This is being cross-posted from Ao3. It was originally posted on 12 April 2020. It was written for Round Three of the Draco's Den Quest for the Ring.

Author's Note: I would like the take the time to say that I am not trying to be insensitive to what is happening in the world right now by writing this story. This is what the muse came up with when I received my prompt. I thought long and hard about whether or not to write this, but, in the end, decided to do so despite what my moral compass advised. Please do not read this story if you are going to have severe anxiety in regards to pandemics or possible genocide.

Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling and the BBC/Creators of Doctor Who. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this creation.

Prompt: Fiendfyre + Dorea Black, Tenth Doctor

"How long were you trapped there, Doctor?" Clara asked after he finished explaining

"Four and a half billion years," he said without looking at her. He was too busy fiddling with the console to give her his full attention right now. His bushy grey eyebrows looked more severe than usual as he frowned at the readings on the monitor.

Clara took a deep breath and placed a hand on her chest. Sure enough, there was no heartbeat. She was truly in stasis, the Doctor having used an extraction chamber to pull her away from death at the last possible second. Swallowing, she asked, "How did you know this would work?"

His eyes flickered her way briefly. "I've done it once before. A long, long time ago, and I had to take away memories then as well."

"When?" Clara asked, both wanting and afraid to know the truth at the same time.

The Doctor sighed, but stopped fiddling with the TARDIS. "It was when I had a much younger face than this… One you have seen before… It all started when I met a young witch named Dorea…"

Spring 1939

Dorea Black watched as the Doctor prepared the TARDIS to leave. They'd just returned from a most wonderful adventure on a planet in a galaxy far from Earth. It was something she would remember forever, especially since it would most likely be her last. Those were the Doctor's words, not hers. If it was up to her, she would continue traveling with him forever.

However, she was set to marry Charlus Potter in just a few short months, and she didn't want anything taking her away from him. Despite their marriage being one written by a contract between her family and the Potter's, she and Charlus were madly in love. Dorea knew that they would be happy together.

"Will you come back and visit me in a year or so?" Dorea asked the Doctor as she prepared to exit the TARDIS one last time. "You know, to check up on me?"

The Doctor chuckled and removed his 3D-glasses. "You mean to save you from a boring life of marriage?" He turned to her with raised eyebrows and a smile on his face.

Laughing, Dorea shook her head. "No, you prat. Charlus is a wonderful man, but I will miss our time together. I'll want to check up on you too. You know, make sure you haven't gone off your rocker too far."

Smoothing out his tie, the Doctor scrunched up his face in thought before grabbing something from the console. "I can't promise I'll show up on time, but how about this?" He tossed a small rectangular device into Dorea's hands.

"What's this?" she asked, staring down at the weird technology she held. Turning it over a few times, she still had no idea what it was or what to do with it.

"It's a communication device from the future. It's called a beeper," the Doctor explained, taking the device back so he could show her how it worked. "If you ever truly need me, send me a message on here and I'll come back to help you. See, you just type a few words in here, and hit send."

Closing her hands around the beeper, Dorea took a deep breath and tried not to cry. "This is truly goodbye, isn't it?"

The Doctor gave her a sad smile and then pulled her in for a hug. Wrapping her in his arms, he whispered, "You're going to do great things, Dorea. Now, go get married and have lots of babies. I'll be out here causing mischief."

Sniffling slightly as she untangled herself from the Doctor's trench coat covered arms, Dorea nodded. "Thank you, Doctor. I hope to see you again someday."

Winter 1976

"Dorea?"

"In the kitchen," Dorea called out to her husband. She was currently making some pumpkin pasties for their dessert. As she heard the footsteps coming down the hall toward the kitchen from the entryway, she carried on talking. "We got a letter from Castor today. He and Sylvia are enjoying New York City. It seems like they're settling into their new life in the States well…"

Trailing off as she realized that her husband was standing in the doorway without saying anything in return, Dorea set down her mixing spoon and faced Charlus. "What's wrong?" There was a sense of foreboding creeping up her chest at the look on his face. "What's happened?"

"Remember last week when we heard about Abraxas Malfoy contracting Dragon Pox?" Charlus asked, now stepping fully into the kitchen. When Dotrea simply nodded, he took a deep breath, let it out, and said, "Well, he's passed away. Late last night."

"Oh no…" Dorea wiped her hands on her apron and moved to sit at the kitchen table.

Charlus joined her and rubbed at his face. "There's more."

Heart hammering in her chest, Dorea asked, "What is it, Charlus?"

"It appears this is more than just a single case of Dragon Pox," Charlus explained, fear evident in his voice. "It's more of an outbreak. There are multiple cases being reported, and the numbers are rising. Drastically."

"Has anyone else died?" Dorea asked carefully, afraid of the answer. Dragon Pox could infect anyone, but it was typically only deadly to the elderly. This wasn't the first time the disease had spread through the wizarding community, but it was the first time in a long time that it seemed to be a larger outbreak.

"So far, just Abraxas, but St. Mungo's and the other wizarding hospitals are filling up quickly with new cases," Charlus replied before reaching out to take his wife's hand. "We need to take precautions, so we don't become infected."

"We'll be careful," Dorea told her husband. She placed her hand overtop his and gave him a comforting smile. Inside, her heart clenched with fear. Charlus worked as a liaison between the Ministry of Magic and St. Mungo's. He was more at risk than she was.

Spring 1977

"They're moving people into field hospitals starting tomorrow," Charlus said as he collapsed onto the sofa. "The hospitals are overrun with the sick, and in an effort to stop the spread, they want to move those with Dragon Pox someplace where they can't infect others."

Dorea set down the tray of tea she'd made fresh for her husband before perching on the edge of the sofa. She brushed his dark hair away from his forehead and kissed him there. "That sounds promising," Dorea said as she straightened and prepared a cup of tea. Handing it to Charlus, she added, "I'm sure the disease will relent faster if we can contain it like this."

Charlus sat up and took the teacup his wife offered. "I'm not so sure," he said before taking a sip. "More and more people are coming down with the disease every day. I worry for you."

"As long as you continue to use the cleansing spell before entering the house, then I should be fine," Dorea said softly, snuggling up to Charlus and relishing in his warmth. These were dark times, and she loved these tender moments they got to spend together when he didn't have to be risking his life at work.

Summer 1977

It was a risk to venture out of the house, but Dorea hadn't seen Charlus in nearly three days and wanted to bring him something to eat for lunch. He was working overtime at the field hospital in the village where they lived, so it wasn't like she had to go far. Donning gloves and a mask she would incinerate with a quick Incendio before entering their house upon her return, Dorea walked through the stuffy summer air.

Despite the warnings to stay home, there were still many witches and wizards out and about on her stroll into the town. It wasn't until she moved closer to the field where the makeshift hospital was housed that the numbers dwindled. For the first time since she'd set out, her feet faltered. Charlus would be furious when he saw her…

As expected, Dorea was stopped outside the main tent by two medi witches. "I'm sorry, but this tent is off-limits to the public."

"I'm Dorea Potter. I'm here to see Charlus," she explained quickly. "I haven't heard from him in a few days, and I know he was working here." The two medi witches shared a glance that set Dorea's nerves on edge. "What? What's wrong?" When still no explanation is given, Dorea got angry. "If you don't tell me what is going on, I will go right to the Ministry with my complaints."

She knew using her family's connection was in poor taste, but she needed answers. One of the medi witches sighed and said, "Please, wait here. I'll be right back with a Healer who can answer your questions."

Dorea waited impatiently for the Healer. It was only a few minutes, but it felt like a lifetime before a wizard emerged from the tent. "Mrs. Potter?" he asked. When she nodded, he continued, "I am afraid to inform you, but your husband has contracted the disease and is being kept inside for treatment."

"Charlus has-" The lunch pail Dorea had been holding fell from her hands as the world lurched around her. After she could formulate a proper sentence, she asked, "Why wasn't I informed? It's been three days!"

The Healer sighed heavily. "Mrs. Potter, I am sorry you were not informed. The number of families… We are floundering."

"I want to see him," Dorea demanded, lifting her chin up in a challenge. "I won't take no for an answer. I am going in there with or without your permission."

Again, the Healer sighed, but he did lift open the tent flap and allow her access. "You are putting yourself at risk for the disease."

"I am well aware of what I am doing, but I wish to see my husband," Dorea said through clenched teeth as she stormed into the tent.

Inside was unlike anything she had ever seen. Rows upon rows of cots were lined four deep on each side. The poor witches and wizards confined to these beds all suffered the same affliction of a green and purple rash. Many were sneezing, sparks coming from their nostrils. Despite the fear of infection, Dorea soldiered on, following the Healer to where her husband lay prone.

Reaching his cot, Dorea dropped to her knees with tears in her eyes. Charlus was asleep, but he woke the moment her hand took hold of his own. "Dorea?! No! You shouldn't be here." Charlus struggled to sit up, but Dorea pressed him back down into the cot.

"Charlus, I had to see you. No one told me you were sick," she whispered, trying not to be heard by those around them.

"It's not safe here," Charlus said, again struggling to sit up.

"Please," Dorea told her husband. "Stay still. You're sick. Besides, I know the risk of being here, but I would rather die at your side and than live the rest of my life without you."

"No," hissed Charlus, shaking his head vehemently. "The disease is not what I worry about, Dorea."

Blinking in confusion, Dorea leaned closer and whispered, "What are you talking about?"

"There has been talk," Charlus began to say before pausing and looking around the tent. "There's been talk that they are going to burn the sick as a way to stop the spread."

Dorea's gasp of shock drew the attention of the person in the cot next to Charlus. Ignoring them, she leaned closer as asked, "What? How would they even get away with something like that?"

"I don't know… Make it look like an accident. There are plenty of lanterns in here…" Charlus was cut off by a round of sneezing. When he had recovered, he said, "Dorea, I need you to get out of here. I am not as sick as some who are here, and I may recover. If you get this, I don't know what I would do. Please, go home and stay safe."

"I can't leave you here if they plan on doing what you say they are going to do, Charlus," Dorea said, fresh tears in her eyes.

Charlus squeezed his wife's hand. "We have lived a beautiful life together, Dorea. Please, go home and be well. If I get out of here, we will take that trip to the States to see our son and Sylvia. We'll grow old together, but for now, you need to understand that either by this disease or something else, I may never come home again."

Soldiering herself, Dorea nodded even though inside her heart was breaking.

A little later, defeated, Dorea began the mournful walk home. It was as she was leaving the tent that she heard it. The medi witches and Healers were conferencing at the table outside the tent. A single word from their conversation reached her ears that struck her with terror.

Fiendfyre.

Turning, she met the stare of the Healer who had allowed her to see her husband for the last time. Swallowing back her fear for the moment, Dorea turned and ran all the way home. There was something she needed to do.

Dorea stood on the edge of town, a small rectangular device held in her hand. A single message had been sent through. Help. She'd torn her house apart in search of the beeper the Doctor had given her nearly forty years ago. Now she could only pray that her message was received quickly.

"Oh thank Merlin," Dorea said in relief as the familiar whirring noise of the TARDIS materialized. The moment the blue police box stood solid in front of her, she ripped open the door to find the face of her Doctor standing there. "Hurry, there's no time for a long explanation."

"Whoa!" the Doctor exclaimed, as Dorea took his hand and pulled him toward the field in the distance. "I'm assuming someone's life is in danger."

"The lives of many, Doctor," Dorea said, her sight set on the tent. "All the medical professionals evacuated twenty minutes ago. They're going to set an entire tent of innocent people on fire to eradicate Dragon Pox. My husband is in there!"

The Doctor was about to say something else, but tragedy occurred. A roar like a dragon reached their ears as a tidal wave of flames rolled across the field toward the tent of prone patients. Dorea screamed and let go of the Doctor's hand, running at full speed toward the tent.

"What kind of fire is that?" the Doctor questioned as he raced after her.

"It's Fiendfyre," Dorea said. "It's the hottest fire on the planet, and it's quite uncontrollable. We don't have much time. We have to evacuate the sick!"

Understanding flashed in the Doctor's eyes. "I know a place where we can take them. It's a hospital on New Earth. They'll have the cure you need," he explained, now fiddling with his screwdriver. They entered the tent, and he used the screwdriver to make a high pitched sound. "Oi! I know you're sick, but we have to run! Come with me!"

He and Dorea raced up and down the rows of the sick. They urged them out to the TARDIS where the Doctor could transport them someplace safe. All the while, the Fiendfyre raced across the field, ready to devour them all the moment it reached the tent. One of the last few to get to their feet was Charlus, and Dorea was there helping him.

"Doctor!" she shouted over the roar of the oncoming fire and the screams of the scared.

Turning, the Doctor saw why she was screaming. Charlus was having a sneezing fit that was hindering him from standing. Sparks shot from his nose as the first tendrils of flames reached the tent. Dorea and the Doctor's eyes met, and at the same time, they both realized a sacrifice would need to be made. It was either her and Charlus's lives or the Doctor and everyone on the TARDIS. Giving the Doctor one last smile and a mouthed, 'Thank you," Dorea wrapped her arms around her husband and succumbed to her fate.

"Dorea! No!" the Doctor screamed as he watched the flames overtake his former companion. There was nothing to be done, though, the fire had a mind of its own, and it was now surging toward the TARDIS. The police box had endured a lot, but he wasn't sure if it would survive this. With one last anguished look over his shoulder, the Doctor dove inside and ran to the console. Around him, the sick watched as he transported them away from the fire that would have taken their lives, and the witch that had saved them all.

The Doctor stared at the hospital on New Earth with sadness in his heart from the grassy field he'd once stood with Rose. Inside, numerous witches and wizards were receiving the cure for Dragon Pox thanks to the sacrifice of Dorea. She'd given her life to protect them from the Fiendfyre. Yet another of his companions lost…

But then an idea struck him, and he knew what he had to do. Rushing inside his TARDIS, the Doctor prepared to find an available extraction chamber. It would be risky, but Dorea deserved a second chance at life after saving so many others.

. . . .

"So did you save her?" Clara asked, her chest aching for the witch.

"I did," the Doctor said solemnly. "I saved her and Charlus. They live on New Earth with all the other witches and wizards without knowledge of me or what I did." He held up a small device with two buttons.

Clara stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on his arm. She now understood why he had to take away her memories. "Okay, Doctor. I'm ready."

END NOTE: If you have chosen to read this story and feel like I have upset you by writing it, I urge you to please refrain from commenting at all. As stated in my author's note at the beginning, my morals were tested by writing this and I do not need anyone leaving me hurtful feedback in regards to that. Everyone deals with fear and anxiety in different ways. You were warned at the start, and I hope that you respect my wishes. Thank you.