The show must go on [werewolf one-shot]

[Vivian River Jordan]

Fall 2026

“And that’s another wrap on Potterwatch! This has been Vivi and Drizzle telling you what’s good, London!”

As the lights dimmed, she watched her puffskein dive into the lemon cream pie sitting on the end table, which caused whipped cream to go flying in all directions. Giving a weary sigh at her shenanigans – Drizzle was her one true love but also quite the handful – Vivian fiddled with the microphone pinned discreetly on her collar and carefully pinched it off, passing it to a producer as she bounced out of her chair and towards the cameras. “So, how we looking?” Her voice was cheery even as she shrugged off the exhaustion creeping into her bones. Studio runs were so draining, even though she loved every second of every episode of her father’s creation, at least its rebooted form. She was known for her cheery exuberance, and that meant bringing it to every segment – the celebrity interviews, the cooking portion (by the way, trying to cook a hearty English breakfast with screaming deviled eggs is no easy feat), and especially the special video messages to shed light on important issues.

But they were done for the day, and as Viv got the nod of approval from the half-ring of middle-aged producers surrounding her, she gave a smile and flounced off to find her puffskein. Scooping Drizzle out of the pie, Viv toweled her off as she navigated the endless stream of cameramen, producers, and interns that bustled around the studio. Entertainment was a 24/7 business, after all. “Hey, Jorkins, just the man I wanted to see!” Viv called out as she reached out to latch onto the harried man’s robes. He looked frantic and busy, they all did really, but his face grew a few extra lines as he looked down at her. Not a good sign, but Vivian didn’t let that deter her. What kind of host would she be if she gave up at the first sign of defeat? Keeping her thousand-kilowatt smile on, she continued, “Did we get the green light for next week? Drizzle’s always wanted to see the Irish countryside, you know.”

He smiled nervously at her as he pushed the glasses up his nose. “We’ll have to push the date. Cernunnos, er, doesn’t…” He mumbled a moment or two longer before clearing his throat. “He doesn’t want werewolves on his farm. Said it doesn't fit with their image of family values.” Her smile didn’t disappear at his words, although Vivian felt the strain of maintaining the act. Instead, she distractedly ran her fingers through Drizzle’s silky fur as she shrugged lightly – like she didn’t care, like there was nothing wrong, like this wasn’t some personal insult that had just been unwittingly flung in her direction. “Fine, then send the scouts to find somewhere else. This segment on sustainable farming is really important to me. Do people even know where they get their potions ingredients from?” Unsure how much longer she could keep this forced smile on her face, Vivian gave a nod and then continued her upbeat pace as she walked on. She didn't notice Jorkins sag in relief behind her -- this was entertainment, after all, and there were some big personalities (and tempers) walking around the station. But Vivian had never been that type.

She set Drizzle gently down on the counter while she poured herself a cup of coffee, although Viv sighed as she had to pull the puffskein back towards her and away from the jelly donuts on the counter. “No no, don’t give me that look, the vet said you need to exercise more and eat less,” Viv scolded at Drizzle’s reproachful look. She giggled slightly as she nuzzled the puffskein with one finger and turned as she heard her name called. “Vivi! You haven’t put down how you’re getting to the retreat yet!” Galinda slid up next to her near the counter and nudged a clipboard in her direction. Vivian gave a puzzled smile but read through the page anyway – she hadn’t heard of any retreat, although it didn’t much surprise her. Witch TV was a huge network, and she sometimes received the most ridiculous deadlines as producers made last-minute decisions. At least a retreat sounded like more fun than a midnight recording session.

“Oh no, I can’t do these dates. That’s the full moon,” Viv explained with an easy smile as she slid the clipboard back over. She kept the smile plastered on her face as she asked, “Can’t we maybe move the retreat by a few days?” Galinda only gave a sigh. A loud, weary, condescending sigh. “After we finally got all the VPs on the same page? If you have a condition, Vivi, it’s your responsibility to handle it. We can’t all change our entire schedules for you.” At that, Vivian felt her smile start to crack, the strain obvious in her voice as she rushed to say, “Never mind then. I’ll just catch the next one.” But the atmosphere wasn’t quite the same as Galinda hurried away, and Vivian felt her chest tighten with anxiety as the smile fell off her face. These types of events were always the best for networking – casual, everybody ready to be social and have fun and make meaningful connections. Her show was going to suffer if Vivian couldn’t find a way to be there. A problem to think about.

It was several more hours before Vivian had another spare moment to think about anything, and only because she happened to glance outside the window. “It’s dark already!” she gasped as she flung her half-finished script away from her and scrambled to collect her coat and bag and puffskein. “Where are you going? We’re not done!” The screenwriter scowled at her, but Vivian was busy stuffing odd papers into her bag and trying to squeeze Drizzle into a cute little sweater. “I’ll have to come in early tomorrow, but I have to stop by the apothecary before they close!” Vivian squeaked as she wrapped the scarf too tightly around her neck, loosening it hastily as she coughed slightly. She was out the door before the writer could say anything else, slamming it shut behind her and dodging people until she could step outside the building and Apparate.

“Please! Five more minutes!” Vivian begged as she stood outside the apothecary, watching desperately as a potioneer locked the door. “You should have come earlier,” he said with a grunt as he pushed past her, shoving the keys into his pocket and turning on the spot. As he Disapparated, Vivian was left to stare at the locked shop, her shoulders practically up by her ears as her face burned with panic. Her eyes felt hot but she sniffed and cradled Drizzle close to her chest, the puffskein squeaking sadly from her little harness. “Looks like we don’t have another option,” she murmured as she turned away from the apothecary and felt her feet drag as she started walking in a new direction. The smile was gone from her face, faded after having been chipped away at all day, and her whole body was tense with fearful anticipation.

Merlin, she hated the werewolf clinic. It was a sad place, tucked away in a corner and always in bad need of repairs. And she hated the looks when she entered, the pity mixed with the fear. But it existed for a reason, and Vivian had badly misjudged the time until the next full moon. She winced slightly as she approached the shoddy and beaten down storefront, blood-red graffiti shining bright against the setting sun. BEASTS. A caretaker was scrubbing away at it with Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but seemed to be making very little progress. Her head was bowed as she entered, trying her best not to make eye contact with anyone as she trudged to the front desk. Her voice was low and brittle and she felt close to tears as she said, “A week’s supply of Wolfsbane, please.”