another batch of comment-fic
Title: A Secret Place
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word count: 533
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling
Warning: Not really
Prompt: Molly Weasley, her favourite child
Molly loves all her children. She will never admit to having a favourite.
She lies sweat-drenched and victorious on her bed, and she has never been happier. There is a beautiful baby girl in her arms; she feels like she holds something as important and wondrous as the sun.
"Ginevra," she whispers. "My special girl. There will never be another as bright as you."
You didn't think it was a coincidence that she only stopped trying for the next child once she held a little girl in her arms, did you?
Maybe Ginny is that little bit more spoilt than her brothers. Maybe she gets just one or two more nice things than her brothers.
Well, she's their baby sister, too. None of them complain.
There's this one son of Molly's - the third, Percy - and she's so proud of him. He was always such a good child, and he always gets such good marks at school, and he's a prefect and the Head Boy. He has his heart set on a successful career in the Ministry, and there's no doubt in her mind that he will succeed.
Percy, her very good child. The best of them all.
If she had favourites, of course. Which she doesn't.
The others are hard on Percy, and they don't even see how it wears on him. If she favours him a little, well, that is why. That, and rewards for his many achievements.
It breaks her heart when he leaves. She wants to scream at her husband, and maybe to strike him, because he told Percy that Fudge took him on as Junior Assistant because he wanted a spy. It might even be true, but Percy must have heard it as "you're not good enough to achieve this on your own merits".
She thinks about following Percy. She thinks about chasing after him and doing whatever she must to convince him of how proud of him she's always been.
But the rest of her family are entangled in a brewing war, even the ones that are far too young for it. They might die, it might even be likely. They need her more.
So she does not follow Percy, and she can't stop crying. It only gets worse when he returns everything she sends him, unopened. For a moment, she regrets that she did not follow after him when she had the chance.
She can tell that the others are angry at Percy on her behalf, especially her bright beautiful girl, and she does not want them to be. Don't they realise that Percy must be hurting too?
She might not be shedding tears all the time anymore, but she's still weeping inside.
There is a secret place inside Molly that she does not acknowledge, because it plays favourites with her children. It is this part of her that wants to help Percy no matter what it means for the rest of her family. It is this part of her that will never forgive Harry, even though he's the saviour of them all and she's adopted him as her own since he was twelve years old, if he ever breaks her beautiful, bright Ginevra's heart.
Title: The Game Is Afoot
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Word count: 467
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC
Warning: Moriarty is creepy
Pairing: Hints of the beginning of Moriarty/Sherlock
Prompt: Moriarty/Sherlock, something based on this exchange of dialogue from Firefly:
Book: Did you ever read the works of Shan Yu?
Simon: Shan Yu, the psychotic dictator?
Book: Yep. Fancied himself quite the warrior-poet. Wrote volumes on war, torture... the limits of human endurance.
Simon: ... that's nice.
Book: He said... "Live with a man forty years. Share his house, his meals, speak on every subject. Then tie him up and hold him over the volcano's edge, and on that day, you will finally meet the man."
Simon: What if you don't live near a volcano?
Book: I expect he was being poetical.
Simon: Sadistic crap legitimized by florid prose. ... Tell me you're not a fan.
At first Sherlock thinks his new flatmate is just like most other people he meets; dull and boring. He takes one look, observes all the little things that paint a portrait beyond what others see, and thinks he has this one all figured out.
He really should know better. It's always the one thing he misses, isn't it? He's said it himself.
Sherlock's new flatmate puts up with him better than most others have, but a dozen little flirtatious looks make Sherlock think he knows why. How inane, how boring. He doesn't think that this one will last much longer, once he finally accepts that he can't have what he wants.
Although Sherlock could be wrong. He plays his violin at three in the morning, and Jim, who often keeps odd hours himself, rolls his eyes and wanders over to entertain himself by watching Sherlock, wide-eyed and unblinking. Sherlock certainly never plans to admit that he's a bit unnerved, but his violin veritably squeals.
The corners of Jim's mouth twitch in something like amusement.
The violin squeals again.
Jim laughs.
"You should read Shan Yu," says Jim as he butters toast the next morning.
Sherlock graces him with a rather irritable look. "The ancient dictator? Boring."
"Oh? He wrote about war, you know. Torture and the limits of human endurance. 'Live with a man forty years,' he wrote. 'Share his house, his meals, speak on every subject. Then tie him up and hold him over the volcano's edge, and on that day, you will finally meet the man.'"
"What if there's no convenient volcano nearby?"
Jim waves his hand dismissively. "That's poetry for you."
"Florid prose legitimising sadism. Tell me you're not a fan."
Jim's only reply is a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. His flat, dead eyes. Sherlock wonders how he never noticed before.
Suddenly, his flatmate seems a great deal less boring.
Jim's lips part as he runs his tongue slowly over his teeth. There is something mocking in the tilt of his head. "Sherlock?" he simpers. "Are you alright?"
Sherlock doesn't reply, but his gaze is sharp.
Jim's smile this time is more genuine, for all its subtle mocking. "Is the game afoot, finally?"
Slowly, Sherlock starts to smile too; an answer to the obvious challenge. He's not quite sure what comes next, but his mind is already racing through possibilities, and none of them are boring.
There is a soldier-doctor among the British troops in Afghanistan. He was almost shot not long ago, but the bullet just missed him. All of his regiment agrees that this is a very good thing. He's a good man, after all, and he saves lives every day.
In London a deadly game is starting, and both the major players will always consider it a game.
Title: Know Thyself
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word count: 541
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling
Warning: General creepiness
Prompt: any, boggart
Ginny does not know what she expected her boggart to be. Certainly she had not expected what she got, although perhaps she should have.
He smiles at her - that charming, wonderful smile. She trusted that smile, once upon a time. This perfectly handsome boy was very precious to her, once upon a time.
"Tom?" she whispers; both her voice and her legs are unsteady. She thinks that she might be falling, except that she isn't... except that she is, and the hands that catch her are all too real. She feels them on her, completely solid, supporting her as though they belong to a gentleman. In that moment, she cannot but think of him as real.
"You're... dead, you're gone," she chokes out past her seizing throat. She thinks that she should be moving, fleeing disgusted from those graceful hands of his, but she cannot move.
"Dear little Ginny, are you sure?" he whispers, and his breath is caressing her ear. She shudders, although she is not quite sure what she feels. More than everything else, this frightens her.
"I'm sure," she snaps, drawing on a confidence she does not feel. He laughs, and she knows that he does not believe her. As well he might, because it is a lie.
She never saw what happened to Tom. All she has is Harry's word, and she wants to trust Harry, but no one can know all of Tom's tricks. It is possible that Harry cannot trust Harry, just as, for a very long time, Ginny could not trust Ginny.
"What do you want?" She hates the sound of her voice, with all her feelings so damnably obvious within it.
"Don't you know?" he says. "I came for you, Ginny. I'll always come for you."
"No," she gasps, and finally, blessedly, she is able to move. She flings herself away from Tom, and she runs, and she does not stop running until she's all the way at the other side of the castle.
She cannot stop thinking about him. He's invading her dreams again, and she thinks that others are starting to notice the signs - her distraction in class, the dark circles under her eyes. Sometime soon someone will probably confront her about it, and there is no way that she can explain this.
So she goes to the only one she believes will understand. She goes back to the boggart Tom Riddle.
After all, it (he) reads her mind, pulls all of her secret fears and nightmares right out of her head before she even realises she has them. What is that, if not understanding?
Mostly, she wants to understand it herself. So she walks right up to her greatest fear and stares right into his eyes. What are you, really? she silently asks, and refuses to be cowed.
His expression as he gazes back is amused and approving - and that cannot say anything good about her, coming from him. Still, she needs to understand.
"There are things I've been meaning to ask you, Mr. Riddle," she says.
"But of course." He sounds completely unsurprised (of course he's not surprised).
It will not be the last time she visits this boggart that takes the form of Tom Riddle.
Title: A Trickster Who Doesn't Know Solitude
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Word count: 652
Disclaimer: The Avengers and Loki belong to Marvel
Warning: Not really
Prompt: Marvel, any God, gods have an extra sense for their charges and not being able to get rid of it, is part of godhood in the first place
All gods feel a certain connection to their people among the humans. In eras past, it was how they knew which supplicants to answer; there is no law indicating who they may go to and who they may not, but all of them are generally more inclined to pay attention to theirs.
Supplicants are far less common now, at least the genuine ones.
Loki's people are liars and cheats; after all, he is a Trickster and the Liesmith as well. His people are those that use guile to get what they want or need. Storytellers are also his people, for what is a story if not an acknowledged lie?
Poets are something of an exception, claimed specifically by Odin as they are. Loki feels some of that same connection to those that dedicate themselves to the false narrative rather than the truth of what they see or feel, but he tends to leave them to Odin nonetheless.
Thor favours more direct people, generally; some of his people are tricksters, but that is incidental. All it means that both Thor and Loki feel varying degrees of the connection to them.
Thor's people are warriors bold and strong. The existence of superheroes might as well be tailor-made for him; of course those are the people he surrounds himself with on Midgard, after his godhood returns. Of course he joins them in battle and camaraderie, and he probably doesn't even realise the lie of equality it implies.
Loki never misses a lie when he's the one making it... unless that is the greatest lie of all.
Loki cloaks himself with magic to spy on his brother's little band. Information is key to any victory, which is something Thor has never understood, and it will be a worthy trick if Loki can turn some of Thor's comrades (unwitting devotees) to his side.
The first he watches is Clint Barton, his one-time game-piece. He remembers choosing this one for his finesse. Hawkeye is not quite a trickster, but he lurks in the shadows too much to truly be one of Thor's. Loki feels a moment of regret that this wonderfully skilled creature is not one of his, and thinks to himself that he could appreciate this one better than Thor can.
He does not watch Steve Rogers for long, because that one is so frustratingly Thor's. He does not spend much longer watching Bruce Banner, because he has always felt a certain disdain for berserkers and the way they lose control over their very selves.
Tony Stark is more interesting, and more Loki's. He's cunning and deceptive with a light touch; he freely gives large, visible truths, such as the Iron Man identity that could have been a secret, and people forget to look deeper.
Tony Stark is also a warrior bold and strong. Thor must feel the connection to this one, and Loki thinks that here is one that he could have fun corrupting.
It's time to get a new gameplan, Loki thinks, but first he shall round off his spying by watching Natasha Romanoff.
He's felt the connection to her, of course, and he does again. She's a trickster and a warrior, and she has a dark, bloody past. He wonders what he might forge her into, if he takes the time for it, and the thought makes him smile.
It's time for the new gameplan.
He has seen much of SHIELD these past few weeks, and some interesting ideas have occurred to him. This newly-forming age of superheroes might as well be tailor-made for Thor, but their employers are another matter entirely.
A year later, Luke Pierce enters the employment of SHIELD. He has a sharp tongue and clever eyes, and he has already proved that he is good at keeping secrets. Those that meet him agree that he shows promise, and if he plays his cards right he will rise high and quickly.
Title: Lunar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word count: 580
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling
Warning: Werewolf attack
Prompt: Any, Any, you mean my child could be a werewolf...
Jean Granger knows that something is wrong from the moment she sees the look in her daughter's eyes. There are other things that tip her off - such as the displeased, thin-lipped expression of Professor McGonagall, and McGonagall's presence at all - but mostly it's the look in Hermione's eyes.
"Mrs. Granger," says the Professor, and she really does seem tired and quietly upset, compared to the time she told her and her husband that their daughter was a witch. "I'm afraid that your daughter has been bitten by a werewolf."
Jean stares in incomprehension for she knows not how long. She has accepted that Hermione is a witch, and has been proud of all of her brilliant daughter's achievements, but this... this...
They were supposed to keep her safe. All of those wizards and witches, with all of their power, were supposed to keep Hermione safe.
"Are you saying," she says at last, "that my child might be a werewolf?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Granger, but there's no question that she is."
Jean hasn't been quite sure what she's feeling, but now she decides that it's fury. "How did this happen?" Her voice is so cold that there might as well be ice in it.
McGonagall does not flinch, although her lips do become a little thinner. "In part it was recklessness on the part of the werewolf; he had been taking a potion to keep the wolf under control, and this time he forgot." It is clear from her expression and tone of voice just how unimpressed she is by that. "Rest assured that he shall not go unpunished."
"But it's not his fault!" Hermione interrupts. "He was... It was my fault. I shouldn't have been in the Forest."
"No, Miss Granger, you should not have been," says McGonagall. "But that does not absolve Mr. Lupin of blame."
Hermione screams as something leaps from the darkness and collides with her. It is large and furry and yellow-eyed; it is the werewolf, and it has frightful fangs that are ripping into her, and now its frightful claws as well. She doesn't know what to do, and she's screaming and crying...
Suddenly it's gone. She doesn't know why until she hears it growling, and sees it approaching Harry, who stands wild-eyed with his wand raised high. She has to do something.
She starts hitting the werewolf with every useful spell she can remember, and Harry is doing the same, and the werewolf is retreating now, even as it glares with mad eyes.
"Hermione," says Harry, and there is something anguished in his voice and on his face. "Hermione! You..."
She hurts and all she can think of is fire, so she places her wand to her wounds and says, "Incendio!" She cries out as the fire burns her
"Hermione," Harry gasps. He's moving towards her, his hands held out as though he wants to stop her, as if it isn't too late for that.
"I, I had to stop the bleeding," she says. "I couldn't think, and... It's cauterisation, Harry. We still have to save Sirius!"
Jean sees the hint of tears forming in Hermione's eyes, and all of her fury gives way to concern - for the time being, because she will not be forgiving the so-called magical world for this.
She steps up to her wonderful, brilliant, hurting daughter and wraps her in an embrace. "Oh, Hermione," she says. "We'll get through this, my brave darling."
Hermione's only reply is her sobs.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word count: 533
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling
Warning: Not really
Prompt: Molly Weasley, her favourite child
Molly loves all her children. She will never admit to having a favourite.
She lies sweat-drenched and victorious on her bed, and she has never been happier. There is a beautiful baby girl in her arms; she feels like she holds something as important and wondrous as the sun.
"Ginevra," she whispers. "My special girl. There will never be another as bright as you."
You didn't think it was a coincidence that she only stopped trying for the next child once she held a little girl in her arms, did you?
Maybe Ginny is that little bit more spoilt than her brothers. Maybe she gets just one or two more nice things than her brothers.
Well, she's their baby sister, too. None of them complain.
There's this one son of Molly's - the third, Percy - and she's so proud of him. He was always such a good child, and he always gets such good marks at school, and he's a prefect and the Head Boy. He has his heart set on a successful career in the Ministry, and there's no doubt in her mind that he will succeed.
Percy, her very good child. The best of them all.
If she had favourites, of course. Which she doesn't.
The others are hard on Percy, and they don't even see how it wears on him. If she favours him a little, well, that is why. That, and rewards for his many achievements.
It breaks her heart when he leaves. She wants to scream at her husband, and maybe to strike him, because he told Percy that Fudge took him on as Junior Assistant because he wanted a spy. It might even be true, but Percy must have heard it as "you're not good enough to achieve this on your own merits".
She thinks about following Percy. She thinks about chasing after him and doing whatever she must to convince him of how proud of him she's always been.
But the rest of her family are entangled in a brewing war, even the ones that are far too young for it. They might die, it might even be likely. They need her more.
So she does not follow Percy, and she can't stop crying. It only gets worse when he returns everything she sends him, unopened. For a moment, she regrets that she did not follow after him when she had the chance.
She can tell that the others are angry at Percy on her behalf, especially her bright beautiful girl, and she does not want them to be. Don't they realise that Percy must be hurting too?
She might not be shedding tears all the time anymore, but she's still weeping inside.
There is a secret place inside Molly that she does not acknowledge, because it plays favourites with her children. It is this part of her that wants to help Percy no matter what it means for the rest of her family. It is this part of her that will never forgive Harry, even though he's the saviour of them all and she's adopted him as her own since he was twelve years old, if he ever breaks her beautiful, bright Ginevra's heart.
Title: The Game Is Afoot
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Word count: 467
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC
Warning: Moriarty is creepy
Pairing: Hints of the beginning of Moriarty/Sherlock
Prompt: Moriarty/Sherlock, something based on this exchange of dialogue from Firefly:
Book: Did you ever read the works of Shan Yu?
Simon: Shan Yu, the psychotic dictator?
Book: Yep. Fancied himself quite the warrior-poet. Wrote volumes on war, torture... the limits of human endurance.
Simon: ... that's nice.
Book: He said... "Live with a man forty years. Share his house, his meals, speak on every subject. Then tie him up and hold him over the volcano's edge, and on that day, you will finally meet the man."
Simon: What if you don't live near a volcano?
Book: I expect he was being poetical.
Simon: Sadistic crap legitimized by florid prose. ... Tell me you're not a fan.
At first Sherlock thinks his new flatmate is just like most other people he meets; dull and boring. He takes one look, observes all the little things that paint a portrait beyond what others see, and thinks he has this one all figured out.
He really should know better. It's always the one thing he misses, isn't it? He's said it himself.
Sherlock's new flatmate puts up with him better than most others have, but a dozen little flirtatious looks make Sherlock think he knows why. How inane, how boring. He doesn't think that this one will last much longer, once he finally accepts that he can't have what he wants.
Although Sherlock could be wrong. He plays his violin at three in the morning, and Jim, who often keeps odd hours himself, rolls his eyes and wanders over to entertain himself by watching Sherlock, wide-eyed and unblinking. Sherlock certainly never plans to admit that he's a bit unnerved, but his violin veritably squeals.
The corners of Jim's mouth twitch in something like amusement.
The violin squeals again.
Jim laughs.
"You should read Shan Yu," says Jim as he butters toast the next morning.
Sherlock graces him with a rather irritable look. "The ancient dictator? Boring."
"Oh? He wrote about war, you know. Torture and the limits of human endurance. 'Live with a man forty years,' he wrote. 'Share his house, his meals, speak on every subject. Then tie him up and hold him over the volcano's edge, and on that day, you will finally meet the man.'"
"What if there's no convenient volcano nearby?"
Jim waves his hand dismissively. "That's poetry for you."
"Florid prose legitimising sadism. Tell me you're not a fan."
Jim's only reply is a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. His flat, dead eyes. Sherlock wonders how he never noticed before.
Suddenly, his flatmate seems a great deal less boring.
Jim's lips part as he runs his tongue slowly over his teeth. There is something mocking in the tilt of his head. "Sherlock?" he simpers. "Are you alright?"
Sherlock doesn't reply, but his gaze is sharp.
Jim's smile this time is more genuine, for all its subtle mocking. "Is the game afoot, finally?"
Slowly, Sherlock starts to smile too; an answer to the obvious challenge. He's not quite sure what comes next, but his mind is already racing through possibilities, and none of them are boring.
There is a soldier-doctor among the British troops in Afghanistan. He was almost shot not long ago, but the bullet just missed him. All of his regiment agrees that this is a very good thing. He's a good man, after all, and he saves lives every day.
In London a deadly game is starting, and both the major players will always consider it a game.
Title: Know Thyself
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word count: 541
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling
Warning: General creepiness
Prompt: any, boggart
Ginny does not know what she expected her boggart to be. Certainly she had not expected what she got, although perhaps she should have.
He smiles at her - that charming, wonderful smile. She trusted that smile, once upon a time. This perfectly handsome boy was very precious to her, once upon a time.
"Tom?" she whispers; both her voice and her legs are unsteady. She thinks that she might be falling, except that she isn't... except that she is, and the hands that catch her are all too real. She feels them on her, completely solid, supporting her as though they belong to a gentleman. In that moment, she cannot but think of him as real.
"You're... dead, you're gone," she chokes out past her seizing throat. She thinks that she should be moving, fleeing disgusted from those graceful hands of his, but she cannot move.
"Dear little Ginny, are you sure?" he whispers, and his breath is caressing her ear. She shudders, although she is not quite sure what she feels. More than everything else, this frightens her.
"I'm sure," she snaps, drawing on a confidence she does not feel. He laughs, and she knows that he does not believe her. As well he might, because it is a lie.
She never saw what happened to Tom. All she has is Harry's word, and she wants to trust Harry, but no one can know all of Tom's tricks. It is possible that Harry cannot trust Harry, just as, for a very long time, Ginny could not trust Ginny.
"What do you want?" She hates the sound of her voice, with all her feelings so damnably obvious within it.
"Don't you know?" he says. "I came for you, Ginny. I'll always come for you."
"No," she gasps, and finally, blessedly, she is able to move. She flings herself away from Tom, and she runs, and she does not stop running until she's all the way at the other side of the castle.
She cannot stop thinking about him. He's invading her dreams again, and she thinks that others are starting to notice the signs - her distraction in class, the dark circles under her eyes. Sometime soon someone will probably confront her about it, and there is no way that she can explain this.
So she goes to the only one she believes will understand. She goes back to the boggart Tom Riddle.
After all, it (he) reads her mind, pulls all of her secret fears and nightmares right out of her head before she even realises she has them. What is that, if not understanding?
Mostly, she wants to understand it herself. So she walks right up to her greatest fear and stares right into his eyes. What are you, really? she silently asks, and refuses to be cowed.
His expression as he gazes back is amused and approving - and that cannot say anything good about her, coming from him. Still, she needs to understand.
"There are things I've been meaning to ask you, Mr. Riddle," she says.
"But of course." He sounds completely unsurprised (of course he's not surprised).
It will not be the last time she visits this boggart that takes the form of Tom Riddle.
Title: A Trickster Who Doesn't Know Solitude
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Word count: 652
Disclaimer: The Avengers and Loki belong to Marvel
Warning: Not really
Prompt: Marvel, any God, gods have an extra sense for their charges and not being able to get rid of it, is part of godhood in the first place
All gods feel a certain connection to their people among the humans. In eras past, it was how they knew which supplicants to answer; there is no law indicating who they may go to and who they may not, but all of them are generally more inclined to pay attention to theirs.
Supplicants are far less common now, at least the genuine ones.
Loki's people are liars and cheats; after all, he is a Trickster and the Liesmith as well. His people are those that use guile to get what they want or need. Storytellers are also his people, for what is a story if not an acknowledged lie?
Poets are something of an exception, claimed specifically by Odin as they are. Loki feels some of that same connection to those that dedicate themselves to the false narrative rather than the truth of what they see or feel, but he tends to leave them to Odin nonetheless.
Thor favours more direct people, generally; some of his people are tricksters, but that is incidental. All it means that both Thor and Loki feel varying degrees of the connection to them.
Thor's people are warriors bold and strong. The existence of superheroes might as well be tailor-made for him; of course those are the people he surrounds himself with on Midgard, after his godhood returns. Of course he joins them in battle and camaraderie, and he probably doesn't even realise the lie of equality it implies.
Loki never misses a lie when he's the one making it... unless that is the greatest lie of all.
Loki cloaks himself with magic to spy on his brother's little band. Information is key to any victory, which is something Thor has never understood, and it will be a worthy trick if Loki can turn some of Thor's comrades (unwitting devotees) to his side.
The first he watches is Clint Barton, his one-time game-piece. He remembers choosing this one for his finesse. Hawkeye is not quite a trickster, but he lurks in the shadows too much to truly be one of Thor's. Loki feels a moment of regret that this wonderfully skilled creature is not one of his, and thinks to himself that he could appreciate this one better than Thor can.
He does not watch Steve Rogers for long, because that one is so frustratingly Thor's. He does not spend much longer watching Bruce Banner, because he has always felt a certain disdain for berserkers and the way they lose control over their very selves.
Tony Stark is more interesting, and more Loki's. He's cunning and deceptive with a light touch; he freely gives large, visible truths, such as the Iron Man identity that could have been a secret, and people forget to look deeper.
Tony Stark is also a warrior bold and strong. Thor must feel the connection to this one, and Loki thinks that here is one that he could have fun corrupting.
It's time to get a new gameplan, Loki thinks, but first he shall round off his spying by watching Natasha Romanoff.
He's felt the connection to her, of course, and he does again. She's a trickster and a warrior, and she has a dark, bloody past. He wonders what he might forge her into, if he takes the time for it, and the thought makes him smile.
It's time for the new gameplan.
He has seen much of SHIELD these past few weeks, and some interesting ideas have occurred to him. This newly-forming age of superheroes might as well be tailor-made for Thor, but their employers are another matter entirely.
A year later, Luke Pierce enters the employment of SHIELD. He has a sharp tongue and clever eyes, and he has already proved that he is good at keeping secrets. Those that meet him agree that he shows promise, and if he plays his cards right he will rise high and quickly.
Title: Lunar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word count: 580
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling
Warning: Werewolf attack
Prompt: Any, Any, you mean my child could be a werewolf...
Jean Granger knows that something is wrong from the moment she sees the look in her daughter's eyes. There are other things that tip her off - such as the displeased, thin-lipped expression of Professor McGonagall, and McGonagall's presence at all - but mostly it's the look in Hermione's eyes.
"Mrs. Granger," says the Professor, and she really does seem tired and quietly upset, compared to the time she told her and her husband that their daughter was a witch. "I'm afraid that your daughter has been bitten by a werewolf."
Jean stares in incomprehension for she knows not how long. She has accepted that Hermione is a witch, and has been proud of all of her brilliant daughter's achievements, but this... this...
They were supposed to keep her safe. All of those wizards and witches, with all of their power, were supposed to keep Hermione safe.
"Are you saying," she says at last, "that my child might be a werewolf?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Granger, but there's no question that she is."
Jean hasn't been quite sure what she's feeling, but now she decides that it's fury. "How did this happen?" Her voice is so cold that there might as well be ice in it.
McGonagall does not flinch, although her lips do become a little thinner. "In part it was recklessness on the part of the werewolf; he had been taking a potion to keep the wolf under control, and this time he forgot." It is clear from her expression and tone of voice just how unimpressed she is by that. "Rest assured that he shall not go unpunished."
"But it's not his fault!" Hermione interrupts. "He was... It was my fault. I shouldn't have been in the Forest."
"No, Miss Granger, you should not have been," says McGonagall. "But that does not absolve Mr. Lupin of blame."
Hermione screams as something leaps from the darkness and collides with her. It is large and furry and yellow-eyed; it is the werewolf, and it has frightful fangs that are ripping into her, and now its frightful claws as well. She doesn't know what to do, and she's screaming and crying...
Suddenly it's gone. She doesn't know why until she hears it growling, and sees it approaching Harry, who stands wild-eyed with his wand raised high. She has to do something.
She starts hitting the werewolf with every useful spell she can remember, and Harry is doing the same, and the werewolf is retreating now, even as it glares with mad eyes.
"Hermione," says Harry, and there is something anguished in his voice and on his face. "Hermione! You..."
She hurts and all she can think of is fire, so she places her wand to her wounds and says, "Incendio!" She cries out as the fire burns her
"Hermione," Harry gasps. He's moving towards her, his hands held out as though he wants to stop her, as if it isn't too late for that.
"I, I had to stop the bleeding," she says. "I couldn't think, and... It's cauterisation, Harry. We still have to save Sirius!"
Jean sees the hint of tears forming in Hermione's eyes, and all of her fury gives way to concern - for the time being, because she will not be forgiving the so-called magical world for this.
She steps up to her wonderful, brilliant, hurting daughter and wraps her in an embrace. "Oh, Hermione," she says. "We'll get through this, my brave darling."
Hermione's only reply is her sobs.