Eternal Recurrence

September 16th, 1976

Dorcas Meadowes is a sixth-year Slytherin. She, as a precocious eleven-year-old, was determined to show the world how special she was. After eleven years of thinking she was losing her mind, she finally had an explanation, she finally had a place where she could shine.

No one told her that Slytherin was no place for muggleborns. Not even the hat. 

If they had, if someone could have told her what she would endure, she would have begged the hat for another chance. Would have promised to be as brave or smart or hard-working as she needed to be, anything to get her away from the damp melancholy of the Slytherin dormitories. 

She sets a series of alarms around her bed each night, that would alert her if anyone so much as ruffles her curtains. She has trained herself to wake up every hour, just to check that everything is exactly how it should be. She knows it would take very little for some of her housemates to kill her in cold blood.

The smallest sign of weakness will kill her. But she was Dorcas Meadowes. And she would not be weak. 

*** Dorcas Meadowes is killed by Voldemort in 1981. ***

She did once try to befriend those both in her house and outside of it. Neither effort had gone particularly well. Those in her house either hated her very existence or were too afraid of those who did. And those valiant Gryffindors, those accepting Hufflepuffs, those sparkling Ravenclaws? They hated her as much as the Slytherins did. 

She couldn’t be trusted. She was wrong. 

She was sure there must be some people at Hogwarts who were neutral enough in this war to be seen with her. The issue was she was no longer certain she could be seen with them. Neutrality was weakness. Neutrality was pathetic. 

Dorcas Meadowes wanted to fight. 

**

Alice Selwyn and Frank Longbottom had been best friends for most of their lives. Despite his mother’s snobbish tendencies, the two had been lucky enough to attend a summer quidditch camp together when they were eight years old–both discovering at this event that they had absolutely no quidditch ability.

Frank lacked the drive. He found he simply did not care much where the ball went, and could not bring himself to dive headfirst into injury to stop the other team. His mother, who followed quidditch religiously, was appalled and yet unable to change his innate lack of competitiveness. 

Alice was competitive enough for both of them but found that she had a great dislike for both heights and broomsticks, something that was rather difficult to get over at a quidditch camp. 

Instead, they’d both spent the summer chattering away with each other, doing the absolute bare minimum required of them before finding a way to get out of it. Since then, they’d written to each other every week without fail until being sorted into the same house upon arriving at Hogwarts. 

Alice and Frank were best friends. But if you were to ask them if they were in love with each other, both of them would say no. That they were platonic soulmates, partners in crime, that they couldn’t possibly see each other that way. Both of them would be lying, but it would take them some time to figure that out. 

*** Alice and Frank will get married in December 1977.

They are then tortured to insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange in 1981. 

They never recover. ***

Sirius Black thought Mary Macdonald was very pretty. Conversely, Mary Macdonald also thought Sirius Black was very pretty. Neither of them particularly wanted to act on those thoughts, preferring to consider the other in a strictly academic way. 

That was part of the reason Mary was so surprised when Sirius settled beside her in the common room, leaning over to see the title of the book she was reading. The other strange part was that he was alone–Sirius Black was never alone.

“Who’s Carrie?” He asked. “She looks a right mess.”

Mary marked her page with a scrap of parchment and closed the book, examining the cover with him. A ghostly face with wide eyes, covered in blood. 

*** Mary Macdonald has read this book three times. 

She will read it once more before deciding that there 

was enough blood in her real life that she needn’t 

borrow it elsewhere. ***

“I suppose she is, in a way.” Mary agreed. “She’s a witch, but it's written by muggles, so obviously she doesn’t have control over her powers or anything. People make fun of her for it. They drop pig's blood on her.” It was not wholly dissimilar to being a muggleborn, but she couldn’t expect Sirius to understand that. “I’ve read it three times.”

“Does it have a happy ending?” 

“No,” she laughed, “Not even a bit. It’s quite gruesome.”

“Cool,” Sirius remarked, and she felt a pathetic surge of pride. “Didn’t peg you much for horror.” Sirius Black couldn’t know how much of her life had already felt like a horror novel. “Why do you read it over so many times?” 

Mary shrugged. “It’s a great story. Knowing how it ends doesn’t take away from that.”

“Even if it ends badly?”

“Especially if it ends badly.” 

*** Both their stories will end badly. 

And here you are, reading it anyway. ***

Sometimes, Remus Lupin would have liked to shout the truth from the Astronomy Tower. 

Other times, like today, he wished he could bury the cursed part of himself. Burn it out, somehow. Fenrir Greyback had murdered another family. Blood traitors, ostensibly. The worst part was that Remus wasn’t sure what was better: to die tragically along with your family, or to live as a monster, watching your life crumble around you?

The thoughts were selfish and he had them anyway.

If he’d known Lily better, he might have wanted to tell her about his condition. She was certainly affected by it, having to constantly cover for him in prefect patrols and duplicating her perfect notes to help him catch up in classes. She never asked a single question, beyond the required ‘are you feeling better now?’

Severus couldn’t have told her. He had been sworn to secrecy magically, the only relief of that horrible night. That and the fact that Remus hadn’t killed him, no matter how close they’d come. 

But he didn’t know Lily very well, not really. He knew the facts–the ones that anyone might. He knew she was cheerful and popular and talented. He knew that her mother had died when she was a child and she’d been raised by her father ever since. He knew she was a muggleborn. 

He didn’t think someone raised on stories of werewolves the way muggles were would ever be able to see beyond his condition. They were almost more frightened of him than wizards were, which was saying something. 

It occurred to him that he might just want someone to talk to who didn’t think his monthly transformations were a thing of excitement. Who could understand how exhausting and frightening and dehumanizing the whole thing could be. It would have been nice to transform into a dog or a stag–or even a rat–rather than a monster.

He’d wondered after his friends had completed their transformations for the first time, if a werewolf could even become an animagus. None had ever tried, or if they had, it hadn’t been recorded. And after seeing how dangerous the whole process was, how they could get stuck as the animal within… He would not get stuck as a wolf. He was still Remus Lupin, whatever that meant. 

What Remus Lupin didn’t know was that Lily Evans was, above all things, uncommonly kind. That she had deduced the truth about him several years ago and was simply allowing him to keep his own secrets, waiting for the moment he might decide to share with her. 

*** Lily Evan’s kindness was also the reason she forgave those 

around her, time and time again. Lily Evan’s kindness would, 

one day, get her killed. ***

It was the night before the full moon and Remus had been hoping to escape to the dormitory without anyone seeing him and at least make an attempt to get some rest. However, after listlessly murmuring the password to the Fat Lady, the portrait hole swung open, and he nearly collided with a tangle of red hair.

“Remus!” Lily greeted, smiling as if he was just the person she’d been looking for. “Where’re you off to, then? 

Remus shrugged, feeling rather sheepish. His head ached. “Bed, actually. Thought an early night couldn’t hurt.”

Lily nodded, as if there was nothing strange about going to sleep at eight-thirty. Then, a thought occurred to her. 

“Would you be wanting to give me your essay for Binns?” She asked. “We’re meant to have a partner review ‘em, I can take a look tonight and then just hand it in for you tomorrow. It’s no trouble at all.” 

“Oh, I…” He would like that. It would be one less thing for him to deal with. “But what about yours? I don’t know if I’ll have the time to go over yours before tomorrow.” He didn’t add that he would be too busy transforming into a monster. 

She flashed him a mischievous grin. “I won’t tell if you won’t. ‘Sides, I can’t believe he really cares. I’m not certain he’s reading them, you know.” 

“Oh, I mean, thanks,” he said, giving a feeble attempt at a smile. “I’m not feeling so well, actually, there’s a chance I won’t be able to make it in tomorrow.”

Lily’s face didn’t show even a hint of surprise. In fact, it occurred to Remus that she’d already offered to turn his paper in for him. As if she’d known he wouldn’t be there. 

“You are looking a bit peaky,” she said, sympathetically. He relaxed. She didn’t know anything. She was just being nice. 

*** Lily Evans knew a great deal. 

And she was just being nice. ***

“I’ll just grab the scroll from my dormitory if you can wait a minute or two,” Remus said, slipping past her into the Common Room. She made a noise of agreement and drifted back towards the fire, wondering if it might be appropriate to show him one of the articles in her potions periodical–the one regarding wolfsbane. 

*** 

“You must tell us how he actually is, Addy,” Connie McAllister pleaded, her upper-class accent grating against Lily’s eardrums. In fairness, the subject matter was enough to irritate her anyway.

“Well, he’s dead sweet,” Adelaide said, not even trying to smother the catlike grin on her face. “Really funny, too. And, God, those muscles,” she fanned herself, dramatically. “He really filled out this summer.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Connie egged her on. Marlene and Mary were on the other side of the dormitory but gave Lily a weary look. “Tell us the good stuff.”

Connie McAllister seemed perfectly comfortable speaking for the entire room of girls, despite the fact that not a one between them had seemed particularly interested in learning about James Potter’s sex life. Privately, Mary was rather curious but respected Mary’s familial feelings of disgust where the issue was concerned. 

Marlene and James had grown up in the same circle of country houses, and while her family didn’t command the respect or the income that the Potters did, they had still spent much of their childhoods chasing each other around on miniature broomsticks. 

“He’s very… Attentive,” she said, after a long pause, causing Connie to erupt in a fit of giggles. Marlene gagged openly, which made Lily snort from where she was attempting to read on her own bed. 

“Come on, Lily,” Connie said, giving her a look, “you have to admit he’s fit.”

“Oh, he’s a ride, alright,” Lily said, with no inflection. “Especially if you’re able to block out every single thing that comes out of his mouth.”

“She does have a point,” Marlene chimed in, generously. “Do you have hearing problems, Adelaide?” 

“Fuck off,” Adelaide snapped, reasonably. “You may not like him, Lily, but he’s my boyfriend. Stop slagging him off.” 

Lily was tempted to bring up the fact that she had been asked very directly about her feelings on James and had merely been answering the question, but something told her that would not do well in de-escalating the conflict. Besides, she had very few friends left. She didn’t need to make her dormitory a place of strife, too. 

“You’re right,” Lily said, her voice not betraying even a hint of irritation. “Sorry, Adelaide. I wish you all the best.”

Adelaide softened and offered her a piece of chocolate. Lily, who would never say no to chocolate, got up as Adelaide responded. 

“I know he used to fancy you, Lily. I mean, everyone knows that.” Lily could feel herself blushing despite every desire not to. “But he doesn’t anymore. So there’s no reason we can’t all be grown-ups about this.”

Lily nodded, her mouth full of chocolate, and attempted a weak smile. She refrained from mentioning that James Potter was about the furthest thing from a grown-up she’d ever seen, instead going back to her bed, and blocking out the rest of the chatter until they all drifted off to bed. 

*** Adelaide Carpenter was, of course, wrong. ***

Lily Evans didn’t like to make a habit of sneaking out of her dormitory at night. However, there was only so much she could endure and tossing and turning while listening to the peaceful sounds of her dormmates was becoming too much to bear. Especially as she became more and more convinced that a warm cup of milk with honey would cure all of her ailments and then some. 

So she pulled on jeans and an old sweatshirt, slipping out of the dorm with careful steps. James Potter, who had, himself, been struggling to sleep, had similarly decided on an evening roam, although he had considerably more safety provided to him by his invisibility cloak, that now hung over him like a weighty, silvery mist. 

He saw Lily creep out of the dorm, her wand aloft. He, despite his better instincts, waited only a minute before following her. 

A sickening feeling began to form in his stomach as he realized she was heading towards the dungeons. She couldn’t actually be seeking out Snape. She couldn’t have forgiven him. That was too much.

Unless James had been wrong about the nature of their relationship. Unless Lily really did love Severus, in the way that he’d half suspected and discounted a hundred times. What if they were in love?

It wouldn’t matter, he told himself. He had Adelaide. He didn’t care about Lily Evans. He would consider it pathetic beyond measure, but it was her life to ruin. 

None of that explained why he was following her. 

Lily held her wand in front of her but kept it unlit. She didn’t want to announce her presence to anyone else wandering the halls, whether they be professors or something more sinister. If she was murdered by aspiring Death Eaters while on the quest for warm milk, she might die again out of pure embarrassment. 

She turned the corner towards the kitchens and heard something behind her. 

She flattened herself against the wall, fading into shadows, and gripped her wand tightly. She had definitely heard a footstep. She waited for at least a minute, her back beginning to hurt from holding herself so tightly against the wall, before continuing on, still listening intently.

James Potter, who had accidentally tripped on the cloak and landed loudly, had very nearly revealed himself to Lily. She’d probably be relieved that it wasn’t Filch. Then again, she did hate him. She might very well prefer Filch. 

He breathed a silent sigh of relief as she snuck into the kitchens, away from the damper halls further on. She hadn’t completely lost her mind. But he also knew he could hardly follow her in without announcing himself. And, for a number of reasons he’d rather not dwell on, he did not want to do that.

So James Potter waited. 

Lily Evans, having greeted a few sleepy house elves, insisted she was capable of heating her own drink, and sent them back off to bed after asking a few polite questions about their day. They were not unused to her intrusions. Since she had been shown the kitchens by Gideon and Fabian Prewett in her second year, she’d visited them almost weekly.

Sometimes it was for tea or coffee. Sometimes she’d miss a meal and want to grab a snack for her dorm. Sometimes she just wanted to go somewhere warm and safe. 

She used to love the kitchen, in their little house. Back when her mother was alive, it had been a place of fun and food and mess. Her dad wasn’t much of a cook. Neither was Petunia. The kitchen grew dark and stained, and Lily grew distant. 

But the Hogwarts kitchens were nothing like that. And she liked the elves, even if their employment sometimes made her a little uneasy. She knew the elves at Hogwarts were treated well, but the same couldn’t be said for most of their peers. 

She wondered how many of them were suffering in this war. She doubted their names would ever make the Prophet. 

After she’d heated her drink, she poured it into a cup, transfiguring a lid for it out of an old spoon. She poured the excess into a few spare cups for the elves who remained working, and they thanked her profusely. 

With a warm cup in one hand and her wand in the other, she exited the kitchen, coming face to face with four people. 

Spencer Lyndon, Evan Rosier, Roman Mulciber, and, inexplicably, James Potter. None of them had their wands raised, but something told her it wouldn’t take much.

*** Evan Rosier will be killed by Alastor Moody in 1981 

while resisting arrest. Roman Mulciber will also join the

 Death Eaters and fight in both Wizarding Wars, spending 

sixteen years in Azkaban before being released 

alongside Bellatrix Lestrange in 1996. ***

She eyed them all, eyebrows raised. “Should I go back inside so you can be finishing whatever it is you’re doing?

Mulciber scoffed while James just shot her a glare. 

“So this is why Potter was waiting in the halls like a little guard dog,” Mulciber said, face alight with amusement. “Did you finally give in, Evans? Let him fuck you as long as he stops people from spilling your dirty blood?” 

James looked like he was about to speak, but she was quicker. 

“Now, I wasn’t expecting to find any of you out here. But now that I have, I’d suggest you clear off before I start giving out detentions.”

James shot her a withering look, but he remained silent. 

“Detentions?” Lyndon scoffed, shaking his head. “Whatever will we do?” 

“If we’re going to get detention,” Mulciber said, his face grim, “we might as well make it worth it. What should we do, Potter? Should we fuck the little mudblood for you?” 

Faster than she would have believed, Mulciber was on the floor. And James was standing above him, shaking out his fist, reaching for his wand. He’d punched him. James Potter, a pureblood wizard, had punched Mulciber. That notion was as strange to her as anything.

But she didn’t have long to linger, as Rosier shot a stunning spell in her direction and she jumped back, a suit of armor down the hall collapsing with an echoing crash. 

James had his wand out now and was about to cast when she shouted ‘Protego’ and created an impenetrable wall of light between the two groups. 

Mulciber, now standing up, holding his hand to his jaw gingerly, snarled something unintelligible at her. 

“That’s ENOUGH!” She shouted, surprising both herself and James, who started next to her. “Everyone needs to go the fuck to bed so we can all pretend this never fucking happened. Am I clear?” 

The Slytherins would most definitely not forget any of this had happened. But they stalked off into the night anyway, leaving James Potter and Lily Evans alone in the hall, the former with a broken hand and the latter with a decidedly irritable temperament. 

*** This would not be the only time they find themselves in this position. 

More on that later. ***

“You are following me, aren’t you?” She asked, removing the protection charm as she spun away from him, storming back to Gryffindor Tower. 

“You’re the one who wants to sneak around with Slytherins in the middle of the night,” he argued. He was in pain and tired and bitter. “I’m just trying to stop you from getting killed.”

“Ironic, considering how much you’re making me want to kill myself.”

“Not funny, Evans,” he said, struggling slightly to keep up with her despite his longer legs. “You don’t know what they might have done to you.”

At this, she stopped moving, her eyes blazing. “I know exactly what they might have done to me, Potter. The same thing they tried to do to Mary last year. The same thing they have been doing to muggles and muggleborns and blood traitors for the past decade. How dare you tell me how to handle that? You really are thick as pigshit, aren’t you?” 

“Fine!” He snapped, “so I should just let you get killed by a bunch of Slytherins next time, is that right?”

“Works for me,” she retorted, starting to walk again when she noticed the tender way he was holding his hand. She glared at him again, then pulled out her wand.

James mirrored her motion with his uninjured hand, his expression incredulous. “You’re going to hex me, are you?” 

Lily Evans’s sigh could have been heard in Hogsmeade. “Episkey,” she said, and a shot of blue light hit his hand, causing him to yelp. In a few more moments, the pain was gone. 

“Oh,” he said, lamely lowering his wand. “Thanks.” 

She said nothing, her eyes still murderous, and led the way back to their Common Room in stony silence. 

*** This encounter revealed two things to James Potter.

He did still fancy Lily Evans.

And she would be the death of him. ***