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So I plan on making small but connected (or a series of fics) of an AU of creature inheritance with Severus, but I want it to be dragon or a Basilisk (based off the Xenodermus) but I can't pick😭
HELP ME PICK PLS
dragon
Basilisk (Xenodermus)
DAY THREE OF TWELVE DAYS OF FICMAS!
A new chapter of Fallen Leaves, a creature!verse where Harry is a banshee and Severus is a dryad. Hope you enjoy!
The bed was too warm.
Severus tossed around, irritated. No matter what, he could not find a comfortable spot. His arm stretched across the bed and found only empty space. He flipped the duvet off himself, sighing a little as the cool air kissed his skin. Faint light was streaming through the windows. Another early morning.
With a grunt, he sat up and left the comfort of his bed.
Splashing fresh spring water on his face was enough to wake him fully for the day. He was quick with his morning ablutions in the absence of any distractions. Walking back to the dresser, he ignored the bright-coloured clothing and reached straight for the midnight black robes. It took several minutes to button up and he struggled a little with the ones on his sleeves.
Breakfast was simple, just toast and honey.
The sounds of the forest accompanied the clinking of cup as he stirred a dollop of cream into his tea. The silence echoed in the large cottage.
He drained the rest of his tea, leaving only the dregs. He peered briefly into the bottom of the cup and hummed. Standing up, he brought the dishes to the sink. The tea leaves and crumbs he emptied into a little bin by the sink that would soon join the compost heap in the shed. Once had cleaned up after himself, he headed out to the garden to prepare for the coming storm.
He headed first for the treeline. The young cedar trees waved to him in greeting. Patting the trunk of the youngest among them, he conveyed his message. A wave of acknowledgement passed through him, along with a chill and a hint of a question. He shook his head and the branch overhead rustled. With one last pat, he walked towards the vegetable plot.
The carrots were coming along nicely, as were the potatoes. The lettuce still had a way to go yet and he sent a spark to help them along. The spinach beckoned him over and asked for more nitrogen. He went to fetch the fertiliser and sprinkled a spoonful of it into the soil. Its leaves brushed along his fingers in thanks.
The herb section reported nothing of note other than a potential aphid infestation in the verbena. He dealt with it quickly and looked over the affected plants. Some were drooping unhappily, prompting him to lean down. Taking a deep breath, he held it in his lungs for a good few seconds before letting it blow over the wilting leaves. He breathed the essence of life, warmth, vitality until the plants straightened, regaining their healthy glow. Leaving one last stroke along a firm stem, he ambled slowly to the border of his growing plots.
The storm was fast approaching and he needed to erect the barriers to shelter his fragile plants. First, he walked the whole border once, just taking measured breaths. The second walkaround, he murmured songs of safety and protection. The plants swayed, dancing to his tune. On the third round, he left an even trail of withered leaves in his wake, careful to lay an unbroken line along the whole of the border. These were the remains of the forebears of his young crop. Long dead, the last remaining wisps of energy they possessed would go into protecting their descendants.
This sort of magic was not something he would have thought possible. Not until he had been taught otherwise.
The ominous rumbling of thunder came just as he finished his ritual. Assured that his domain would be secure in the coming storm, he headed inside to seek his own shelter.
It was dark inside the cottage, sunlight blocked by dark thunderclouds. Feeling his way around carefully, he reached out a hand and brushed against silken soft petals. With some gentle coaxing, he tickled the bud open. A soft glow flickered in the darkness of the room. Slowly, the light from the lantern flower grew brighter in intensity. Its siblings began to wake as well, as dots of light sparked into existence. Across the room, the vines which lined the corners of the walls and the ceiling, started to light up. Eventually, the light was able to illuminate the whole cottage.
Outside, the first droplets of water had begun to fall, raining down sustenance upon the forest. He could feel his brethren rejoice, could taste the clear nectar of the skies with his roots.
Blinking, the feeling of soft, cool earth and strong winds retreated to the depths of his mind. He came back his plush sofa, the twinkling lantern flowers, the roof overhead keeping him dry.
He sighed. He was prone to losing himself in the absence of a grounding force. There was no distraction to be had, nothing he had to focus on. For lack of a better choice, he retrieved a book, something he had read before countless times. He tried to immerse himself in its pages, but he kept looking out the window, squinting for a shape in the distance.
It was perhaps hours later that he finally settled into the text, the heavy storm outside a distant cacophony.
A crackling whisper in the back of his mind had him looking up. There was a figure standing in the rain, looking up at the skies blankly.
The line of his shoulders tightened. With purposeful strides, he got to the door and swung it open. He watched the other from his position at the threshold. Slowly, their head turned to look at him. Woodenly, like they had forgotten how to move, they put one foot in front of the other, and again, until they were perched upon the doorstep.
“Harry…” Severus murmured.
He was utterly drenched. Rivulets of clear water ran down his face. Severus could not help but wonder if the water was not merely rain. Gently, he put a finger under the other’s chin and tilted it up. With great tenderness, he kissed the mixture of tears and water from closed eyes.
There was a little cupboard by the door that contained a change of clothing and a towel. After stripping Harry bare, Severus got out the towel and began to dry him. He stood passively, allowing Severus to manoeuvre him every which way. Once he was dry, Severus helped him put on a long tunic and guided him to the sofa.
When Severus tried to pull away, Harry dug his fingers in, refusing to let go. Jerking his head up, the other looked pleadingly at Severus, opening his mouth to protest. He was cut off by great, hacking coughs that wracked his whole body. The sound grated against Severus’ ears.
“Hush,” he said quietly, but firmly. With a stern look, he got Harry to relax against the cushions, which he did reluctantly. Severus was quick to retrieve the items he needed and return to Harry’s side.
Uncorking the bottle, Severus held it up to Harry’s lips. The other obediently opened his mouth to swallow every drop of the potion. He watched Harry lift a hand to massage his no doubt sore throat.
“It was a child today,” Harry said abruptly. His voice still held a hint of hoarseness, a testament to how utterly wrecked it had been before the potion.
Severus put a finger on Harry’s lips. They were dry and brittle, like the bark of a fallen tree. A single touch and they could crack and splinter. He got out the other potion he had brought with him and took a small dollop of it. Using his finger, he carefully spread the balm over every inch of Harry’s dry lips. Once he was satisfied with that, he sat down next to the other, tucking him into his side and throwing a knitted quilt over them both. He remained silent, letting Harry say his piece.
“His name was Colin. Colin Creevey. He loved drawing portraits of people, landscapes, animals, anything he thought looked cool,” Harry continued, staring idly down at the repetitive patterns of knitted wool.
Severus found his hand migrating up to Harry’s head of still slightly damp hair. He ran his fingers through it soothingly.
“I woke up this morning, before the sun even rose. I couldn’t fall back asleep. My mind was full of thoughts of a rushing river, wet mud, panicked cries. I couldn’t ignore the Call.”
Harry shivered violently, though not from the cold.
“I walked out of the cottage. I walked out the forest and followed the dirt path. A tickle started in my throat when I passed by the village. I turned into it. The farmers, those who had risen with the call of their crows, stared at me as I walked past. They shut their windows and barred their doors. My feet brought me to the other side of the village. By then, I was coughing and coughing.”
Both his hands had reached up to touch his throat, as if remembering the discomfort.
“The road led to the mountains. I trekked up the paths. They were steep and the soil was loose. I could feel water rushing in through my lungs, filling my lungs. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, yet all I wanted to do was scream.”
Harry’s breaths came ragged now, with agitation. Severus turned to pull him closer, tugging his face to rest in the crook of his shoulders, gathering his trembling body within the circle of his arms. He ignored the immediately chill the action brought him, used to it by now.
“Colin and his family had stayed out last night to watch the stars. It had been his idea, to draw the scene of a night sky to hang up over his brother’s bed. He woke up early, urged by his full bladder. The trail was dark, he picked a random direction. He walked towards the river. The glimmering light of the water captured his attention. He wanted to paint the reflection of the sunrise upon the river’s choppy surface. He walked closer still to the river’s edge. He didn’t pay attention to the wet mud beneath his feet. One misstep, a tiny slip, and he was sucked into the rapid current. His tiny, tiny lungs filled so quickly with water. I could taste the algae on the back of my tongue, feel the panic and fear. I started wailing. My cries were so loud they woke the rest of his family. They had to hike down the trail. That’s where I was, at the lake where the river fed into. There was a still body floating near the edge of the lake. Its heart had long stopped beating.”
Nothing was said for a few moments as Harry tried to collect himself.
“I stayed at the spot, screaming and screaming and screaming. His mother had been louder than even me at one point. Colin’ soul still clung to his decaying body. I couldn’t stop. I continued to moan and wail and shriek. His father shouted at me, but I didn’t stop. It took hours upon hours. His body was retrieved and brought back to the village and still I followed after, screaming. I didn’t stop until his soul had been driven away into the Ether. It was a close thing. He had almost been able to resist me, but I couldn’t let him be corrupted. When he finally slipped past the Veil, I fell silent. The villagers were looking at me with fear, they flinched back when I so much as glanced in their direction. No one spoke until I left the gates.”
It never failed to irk Severus, how the humans treated Harry. They didn’t understand. They only saw how a banshee appeared when a death occurred and thought that it was the cause. They never realised that a banshee’s cries were the only thing stopping souls from being corrupted in the mortal plane.
Still, Harry did his best for them. Screaming himself hoarse, until he coughed up blood and tore his vocal cords. Coming back from a Call devastated by an unavoidable death. Sometimes, even injured by the viciousness of mourning humans.
It was those times that Severus most wished to rain the wrath of his forest on the idiotic mortals. It was only Harry’s pleading that stayed his hand.
It was utterly ironic how the humans practically worshipped Severus when if it were not for Harry, he would never bother to extend any aid to them when they came calling. It was just so characteristic of the selfish creatures, to come begging to them for help when they needed it, only to spur and shun them once they had what they had asked for.
Severus would like to see how the dunderheads dealt with an inferi the next time someone died without the cry of a banshee to guide their soul into the Ether.
Harry would never let that happen, however. He cared too much for those puny humans.
When he came back from a Call, inevitably, Severus would need to pour healing potions down his wrecked throat. Harry was a fool, but he was Severus’ fool. He was also remarkably stubborn, though he would call it ‘resilient’.
The death of this Creevey boy would weigh on Harry, but he would get up tomorrow with a smile on his face and face the future. And when the next Call came, he would answer it with the same determination he always did.
And all Severus could do was wait for him.
So, like, I was just thinking about that tumblr post about this very girly looking girl and a goth chick standing together with some dude saying; ‘hey, it’s a pixie and vampire!’ and the girly one turns around with a mouthful of fangs and say, ‘she’s human, actually’. And I got to thinking about what if that happened, but with Harry and Severus being banshee and dryad respectively.
Like, dryads are tree spirits, nature spirits, filled with Life. Flowers would turn towards them as they pass. Grass growing under their feet when they walk. Trees whispering secrets into their ears.
Banshees, though. They deal with death. Wailing, shrieking, moaning around the dead and dying. They can sense when death creeps, sinks it dark claws into a human’s soul.
Imagine, sweet green-eyed Harry, small and lithe like a nymph. No one would think he’s the banshee in the equation.
Not to even mention Severus, whose dark eyes and darker stare give him a menacing appearance. He looks like he could kill with a well-placed glare. His full body black robes don’t help at all.
So... yeah. I wrote something.
Deep in the woods, where the dew shimmers silver and the cedar trees whisper, live two beings of equal, opposite power. One imbued with the strength of life, coaxing gardens in the midst of frost. The other, filled with the essence of death, calling out omens in haunting melody. Beware! Should you seek to prolong life, know that death’s maw lingers close.
The weary traveller watched his steps carefully as he made his way through the dense greenery. He was mindful not to jostle the precious burden on his back, ignoring the ache in his arms and shoulders after holding them behind him in such an awkward manner for the past day. Night was falling, yet he still espied no sign of the fabled beings he had been told about.
Perhaps the old crone had been less than truthful, greedy for the coin he had offered. He could not afford to doubt, however. Not when he knew what was at stake.
When the last of the day’s light disappeared, he knew he could not continue onward. Should he trip and fall, his own injuries would be the least of his concerns.
Ahead of him was a sturdy tree that had a slight indentation that he could lean against. It felt welcoming enough, and so, with a quiet sigh, he moved the weight on his back gently to the ground. His son, bundled securely in thick wool, protested at the movement, but did not react otherwise. Looking down at his beloved child, he noted that the fever had gotten worse. That, more than anything, was enough to bolster his determination. He would be ready again for the arduous trek in the coming morning. For now, he needed rest.
He sat at the base of the great tree, taking care to avoid its roots. Only after murmuring a quick prayer did he dare to rest his weight against the bark. He was heart-sick and weary and hungry. The most he could do now was sate the lattermost, if only slightly. He had packed some bread and water for the journey, but his supply would not last much longer. He did not have the audacity to hunt or forage within these woods, however. He would not deign to take what was not previously offered. That would only bring the wrath of the guardian of this place upon his head, and he would not risk such a thing, not when they were the only one who could help him.
Just as his eyelids grew heavy and his sight blurred around the corners, he heard the vague rustling of the leaves above, sounding almost like words of a long-forgotten tongue.
He woke with a sneeze, dislodging the leaf that had fallen onto his face. It was a crisp green, smelling fresh and pure. Surely it wasn’t too much to hope that it was an encouragement from the Green One to keep going?
He checked reflexively on his son, immensely relieved that he seemed no worse than the previous night. He patted the tree he had used as a support in thanks before getting to his feet. The cracking of his joints seemed to echo in the silence of the woods. With great care, he picked his child up and set off again.
It was only dawn, the sun’s rays but a few streaks of pink across the sky. Perhaps it was due to his refreshing sleep, or the hope of a new day, but his path seemed a little wider, a little smoother than before. Anticipation rose in his gut and he found himself picking up his pace. His destination was close, he could feel it, closer than humanly possible. But of course, for he was not dealing with a mere mortal.
His tenacity was rewarded when he saw that there was a break in the trees up ahead. Hope flared in his chest as he all but ran forwards. A playful breeze blew at his back, as if urging him along, the wind beneath his sails.
As he entered the clearing, the sunrise crested, bathing the world in gold. The grass glittered with dew, almost blinding him. Amidst all the splendour he almost missed the two figures in front of him, though he could have sworn they had not been there a mere second ago. Or couldn’t he?
The one to the left was tall, clothed in all black like mourning garbs. He had a high, beak-like nose and a forbidding expression, giving off an overall aura of menace and gloom. But it was his eyes, oh his eyes! They were swirling pools of darkness, like looking into bottomless pits, one could fall into them and never surface.
He was quick to avert his gaze, glancing at the other being.
This one was a full head shorter than his companion, appearing thin and waifish. With his large green eyes – greener than the first leaves in spring, greener than the freshest grass – and impish smile, he almost seemed childlike. The strange long, flowing tunic he donned only added to the youthful eccentricity. He could only be the very being he had set out to find, the Green One, giver of life.
“Ahh, Amos, you made it, excellent!” the Green One said, clapping his hands in delight.
Amos did not question the Green One’s knowledge of his name, realising that such a being had ways of knowing things.
“We have been expecting you,” the other being, the Cold One, Amos figured, said impatiently.
The Green One turned to his companion, wagging his finger. “Now, now, don’t be so grumpy. You know he’s had a difficult journey.” The Cold One huffed and turned away, which the Green One only smiled amusedly at. When he looked back in Amos’ direction, his gaze moved over his shoulders. “And that must be Cedric.”
Amos nodded frantically, shifting his son into his arms and holding him out. “Please, my son is very sick. None of the healers I have been to have been able to help. Please, save my son, I would give anything!”
The Green One brought himself closer to Cedric and reached down to stroke his brow. Clearing his throat, he said in a slightly deeper voice, “I see, he’s in a bad way. I would give him about till sun down.”
The proclamation brought Amos to his knees. Stifling his desperate sobs, he forced himself to speak. “Please, I beg you, Green One! Please, can do something to cure him? I love my son, he’s my life! My wife and I could not bear to lose him!”
His beautiful, clever son! So kind and thoughtful! Watching the health fade from him these past weeks had been torture on him and his wife. Oh, what would his dear Melanie do? She had always been on the more delicate side. Should Cedric not survive, he feared his darling would not be long for the world either!
The Green One, inexplicably, shot a pointed look at the Cold One. The sinister being sighed and stepped towards his son.
Amos reared back in primal fear. “No! Stay back, stay back I say! I will not let a banshee take my son!”
The Green One took a hasty step back, holding his hands up. “Whoa, calm down. See, no harm done.”
Confused, Amos looked upon the Green One, who was eyeing him warily, like he was a wild beast backed into a corner.
“Cease your histrionics, man!” the Cold One said, “Or do you not value your son’s life after all? I will need to inspect him if you wish to have a cure.”
Amos was conflicted. His Cedric needed help, but to trust one such as him…
“Do not try to fool me, banshees are harbingers of death!” Amos clutched Cedric protectively against his chest. “What help could you offer my son other than a path into the underworld?”
The silence after his outburst made the pounding of his heart all the more audible. Flinching, he closed his eyes. He cursed his quick tongue. He should not have raised his voice against the Cold One! Would he take his son’s life now, out of spite? Harsher punishments had been dealt for less.
The soft chime of laughter was not what he had expected. Opening his eyes, he came to face the scene of the Green One leaning against his companion’s shoulder, giggling so hard there were tears in his eyes.
“He-he thinks you’re the banshee!” the Green One got out between bouts of mirth. “No wonder he was acting so weird!”
Utterly flabbergasted, Amos watched the Cold One carefully. Perhaps there would be an explanation from his quarter.
The taller being shook his head and pinned Amos with an unimpressed look. “He,” he said, pointing to the still-laughing creature, “is the banshee. I am the dryad whom you seek.”
Amos spluttered in shock, looking between the two beings again. Impossible!
The Green- no, the banshee’s laughter finally stopped. “I can see why you’d be confused. He’s all doom and gloom, isn’t he?” he said, patting his companion’s arm teasingly.
In Amos’ distraction, he failed to notice that the newly-revealed dryad had moved closer and was examining his son with a practiced gaze. That alone was enough to reassure him that the being knew what he was doing.
“I think it’s his heart,” the green-eyed banshee murmured, eye pinned on Cedric’s chest. His eyes were slightly glazed over, seeing something no mere mortal could. Suddenly, the illusion of him being a child melted away and Amos could see the ancient being that lurked underneath.
The dryad nodded curtly as he stood from his crouch. “I know what the problem is. You will have your cure by evening.”
“Isn’t that cutting it a little close?” the banshee said, taking the words Amos dared not say out of his mouth.
The unimpressed sneer the dryad gave was enough to cow Amos, though not his companion.
“Well, you had best hurry then, if you want to save the child. Get heartsease, willow bark and valerian root,” he ordered the banshee, who skipped off to do as he said.
The true Green One – and what a strange thought that was – then turned to Amos, a considering look in his eyes. What he found must have satisfied him, for he then ordered him to follow. They walked further into the clearing, revealing a little cottage which had definitely not been there earlier. A cot was provided for Cedric to rest in, and then the dryad promptly put Amos to work.
He spent the next few hours scrubbing cauldrons – actual magic cauldrons, could you believe? – dusting old tomes and various other chores. He dared not stop, dared not rest for fear of setting off the capricious creatures. He worked hard, for it was nothing in exchange for his son’s life.
Before he knew it, the sky was turning orange, heralding the coming of night. It was close to the deadline the banshee had specified, and Amos feared the worst. He risked a short break to check in on his son, only to find him thrashing violently in his sleep. He hurried to try and ease his boy, tears blurring his vision.
“Hush now, Ced. Don’t worry, daddy’s here,” he murmured. He kept up the string of platitudes until his son calmed, though his breathing was markedly more laboured than before. Amos was about to lose hope when a bottle of murky red liquid was thrust into his face. Looking up, he saw the impassive face of the dryad.
“Make sure the boy drinks it all,” were the only instructions.
“And he’ll be cured?” Amos asked, half disbelieving, half fervently hopeful.
A terse nod was his only answer before the dryad stalked away and Amos was left alone in the room with his son. With trembling hands, he lifted the bottle to his son’s blue lips and tipped its contents into his mouth.
“Come on, Cedric. Swallow it, drink it all, yes…” He carefully massaged his son’s throat, getting him to down the foul-smelling concoction.
Once every drop had been swallowed, Amos gathered his son in his arms, rocking him lovingly. He prayed to every god, every higher being, that his Cedric would pull through.
“Daddy?”
The single breathy word made Amos burst into tears. He gazed upon his son’s grey eyes, open for the first time in weeks.
“Cedric, Cedric, Cedric!” he chanted desperately.
“Daddy? What happened?” his little boy asked, still sounding so weak, but so alive.
“You got sick,” Amos said, voice breaking a little, “but I found someone who could heal you, so you’re all better now.”
“Ohhh,” Cedric blinked drowsily, “can I thank them?”
That startled a laugh out of Amos. Oh, his dear, sweet son. His wiped his tears away, beaming. “Of course! We need to thank them!”
Getting to his feet, Amos swung Cedric up, listening to him giggle. The bright sound eased the pain and worry in his heart. Already he was looking much better than a scant few minutes ago. When Amos found the two beings outside, they were staring at each other, engaged in silent conversation. They noticed Amos and Cedric’s arrival, of course, and the Cold One offered his son an indulgent smile, certainly contrary to the name he had been given by the common folk.
“I see you’re feeling better.”
Cedric nodded eagerly and fidgeted in Amos’ arms, asking to be put down. Once he was on his feet, he walked, a tad unsteadily, towards the two beings. Slightly concerned but having faith in the beings that had saved his son, he only looked on. To his surprise, Cedric leapt forward to hug the dryad and banshee with all the enthusiasm of an innocent child.
The banshee looked delighted, ruffling Cedric’s brown hair, and even the dryad seemed to soften.
“Thank you misters! Daddy said you made me healthy again!” Cedric said, snuggling closer.
“Yes, thank you,” Amos added, putting the full force of his sincerity forwards. “If there is anything I can do to repay you, anything at all, please ask!”
The banshee perked up. “Eggs!” he exclaimed, looking excitedly at the dryad.
The being clad in black frowned sternly. “No, we are not getting-”
“C’mon, pleeeease?” the green-eyed one wheedled.
Cedric tottered back to Amos. “Daddy, we can give them eggs, can’t we? We have lots at home!” he said, spreading his arms wide to show how much.
The banshee looked pleadingly at his companion, widening his eyes. With a put-upon sigh, the dryad said, “Fine!”
“Yes!” the banshee exclaimed. Turning to Amos, he said, “Leave a clutch of fertilised chicken eggs at the edge of the forest once you return and we’ll consider the debt settled.”
Amos nodded quickly. “Of course.” Such a simple request, he would be more than happy to grant.
“Perfect!” the banshee exclaimed. He then looked sideways and nudged the taller being.
Sighing again, the dryad waved his hand. Amazingly enough, flowers began to bloom from the ground behind him, forming a path into the forest. “Follow the sage path and it shall take you home safely.” His tone was dry, but that did not do anything to curb Cedric’s excitement at such a marvel.
Amos took his son’s hand and took his first step into the delicate purple flowers. He was hesitant, not wanting to crush such beauty underfoot, but by powers beyond his understanding, the flowers were resilient, taking no damage.
With each step, his aches and pains faded, his body grew lighter. By his side, Cedric laughed and frolicked among the flowers, looking the picture of health.
Briefly, they both turned back, only to see that the dryad and banshee were gone.
So, like it? I have a few other chapters planned. Let me know what you think!
Link on ao3: Fallen Leaves
