their scornful and distrustful gaze was starting to flicker with genuine confusion at your actions. You quickly worked at removing what you needed to in order to get to the wound, ignoring their mildly affronted look at your boldness as you apologised softly.
“You’re lucky I know a bit about this kind of thing… Can’t exactly take you to a hospital now can i?” You murmured to your patient, politely ignoring what you were sure was a muttered insult to your intelligence, though the language was one you had never heard.
They stayed otherwise silent as you worked, visibly flinching as you began to stitch them up, probably use to something a little more refined when it came to healing. They looked rather well off at least, their garments of very fine quality, and accessories seeming to be real gold. Eventually though, you had done all you could, gently wiping away the mess and hoping that they hadn’t lost too much, as you carefully tucked them in.
As you looked up, you found that they had finally passed out, the severe expression having turned into something peaceful. Even with the strange scars across their face, with them so relaxed, they looked quite beautiful, entrancing almost. Silently you reached out and lightly brushed a finger over the scars on their face, admiring the peace of their expression, their body remaining unresponsive in their exhaustion.
Whatever they were, you could only hope that they didn’t kill you when they regained their strength.
AHSGIFMEMEBYCODY–FERN: Characters (1/8): Michael Langdon “I’ve been assigned to evaluate the people here and select the ones most worthy of survival. I could take all of you… or none of you. Those who make it live. Those who don’t… end up like my horses.”
My favorite thing ever is how Ron just sent Charlie a random letter like “hey yo there’s an illegal dragon at hogwarts, could you come and smuggle it out of here, please?” and Charlie was just like “yeah sure, I’ll trespass into the castle and steal a dangerous magical creature, of course, lemme just hit up my friends”
It’s better if you imagine Charlie and co as a group of Grad Students trying to avoid their other responsibilities.
Charlie is drunkenly revising the third draft of his thesis on proper care and feeding of greenhorns when his family owl slams into the window.
Three of his friends jump and look around. Glinda doesn’t raise her head from her folded arms; only groans, “Is that Baines coming to do me in?”
Charlie totters to the window and fetches Errol from the window pane. “No such luck,” he says. “You’re still going to have to take the exam.” After some consideration, Charlie lays him on a clear patch of floor to recover. “Do owls take firewhiskey?” he asks the room at large.
“It’s not fair,” Glinda wails into the tabletop. “I swear he didn’t say anything about Bridgewort’s handling practices when we did the review in class.”
“Oh, Merlin,” says Ali, freezing over their notes like a Medusa wyvern had bitten them. “Oh, Merlin’s sweet saggy socks. Is he covering Bridgewort?”
“That’s what he said when I went to his office hours.” Glinda sits up. “You know his lapdragon singed my new sweater?!”
Charlie decides not to give Errol a nip of whiskey. Flying under the influence is really not done. He unties the letter from Errol’s leg. Ron’s childish spiky handwriting spells out Charlie’s name on the front. Inside is a hastily scrawled message.
“Yes, we know it ruined your sweater,” snaps Ysabelle. “You told us twenty times. Why didn’t you tell us Baines told you we’re going to be tested on Bridgewort?”
“I meant to,” says Glinda. “Sorry.” She flicks her pile of notes. “I was lost in the miasma of gloom and desperation.”
Ali puts their head back and groans. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna say ‘fuck it’ and just fucking walk into a dragon’s mouth so I don’t have to do this.”
“Hey,” says Charlie. They don’t hear him.
“How much is this worth again?” Glinda asks her bottle of butterbeer.
“Twenty-five percent,” Ali and Ysabelle chorus. Ysabelle adds, “and the thesis is fifty percent of our total grade.”
“Hey!” Charlie repeats. They look at him. He waves Ron’s letter. “My littlest brother at Hogwarts has an illegal dragon he needs to get off campus. Anybody up for a midnight flight?”
Ali slams their hands down on the table and stands up. “Fuck yes,” they say decisively. “Maybe I’ll fly into the Whomping Willow and die a quick death.”
Toad's Cave 