𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋

wendy & doc // @docdearbvrn​ // january.

She didn’t have much of a chance to talk to Doc since classes restarted. They owled over the holiday, of course, she couldn’t go too long without talking to her best mate. She gave him updates about Hogwarts closing, how she needed to stay in Hogsmeade for the extra days until the term started and they were allowed back. She heard all about his adventures, which warmed her up to hear because nothing made her happier than to know that Doc was happy. She found herself missing him, walking out of the castle and towards where Kettleburn liked to keep the magical creatures, knowing that Doc would be out here. As soon as she saw him, a wide smile broke out on her face, toothy sort of grin as her heart raced in her chest.

“Doc Dearborn, you are a sight for sore eyes. I feel like I haven’t seen ya in ages.”

“Well then I ‘spose I must be a ghost.” His hand reaches out, ruffling through her tresses as he greets Wendy with a signature grin. To say he’d grown worried about her over the break would’ve been an understatement, and whilst he’d yearned to come back if only to keep her company, there simply wasn’t such thing as turning down his mother. Not when she’d managed to agree to let him tag along to Argentina in hopes of finding species, ones that hadn’t even managed to get charted nor documented. Only whispers, only legends. It was this type of thrill that pleased Caradoc most of all, the kind that remained unpredictable. He’d never pictured himself settling in, staying in one place for too long, allowing his brain to be fried in an office job that’d eventually cease any and all imagination within his mind. Perhaps it was this fact as to why he’d found such a kinship within Wendy. She was a free spirit, unshackled to the bounds of the unimaginative that seemed to surround the castle. Pureblood ideologies, the war on those who were being oppressed by blood status, how it itched beneath his skin, allowing subtle and slow burning rage to remain. 

where: an empty classroom when: january 1978 who: @docdearbvrn​

The infamous centaur, Edgar couldn’t help laughing to himself as he looked towards Caradoc. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked turning his focus towards the task at hand. “I think we’re gonna get caught.” Edgar stood up straight, holding on to Caradoc’s shoulders and trying to follow the other boys’ lead. All the galleons spent on professional dancing lessons and here he was practicing with Caradoc. Merlin his mother and sister would laugh their arses off at this. Which is why he had opted for an empty classroom, hopeful that no one would see him trying to improve his dancing prowess. His bad moves, after all, were his trademark and he couldn’t let others know he was trying to get rid of that.

“Oi, mate you were the one who came to me –– “ He chuckles, making light of the situation at hand. Whilst the Yule Ball had done nothing but expose the school for their lack of knowledge in a certain art that could’ve been compared to that of grace, Edgar was someone with whom Doc had taken pity on slightly for his lack of. “Merlin only knows how in the hell you even got a date to the ball at this rate.” It’s a hearty and full chuckle that escapes him, shaking his head at Ed. Dropping hands, his over-exaggerated sigh echoing. “You may just be the most hopeless of ‘em all, Bones.” A brow quirks in his direction as he cannot help it, the inquisitive nature laying beneath getting the best of him. “Why is it you’re wantin’ to learn now anyhow, a little late aren’t ya?”

where: 6th Year Male Hufflepuff Dormitory when: January 9, 1978 who: Amos Diggory and Caradoc Dearborn ( @docdearbvrn​ )

Amos laid down on his bed in an empty dorm room while he just stared at the ceiling. They have only been to Hogwarts for a few days and yet there was already a lot of things to unpack. There were rumors that with Potter, Lupin, Black, and Pettigrew missing, they’ve actually taken by the Ministry for being the culprits to all of last year’s fiasco. And right now, he didn’t know what to believe. All he could think was with Potter out of the picture. What will happen to the Quidditch matches? Will Gryffindor simply look for a new captain or will they forfeit?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Amos didn’t even bother to sit up, thinking that it was just one of his dormmates when he heard a cat’s meow. “Miles!” Amos sat up and greeted his pet first, as customary with all animal owners. The cat lept towards the floor and ran up to his bed. Only then did Amos turn to the one who brought his cat. “Hey, Doc. You okay?”

The castle had always dwelled on chaos, had soaked it in like the sun if only to feed off of it. Something in which Caradoc had never found himself in favour of. The lies, he’d known them to be such, that circulated about the four Gryffindor men had barely sounded believable. Yet, with the strict evidence in which he was certain the Ministry had managed to conjure up, there was little hope that lay within his chest. In attempt to free himself from the thoughts, the murmurs, he’d found himself upheaving himself from sanctuary of his four poster bed towards the common room before stumbling upon the animal. Softened sigh escaping his lips before he’d managed to pick up the feline, a gentle purr releasing itself. “Yeah, you’ve got that right.” He mumbles, knowing very well with whom it belonged to. 

His talent to calm the storm, to watch as the world burned around him if only to put it out, hadn’t ended at giant creatures capable of ending his life without so much as a second thought. Instead, Caradoc had found himself a gentler sort with anything willing and wanting to be understood, cats were no exception. Magical or not, Doc had a knack for speaking to them with so much as a look.  “Just wanted to return this troublemaker, mate.” His grin is well practiced and yet not at all necessary. There’s been no reason to keeps secrets and stressers from Amos, yet as Doc crosses the room as he drops Miles from his clutch, he cannot help but swallow words. Never one for gossip, never one for the flair of dramatics that seemed to ensnare everyone’s lives so easily. “I’m ‘lright, just been a tough go at gettin’ back into the swing o’ things I ‘spose. Mum sent me a paper she’s been workin’ on about the Peruvian Vipertooth and let me tell you mate, I’d rather be with her right about now than here.” 

Whenever Doc was around, she could truly feel safe in a way she never thought she needed to be. She had other friends who gave her comfort, who lifted her up whenever she would need it when she would exhaust herself from lifting everyone else up. But with Doc, there was something more, something she could never put a name on it. Wendy smiled as she continued to eat her scone, shaking her head as he called her essay rubbish, not hearing the words he then mumbled. “It’s not rubbish. I’ll have you know I have excellent grades and I’m quite the writer.” Her tone was full of jokes and amusement, he knew it as much as she did but it was fun to be in good company and let herself be a little cheeky. Even as he winked at her, Wendy ignored the fluttering of her heart and the warmth it gave her, thinking nothing of it as simply something that Doc does. He winks, her body has some sort of reaction, it didn’t mean a thing. “Maybe one day I’ll teach you how.” As they moved to the topic of the Ball, Wendy was already putting her essay away as a feeling came over her that she won’t be doing much writing now. Despite the quickened beats of her heart, she didn’t know who he was referring to, finding herself smiling through the confusion. “Oh yeah? Who’s your main girl, then?” 

“I know.” He means it, always admiring her strengths in the sense that it wasn’t books in the library he could learn from, but from the words that she’d sprouted on parchment that had allowed him to retain much of anything. He wasn’t rubbish by any means, but one ought not forget that people read the world differently, that words that seemed meaningless to some had meant everything to another. Where she was able to weave them into something great on parchment, Doc had failed at. He could never quite wrap his head ‘round any attempt at becoming eloquent from lips to quill. “So whenever ya get your first of many books published, if there ain’t a signed copy ready for me, I’ll be sendin’ you a howler from wherever in the world I am.” Unable to be caged, there was little thought that allowed him to believe he’d be placed in one spot for too long. Growing restless at the thought of being tied down to much of anything. 

“Oh, come now.” His head cocking to the side as he’d let out a bellowing laughter, Hand outstretched as to ruffle her chestnut locks. A gesture in which he’s done time and time again. There’d been no lack of affection growing up with the Dearborns, a family of wizards who sought the outdoors, who found adventure in the company of creatures and the wilderness. His own particular sight set on dragons and dragons alone. “You think I’d go with anyone but my best mate?” His smirk rises, a grin mostly reserved for her. She’d been delicate, and he’d worked his way to become comfortable in handling such a person. Never too loud or overbearing, never too cross or indecisive in his reasonings with her. To know Wendy was to know purity, to allow her innocence to seep into ones skin and wash over skin in hopes that by some divine intervention, one would become worthy of her presence. Of being a small reason as to why she’d smiled, cheesily and toothy grins that had made Doc certain that their friendship, formed by nothing but comfort and clarity, would remain bonded. “You know you’re the only bird I’ve got eyes for, Wends.”

There was comfort around Caradoc that Wendy will always be thankful for. The few friends she had, the few true friends, always gave her comfort and she could only hope that she did the same for them. As he handed her the scone, her whole face lit up as she smiled so wide, her cheeks hurt. “Merlin, Doc, that’s so kind of ya.” She broke off a little piece of it, savoring the bite and realizing that she was in fact hungry. She had been spending so much time on this essay without even realizing it. Wendy was already another bite into the scone as he kept talking, shaking her head at his words. “But if I get it done now, then I can focus on the holiday without needing to stress after because I didn’t get my essay done. It’ll do you some good to think ahead, Doc.” She smiled despite her words, wagging a finger at him even though there was no force behind any of it. She couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to and she would never want to. Doc is his own person and she adored him for it. “’Sides,” she paused, smiling bright, “who wants to think about an essay when there’s a ball?” 

Anything for Wendy. That’s what the man had thought, anything for his best mate. He’d never been one to shy away from worrying, to not fret when he’d believed someone in trouble, or putting themselves second. Like she always had managed to somehow do, albeit public knowledge to everyone but herself. “Can’t have ya writing absolute rubbish on an empty stomach, now can we?” He’d been a frequenter of the kitchens, so much so that if he’d managed to go on the right day, at the right time, there’d be a small cloth swathing pastries to his liking. Not out of demand, but out of mere coincidence. Because he’d been kind, because he’d managed to treat others with something likened to humanity. Something in which he was almost certain most of the castle had little patience for. “Not that you’re even capable of the sort.” He mumbles, always admiring her knack for positivity, her reliance on her studies. Where she excelled on thinking ahead, he’d always thought of it more day to day. And whilst he’d loved to have been cooped up in the common room scribbling nonsense away, he’d more oft than not found himself out on the grounds. “Thinkin’ ahead, you say? Maybe I’ll give it a go, but not today. No promises.” He shoots her a wink, before audible sigh escapes him. Comfort within the company he’d chosen. “Oi, ain’t that right? A couple owls and suddenly we’re turnin’ the Great Hall into somethin’ out of a story book. I’d be a right foul git if I didn’t ask my main girl, now wouldn’t I? Absolute rubbish.” He’d laughed, smirk revealing itself on his lips as his eyes matched her own, pools of warmth and familiarity.

where: the yule ball when: december 1977 who: bertha jorkins & anyone

Bertha was honestly having the time of her life. For one, she’d entered the Yule Ball on the arms of one of the most handsome men in the castle, Sirius Black and every time she thought about it she wanted to squeal. It didn’t feel real, and despite the fact that she’d lost sight of him more than twenty minutes ago didn’t even matter. She was riding a high and twirling her way in and out of party groups, stopping by to tell anyone who would listen one or two of her stories. She’d wormed her way into another gap in a group, looking wide-eyed up at the person in front of her, a little out of breath. “You’ll never guess what I overheard!”

He’d found formalities something of a discomfort, opting to remain as casual as he could in order to get through the evening. Shaking hands and making his way through the crowd, somewhere along the lines losing sight of Wendy. Although, he’d found himself not too concerned, assuming she’d wandered off to lend a helping hand, to soothe a crying fifth year even perhaps. “Bertha, mate –– “ And he’s tempted to tell her he’s little interest in the happenings of others, that he couldn’t fathom finding excitement in the uncertain overheard conversations, in the bits and pieces that made their way through the crowd like shards of glass, scattering. However, he restrains himself if only because he’s caught a glint of her gaze and swears she’s never looked happier. “What is it then?” 

wendy & caradoc // @docdearbvrn​

Wendy had been spending the last hour or so in the common room, attempting to work on her Charms essay but having trouble concentrating. Even though she had made herself quite comfortable, she was almost lulling herself to sleep instead of writing what she needed to write. Then any time someone would walk into the common room, she would smile and greet them, which meant less writing. Wendy began to think she wasn’t going to get anything done. She felt someone sit down beside her, removing one of the pillows she bunched next to her for their own comfort. “Hiya Doc.” She didn’t even have to look up and see who it was, she just knew, instinct telling her that he was there. Besides, not very many people thought about sitting this close to her. Not that she noticed or minded, she only paid attention when it was Caradoc because it was all the time. “This essay is not going to be written if you’re here now,” she teased but her smile brightening up her face as she looked over at him.