October Twilight

October Twilight
Chapter Three
“The Id, the Ego, and Sirius Black”

May 27th, 1974
4th Year

The sun had just barely risen above the horizon when Dorcas stormed into the library. She had been unable to sleep all night. Her fourteen-year-old brain had been buzzing since Defense Against the Dark Arts class the previous day. At first, she had been horrified by the things Professor Clancy had said. When she left class, she became consumed by guilt. She knew she should have spoken up in class, but she had been too afraid of what Professor Clancy and her classmates might say.

As the night wore on, Dorcas’s concentration slipped away from her homework and the conversations going on in the Hufflepuff Common Room. All she could think about was how cowardly she was for sitting back and letting him teach the class such deplorable, hateful things. When she thought about Remus, one of her closest friends, sitting in that awful class, listening to what Clancy had to say about werewolves, she became angry. Very angry. At Professor Clancy for teaching that werewolves were evil, at Professor Dumbledore for hiring him, at the Ministry for truly believing the curriculum, and most of all, at herself for letting Clancy speak negatively about her friend.

At three in the morning, Dorcas had gotten out of bed, gathered her Defense books, and went into the common room. She took notes on every reference to lycanthropy in the book, but she wasn’t satisfied with the answers she found there. The book and Clancy said that werewolves were Dark creatures because their blood had been tainted. She had never heard such a ridiculous argument in her life, and she was going to find facts to disprove those belligerent, arrogant wizards who actually believed it.

Two hours later, every book in the library on lycanthropy was piled up around Dorcas. She had even managed to convince Professor Sprout to give her a pass to the Restricted Section. The Herbology professor had been reluctant, but when Dorcas told her candidly about what she was trying to do, Sprout had positively beamed at her student.

Dorcas had filled three rolls of parchment with notes and citations. She was disgruntled to find that over half of her notes detailed the Dark qualities of werewolves. Sure, there were some feral werewolves who terrorized villages because they didn’t know any better, but there were also werewolves like Remus, who did all they could to make sure they didn’t hurt anyone.

She flipped through One-Hundred and One Myths About Lycanthropy, frowning as she did so. All her evidence that suggested werewolves could be civil and peaceful had to do with her experiences with Remus, and she would never use him to prove a point. There had to be something more conclusive in one of these books. She would just have to keep looking.

“What are you doing?”

Dorcas jumped a foot in the air, tipping over her ink bottle in the process. Lily Evans climbed over a stack of books that Dorcas had piled in the center of the aisle and sat on the floor beside her best friend. On her other side, Remus Lupin did the same.

“Madam Pince is going to kill you,” Remus laughed.

While Dorcas was busy cleaning up the ink with her wand, Lily picked up the parchment half-filled with Dorcas’s latest notes, and Remus hefted a book off the ground. It was so old that the gold title had completely peeled away except for a single letter A. His face paled as he flipped open the cover.

“Why are you taking notes about werewolves?” Lily asked, shifting through more rolls of parchment.

Dorcas froze, half-bent over the ink stain on the carpet. She glanced at Remus, who looked like he was about to be sick. Dumbledore had forbidden her to use her ability, but she had to know. She gazed directly into Remus’s eyes and gently pushed into his mind. She saw a fuzzy image of Remus telling Lily that he had to visit his sick aunt.

“Because of that bastard Clancy,” she said, looking apologetically at Remus.

She hadn’t wanted to mention it in front of him. It must have been painful for him to listen to Clancy say all of those terrible things. He dropped his eyes, studying the faded yellow pages of the book in his lap.

“I’m going to prove that werewolves aren’t all bad. In fact, some of them are better citizens and friends than most witches and wizards,” Dorcas continued, very matter-of-factly.

She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if Lily said anything bad about werewolves in front of Remus. If she did, it would be all Dorcas’s fault, not that she thought Lily would say anything bad about anyone other than James Potter. Still, as a Muggle-born, she only knew what was taught to her at Hogwarts.

“You know,” Lily began, glancing down at the parchment in her lap, “I don’t see why Clancy was so militant yesterday. Muggles are fascinated with werewolves. There are movies and novels and songs about them. I mean, that they’re real is a bit scary, to be honest. But it’s not like they asked for it. From what the books says transformation is very painful. Who would want that? And the way wizards discriminate against them is just wrong.”

By the end of her comments, both Remus and Dorcas were grinning ear-to-ear. Lily glanced between them, not sure what she could have said to make Remus so happy.

“How are you going to prove it, though?” Lily continued. “It’s not like too many people are going to listen to a fourteen-year-old.”

“I haven’t gotten there yet,” she admitted.

A moment later Madam Pince came bustling around the corner with a stack of books that needed shelving floating beside her. When she saw her precious books piled on the floor and an ink stain on the carpet, she went berserk. She waved her wand threateningly and screeched at Lily, Remus, and Dorcas to get out of the library and stay out for the rest of the week.

The three fourth-years skidded into the hallway, tumbling over Dorcas’s knapsack and rolls of parchment that had been thrown from the library. Laughingly uncontrollably, they gathered up the materials and scuttled away. They ended up under the tree by the lake, still laughing and clutching their sides.

“She … is … going … to give … us … detention for … the rest of … the school year,” Remus said, between laughs.

Dorcas, who was wiping the tears away from her eyes, began giggling again. It was another twenty minutes before they all stopped laughing, and for the next hour they broke into intermittent fits of laughter.

“I’ve got an idea!” Lily said, triumphantly. “You could protest using civil disobedience!”

“Civil disobedience?” Remus asked. “Is that another one of your funny Muggle inventions?”

“It’s been done in Muggle history, but I’m sure wizards have done it too. If Binns would teach about more than giant wars and goblin revolts we might know. When Muggles think something unjust is happening, sometimes they’ll use non-violent resistance, like sit-ins and hunger strikes. It’ll be like Gandhi, but at Hogwarts!”

“Gandhi?” Dorcas questioned.

“Yeah, Mahatma Gandhi. He’s really famous in Muggle history. I think you’d really like him, Dorcas. He said, ‘An eye for an eye and the whole world will go blind’.”

Dorcas’s face lit up. “I do like him! Tell me more.”

The rest of the day passed by normally, but that was all about to change sooner than Lily and Remus could have guessed. It happened at sixty-thirty that evening, when nearly all the students were in the Great Hall for dinner.

Dorcas took a deep breath, steeling her nerves. She pushed aside her empty plate and goblet and stood up from her seat. Her hands were shaking, and she could already feel the heat in her cheeks. She placed one foot on the bench and resolutely climbed onto the table.

The chatter in the Great Hall died slowly. The Hufflepuffs were the first table to stop eating and stare at her. Dorcas faced the High Table where the professors, trying her best to ignore the many pairs of eyes looking in her direction. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, on either side of the Hufflepuff table, quieted down next, gazing curiously at her. Finally, the Slytherins, noticing the lack of noise, turned their attention to Dorcas.

At the High Table, the Professors displayed varying degrees of shock. McGonagall looked scandalized, Sprout looked furious, and Slughorn looked exceptionally pleased. All of them were gazing between Dorcas and Dumbledore. The Headmaster surveyed his student with sparkling eyes.

“You wish to say something, Miss Meadowes?” he asked.

“I do, sir,” she replied, her voice shaking slightly.

“Then you might want to speak up,” he advised.

Dorcas took another deep breath and glanced furtively at the Gryffindor table. Remus’s jaw was hanging open, but Lily was grinning widely and nodded her encouragement.

“Yesterday, something deplorable happened inside Hogwarts Castle,” Dorcas began. When her fellow students remained silent, she continued, somewhat heartened. “A professor made a student feel worthless and guilty. We are here to learn magic, not to learn self-hate. I will not sit back and let my values and my decisions be disgraced by the opinions of one professor and the curriculum imposed upon us by the Ministry of Magic any longer. Yesterday, superiority of pure blood was taught in a classroom inside this castle, and that cannot be tolerated.”

The Slytherin students began whispering, but Dorcas ignored them. This speech wasn’t for them. She knew they would never go along with her ideas anyway.

“If you actually believe that the blood that runs through our veins determines our destiny, then stop listening now. But if you, like me, believe that it is our choices that define us, stand up and say that you do not want lessons like this to continue. If you believe that all beings are equal, stand up and say so. Tell Professor Clancy, Professor Dumbledore, and the Ministry of Magic that you do not want to learn about superiority of blood!”

Whispering broke out all over the Great Hall. By this time, the fourth-years had figured out what Dorcas was talking about and were spreading the subject matter up and down the House tables. The Slytherins were the loudest of all, many of them yelling at Dorcas to sit down.

“If you want to change the way we treat our fellow magical creatures, then you have to take a stand now.”

Her following sentence was drowned out by the jeering Slytherins.

“Sonorous!” Dorcas whispered, pointing her wand at her throat. Her next words were ten times louder than her normal voice and echoed off the stone walls. “And if you’re a Slytherin, you can piss off!”

The whole Hall went silent and nearly every student turned towards the teachers to see how they would react. Calmly, Dorcas cast the countercharm and her voice returned to normal.

“From this point on, the Association for Werewolf Equality will be staging a sit-in in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom until such a time as the bigoted material is removed from the curriculum. Anyone interested in joining A.W.E., please follow me.”

Dorcas climbed off the table and walked out of the Great Hall, ignoring the whispers and gazes that followed her retreating back. She was sure that Lily would follow her, but she didn’t know if her speech would affect anyone else. She wasn’t even sure that Remus would come, as he wanted to protect his secret. To her great surprise, there was a lot of excited chatter behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a handful of students were coming to the Defense classroom with her.

Lily was leading the group and beaming with pride. The Marauders followed behind her, Remus trying not to look conspicuous though he stood head and shoulders above the crowd. Two first-year Hufflepuffs and Louis Lovegood trailed behind the Gryffindors. That wasn’t a great deal of students considering the size of Hogwarts, but it was more than Dorcas had counted on.

“You should have told me you were doing this for Remus,” Lily whispered. “It about killed him to explain it to me this afternoon.”

Dorcas glanced over her shoulder at Remus, who was trying to keep a grin on his face while James and Sirius excitedly explained the student protest to Nearly Headless Nick and the Fat Friar.

Dorcas fell into step with her best friend. “It’s not just for him. It’s for everyone like him who isn’t brave enough to tell their friends or don’t have any friends to tell.”

“Hell yes!”

Dorcas glanced over her shoulder to see that Sirius Black and James Potter had uttered the exclamation in unison, having heard her comment. She laughed; suddenly very happy that she had taken the leap and did what she knew was right.

At the Defense classroom, Lily performed some excellent Charms work and unlocked the heavily guarded doors. When everyone was inside, Dorcas waved her wand several times, causing all of the desks to line themselves up against the wall. She eased herself onto the floor and the others followed, forming a circle in the center of the room.

“What are we going to do tomorrow morning when there are classes?” one of the first-years asked.

“There aren’t going to be classes tomorrow or any day until the Administration is ready to make some concessions,” Dorcas answered.

“Oh,” the girl said, nodding. “I see.”

Dorcas sealed the door shut, and Lily charmed it to only open for Professor Dumbledore. The night passed uneventfully. Louis Lovegood took several quotes from Dorcas, which he promised to publish in the school newspaper, and James transfigured several old cloaks hanging in the closet into sleeping bags and pillows around midnight.

“This is really brave, Dorcas. We could get expelled,” Sirius whispered. Several similar conversations were occurring around the room.

“Wouldn’t it be worth it? To make a difference? To prove our loyalties?”

“Absolutely. You know, if we ever get out this room, we should go to Hogsmeade.”

“What? All of us? Why?”

Sirius laughed lightly. “I think you’re a little too book smart for you own good. I meant you and me.”

“Oh.” Dorcas was very glad that all the lights were out, because her cheeks were burning and she was grinning stupidly. “Yeah, that would fun.”

“Great. Next Hogsmeade weekend after werewolves have been declared equal at Hogwarts, it’s just you and me.”

“Way to go, Sirius, mate,” James said. “Now can you shut-up so the rest of us can go to sleep?”

Dorcas buried her face in her pillow, suddenly aware of how quiet it was in the room. On her other side, Lily turned over to face Dorcas.

“Traitor,” she murmured.

“You really expected me to turn down Sirius? Are you kidding?”

“Well, I turn down Potter all the time.”

“Yeah, but Sirius is hotter than James.”

Everyone in the room began laughing, all except for James. Dorcas, only just realizing how loudly she had been talking, buried herself in her sleeping bag. A strong hand closed around her upper arm and Sirius leaned very close to her ear.

“You’re not too difficult to look at either,” he whispered.

Dorcas fell asleep in complete ecstasy. Her sit-in was underway, she had good number of people willing to support it, Sirius Black had finally asked her on a date, and he thought she was pretty. It just couldn’t get any better.

The protestors were awoken the following morning by Professor Clancy banging on the doors. Lily’s charm had worked wonderfully. The doors wouldn’t budge when Professor McGonagall came to collect her students or when Professor Flitwick came just to congratulate Lily on her Charms work.

“Well done, Miss Evans! I can’t even Confund them! Twenty points to Gryffindor!” he squeaked, and the Gryffindors cheered.

Defense classes had to be cancelled that day because Professor Clancy had left all of his lesson plans, homework to be handed back, and his wand in his desk. The day was spent practicing dueling, pulling pranks, and singing raucous drinking songs the bartender of the Hog’s Head had taught the Marauders. At mealtimes house-elves sent by Dumbledore appeared with trays of food.

The routine continued the following day, complete with Professor Clancy banging angrily on the doors. Well after dinner on the second day, the doors swung open soundlessly. The protesting students were in the middle of learning how to transfigure a quill into a dungbomb (taught by James, of course) when the Headmaster appeared in the doorway.

“Mr. Filch will insist that quills be banned from Hogwarts,” he said calmly.

Dorcas slipped her wand back into her robes and stepped forward. Dumbledore regarded her for a moment, a slight smile on his lips and a sparkle in his eye.

“The Administration is ready to negotiate. Professor Clancy and Professor Sprout are waiting in my office. Who will be the witnesses for the Association for Werewolf Equality?”

“Lily and Remus,” Dorcas said promptly.

The three students and Headmaster walked quickly through the halls. In the Head’s Office, Professor Sprout was perched on a chintz armchair, but Professor Clancy was pacing the room and scowling.

Dorcas walked past him with her head held high and took the seat next to Professor Sprout. She glanced at her Head of House, wondering exactly how severe her punishment would be. She was surprised to see the professor grinning.

“Well done,” she whispered. “Like Helga Hufflepuff herself!”

“Did you put her up to this?” Clancy demanded, advancing at Remus. “I was only telling the truth!”

“Professor!” Dumbledore cried, fire flashing in his eyes. “You are out of line. I dare say Miss Meadowes will not give your classroom back for some time if you insult Mr. Lupin again.”

Dorcas glanced at Remus. He looked like the satisfaction of the past two days had worn off. She turned back to Dumbledore, who was sitting at his desk calmly.

“You have named all of your terms, I suppose?”

Dorcas nodded. “I have.”

“This Administration agrees. It has been decided that this year, and every year hereafter, during the lessons on lycanthropy, you may teach one class during which you can express your views, so long as they are based in fact or coherent philosophy. Do you agree?”

“I agree,” Dorcas said, smiling.

The students stood up from their chairs and headed towards the door. Dorcas was anxious to tell the students still in the Defense classroom that they had succeeded.

“Oh, and Miss Meadowes,” Dumbledore said. She turned around, expecting at least a month’s worth of detentions. “Fifty points to Hufflepuff.”

*~*~*

December, 1978

Over the next few weeks, Dorcas’s life settled into a somewhat predictable routine that she felt comfortable with. Healer training became more difficult as the semester progressed, but she had expected that. She adapted to the increased workload as any serious student did: by reading textbooks while eating lunch and buying a top-notch dictation quill so that she could do her homework while in the shower and walking through the corridors of St. Mungo’s.

The Order of the Phoenix hadn’t had an official meeting, but assignments had been passed onto to Dorcas through Healer Bones and Lily. Dorcas’s responsibilities had increased greatly during the six weeks she had been a member of the Order.

The hospital ward was almost complete. The cabinets were stocked with potions ingredients, and she and Lily had spent an entire week brewing everything from Sleeping Draughts to Numbing Tonics. Lily had left the more advanced medical potions for Dorcas, but she appreciated the company nonetheless. The chest of drawers between each bed were filled with supplies, privacy screens put into place, and the ward charmed to be sound-proof. The small room next to the ward had become something of an office for Dorcas, who spent a week arranging the reference books and setting up a filing system.

One night while she was writing an essay about the dangers of using transfigured medical items, a brilliantly white stag-Patronus appeared in her study. The Patronus belonged to Potter, and although Dorcas had received many similar messengers, she had never received one from Potter, nor had she ever expected to. She was friends with Lily and Remus and was getting along with Black better, but she and Potter were still ignoring one another as they had done all through their school years.

He asked her to come to Holly Falls, but didn’t say why in the message. As she found out upon arriving at headquarters, the request was a result of an injury Lily had received doing secret business for the Order.

“Merlin!” Dorcas exclaimed, as she entered the hospital ward.

She stopped dead in her tracks, staring horrified at Lily. She was pale and unconscious, and the fabric of her robes around her left shoulder had been ripped and badly burnt. Dark blood seeped freely from the wound, despite Potter’s best attempts to staunch the flow. He leapt up from his place when he saw Dorcas, and Black turned sharply, startled by her sudden entry. Black didn’t look much better than Lily. His face was pale and dirty, and he had a long, deep gash on the side of his face.

“What do you need?” Potter asked. He spoke rapidly and his voice was high-pitched.

Dorcas physically shook herself out of her trance. She had almost completed her first semester of practical courses, but she had never been trained to see her best friend bleeding to death.

“I … uh … I need ….” Dorcas swallowed thickly, her eyes traveling back to Lily.

James was waiting anxiously. Moisture glistened in his hazel eyes as he followed Dorcas’s line of sight. She was struck by how powerless he looked, and she knew she had made the right decision in never telling Lily about how he and Black had harassed Snape throughout seventh-year.

“I need,” Dorcas began again, “Blood-Replenishing Potion, the Sinduela Potion labeled ‘two dash three,’ warm water, towels, and bandages.”

She hurried over to Lily’s bed, pulling out her wand. Black had produced the towels and bandages from the chest of drawers and was filling the porcelain basin on the chest with water from his wand. Dorcas waved her wand deftly, performing the charm she had practiced many times.

“Claudio Corpus!”

The wound sealed for a moment, but split open again before any of the blood could be cleaned away. Potter stood behind Dorcas, watching her perform the charm again. He thrust the potion bottles in her direction, wordlessly motioning to the reopened wound. Dorcas paused, not knowing what to do. After trying the charm twice more, she did the only thing she could think of.

“Expecto Loci Patronum!”

Her silver deer shot from the room. Hopefully, Healer Bones would be able to come quickly. She handed Black and Potter wet towels and told them to put pressure on the wound while she used a Severing Charm to cut away the fabric around the wound. Lily’s skin was tinged purple, as if a spell had embedded itself into her skin.

“What spell did this?” she asked.

Black shook his head. “I was too busy ducking the Killing Curses. Prongs?”

Potter also shook his head. “I got there after she was already unconscious. I grabbed her and Disapparated.”

Dorcas looked up sharply at Black. “What were you and Lily doing together?”

He bristled at the implication, but answered through clenched teeth. “Standing guard in Hogsmeade, if you must know.”

A cold chill passed down Dorcas’s spine. If Dumbledore had Order members in Hogsmeade, then Hogwarts wasn’t the safe haven she had always thought it was. Darius could be in danger, her father was a Hit Wizard hunting Death Eaters every day, and Dorcas had joined the Order. It was possible that no one in her family would survive the war.

When Healer Bones arrived, he ordered Black and Potter out of the room. The latter protested, but Black pulled him out of the hospital ward.

“We’ll only be in their way,” he said soothingly. “It’ll be faster if we wait outside.”

Healer Bones sealed the wound in no time while Dorcas measured out the potions and prepared the bandages. The old man looked troubled by the injury, especially when Dorcas asked him what had inflicted it.

“The Curse of Marked Death. It’s a unique curse, one that is designed to cause death only after severe physical pain. No one has yet figured out the incantation, not even Dumbledore, because he will not experiment with Dark magic, but he did find a cure.”

“Sir, if no one has figured out the incantation, then how did someone cast it on Lily?”

“You misunderstand, Miss Meadowes. No one but the inventor of the curse knows the incantation. It’s his trademark, a way for the whole world to know who marked the victim for punishment. He only uses it when he would prefer the person to remain alive, because he has a purpose for him or her.”

“So … who hurt Lily?”

Healer Bones looked away from Dorcas to study Lily’s pale face. “Voldemort.”

Even weeks later, Dorcas couldn’t deny that the incident was still troubling her. Without so much as a completed semester of training, she was now on Healing duty for the Order. It seemed that the Aurors-in-training were being similarly used. Every time she saw Alice Hall, Frank Longbottom, or Black, they had bandages in new places.

She began spending more time at headquarters than at her own home. Her father had grown increasingly suspicious of her late-night disappearances. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw him gazing intently at her left forearm on several occasions. She wanted so badly to assure him that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named didn’t know about her ability and that she hadn’t joined the Death Eaters of her own volition or under the Imperius Curse, but joining the Order of the Phoenix wouldn’t be much better in his eyes. All he would register was that his daughter was putting herself in harm’s way.

It was true that Dumbledore was relying more heavily upon the younger members than anyone had anticipated, possibly even himself. Despite his decision not to become an Auror, Potter was second in dueling only to the experienced Aurors like Moody and Healer Bones. Being inside the Ministry every day, and yet going unnoticed for the most part, the trainee Aurors were in an excellent position to gather information.

Dorcas also had been asked to gather what intelligence she could. Healer Bones had instructed her to approach the foreign students and gage their reactions to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, particularly the Durmstrang graduates. She was attending more study sessions than ever, just to listen in on gossip.

As Christmas approached and final exams drew closer, Dorcas felt more fatigued than she had in seven years at Hogwarts. Between cramming for the hardest finals she had ever taken, working for the Order, and visiting Lily to check on her healing progress, Dorcas didn’t have a moment of free time. She was working on three hours of sleep a night and was relying heavily on her dictation quill to write out her homework while she was in the shower and even during meals.

Dorcas tossed down her quill and slammed Understanding Lycanthropy shut. Her eyes itched with tiredness, and this book was reminding her of how little she had seen of Remus since graduation. When she thought about Remus, she thought about Lily, and all the fun times the three prefects had spent together at Hogwarts while their other friends were practicing Quidditch or sitting in detention.

She was frustrated and worrying constantly about Lily. She had been contemplating what to do for two weeks, but she wasn’t overly thrilled with her conclusions. Finally, unable to sit at her desk doing nothing any longer, Dorcas slipped out of the house and walked to the gate surrounding Meadowes Manor.

She Apparated into the last place she ever thought she would see again. Godric’s Hollow hadn’t changed much since Dorcas attended Potter’s tenth birthday party. The old homes reflected an earlier period in history than Meadowes Manor did. Yellow electric light leaked out of small, box-shaped windows and shiny automobiles sat in most driveways.

In contrast, the Potter’s home looked like a palace among cottages. She guessed that the family had made magical renovations during the Victorian era because of the sweeping ceilings and elaborately fluted woodwork. Steeling herself, Dorcas walked up the street, keeping the house in her vision.

The door opened after Dorcas pulled the bell for the second time, just when she was about to Apparate home. She was surprised, but felt that she shouldn’t have been, to see that Black had answered the door. The gash on the side of his face had healed and he wasn’t sporting any fresh bandages.

“Meadowes,” he said, equally surprised to see her standing on Potter’s front steps. “Lily is at her parents’ place.”

“I know. I am her Healer,” Dorcas answered, natural sarcasm kicking in. “I’m here to see Potter.”

Black stepped out of the way, eyeing her suspiciously as she entered the atrium. Dorcas suddenly remembered that she was not the only person to have lost family members in the past year. Potter’s parents had died of the Dedolar Virus last winter. They had been old even by wizarding standards and the illness had taken its toll on them. She felt a rush of sympathy for Potter, knowing how painful it was to lose family, and guilt for never having offered her condolences.

She knew the lay-out of the house well enough to find the drawing room. Potter was prodding his last remaining pawn with the end of his wand while the chessman pleaded against sending him to face Black’s rook.

“Looks like you’re losing pretty badly, Potter,” Dorcas said, announcing herself.

Potter looked up in surprise. It seemed to be a reoccurring theme. It wasn’t everyday that Dorcas Meadowes spoke to James Potter, let alone came to his house without being forced. Even in their childhood, it had been her mother who demanded that Dorcas attend Potter’s birthday parities every year. He abandoned the struggling pawn and laid down his wand.

“I’m here because of Lily,” the woman said, wasting no time in getting to the point.

She didn’t want to endure small talk with Potter and Black. Potter motioned for her to sit. Dorcas had to admit, though she didn’t want to, that he looked greatly troubled. So, Potter really did love Lily. That was disturbing, because she’d never known him to love anyone but himself. It was like the world was turning upside down.

“What did Healer Bones or Dumbledore tell you about Lily’s wound?”

Potter shook his head. “Not much. Bones said it was rare, but he’d seen it before. Dumbledore said Bones taught you how to tend it, so if anything went wrong, I should ask you to come again.”

Dorcas sighed audibly. That was so like Dumbledore and Bones. They were always teaching their students, even outside the classroom. She should have guessed that since she was the first person to look at the wound, she was technically Lily’s Healer, and it was her responsibility to keep the information confidential. She was already breaking the Healer’s Oath before she even took it.

“If anyone finds out that I told you what I’m about to say, I’ll be kicked out of the Healer program and barred from medicine for the rest of my life, so keep your mouths shut,” she said, looking between Potter and Black. Surprisingly, they both nodded. “The curse that caused the wound is called the Curse of Marked Death. It’s meant to inflict pain and suffering over a prolonged period of time, but that’s not the worst part. It’s only used when the wizard who casts it has a use for the victim, when he doesn’t want them dead and thinks that the Cruciatus Curse will not be enough to break their will.”

Potter had placed his head in his hands, and Black looked unnaturally somber. Dorcas took a deep breath. The rest of her career would be spent delivering unpleasant news to patients and their family members, especially in the Creature Induced Injuries ward where many of her patients would never fully recover.

“It gets worse,” she plowed on. “There is only one wizard who knows the incantation, so it is an absolute certainty that he used it on Lily.”

“Who?” Potter demanded.

Dorcas swallowed thickly. “You-Know-Who,” she whispered.

Potter stared at her blankly for a moment. “I do?”

“She means Voldemort,” Black clarified.

Normally, he would have laughed at the confusion, but there was nothing funny about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named seriously injuring Lily.

“Voldemort was in Hogsmeade? With the Death Eaters?” Potter asked incredulously.

“He’s been gaining strength. Maybe he’s not as afraid of Dumbledore as he used to be,” Black suggested.

“Or maybe he just really wants Lily.”

The young men looked at Dorcas silently, fear and confusion evident on their faces.

“But she’s Muggle-born,” Potter protested.

Dorcas nodded. “That’s what’s been troubling me since I found out You-Know-Who hurt her. If he’s willing to overlook that, then he has a purpose for her. That’s an even more dangerous situation than working for the Order. That’s why I’m telling you this, because I know you’ll protect her. Lily would kill me if she knew I was here talking about her like she’s a damsel in distress, but she’s been marked. You-Know-Who won’t stop until she’s on his side, and we all know that Lily would die before joining him.”

Silence settled between James and Dorcas as they gazed at one another. Both had lost parents in the last year and both cared deeply for Lily. It felt odd, suddenly relating to Potter and Black. Dorcas wasn’t sure she liked it.

She left quickly after that, having nothing else in common with Potter. The little annoying voice in her head reminded her that she had had amicable conversations with the two Marauders she despised the most. It was almost too much for her to handle. She would have to make a point of avoiding Pettigrew, not that she saw him often anyway.

The pale moonlight reflected off the piles of snow lining the streets and the soft flakes drifting from the sky. Godric’s Hollow looked like a tranquil Christmas card with the houses blanketed in snow and Christmas lights shining red and green in the windows of Muggle homes. It was difficult to imagine a town looking so peaceful during a war.

“Meadowes!”

She waited while Black jogged through the front yard. Once again, she was struck by the difference between the man standing in front of her and the boy at Hogwarts. He looked tired, like most of the Order members did, and worried. She had never known him to look and act so … common. But then, they were in the middle of a war, not just the rivalry for the House Cup.

Dorcas shifted her weight from one foot to the other, waiting for Black to say what he’d run out of the house to say. His eyes focused on the line of broken stone between the shoveled sidewalk and frozen earth as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

“James will take care of Lily, so don’t worry. He’d die before he let anything happen to her.”

Dorcas cocked her head to one side, scrutinizing Black’s face. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he looked awkward. That would have been a first.

“Why are you telling me this?”

He looked up suddenly, caught off guard by the question. “Because I know that Lily is your best friend,” he said, as if the answer was obvious. “If it was James …”

For the second time in two weeks, Dorcas was astounded by a conversation she’d had with Black. He was showing empathy. Of all people, Sirius Black was displaying empathy. It must truly be the end of the world, Dorcas mused.

“Thanks,” she replied, holding back her sarcasm. She kind of liked this side of Black and didn’t want to ruin the moment by snapping at him. “She is, and I’ve already lost a lot people in this war.”

Black nodded slowly. “We all have, in one way or another.”

She wondered what he meant by that, because none of the Blacks had been killed. They were “respectable” purebloods who didn’t associate with Muggles or Muggle-borns, the kind of wizards that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wanted on his side.

“It just seems like we’re all going to die for something or someone before this over,” Dorcas said.

The words had escaped her lips before she could stop them. It was a habit that she’d picked up from her gossiping mother and aunts. Professor Sprout had forever been scolding her about controlling her thoughts. Occlumency had helped a lot, but sometimes, the urge to spill her emotions overpowered her better judgment.

“We’re not all going to die,” Black said, looking taken aback. “Dumbledore will stop Voldemort, and we’ll get on with our lives.”

“They found Benjy Fenwick. Or I should say, they found parts of him.”

“You mean …?” Black’s face contorted in disgust as Dorcas nodded. “How do you know?”

“I hear the coroner telling Healer Bones before class the other day. Gideon Prewett found half a leg and three fingers.”

Black looked like he was going to be sick. Dorcas had experienced that feeling many times during the beginning of the semester. The urge was beginning to wane with the more grotesque diseases she studied and learned to treat.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked, her nurturing instincts kicking in.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Black said, trying to shrug it off. He laughed hollowly. “I guess you know why I passed on Healing.”

“Really? I thought it would have had something to do with your personality. You being the manifestation of Gryffindor House and all.”

She realized too late that she had complimented him. Naturally, he grinned roguishly at her, his ego fully inflated. Dorcas cursed her comforting nature. If he were on his death bed, he might have deserved that comment, but in any other circumstance, his ego was already too big.

“Anyway,” Dorcas said, before Black could make some suggestive comment about how he always knew she was harboring secret lustful fantasies about him. “I should be getting home. I’ll see you around.”

Black’s face fell. Dorcas grinned cheekily, happy that everything was back to normal. She turned sharply and Apparated to her house. She cast the wards on the gate and front door before heading up to bed.

As usual, her father was hovering in the drawing room when she walked through the front door. He didn’t say a word, but handed her an envelope addressed to her in Darius’s handwriting. It had been a long time since her brother had written to her, which she took as a sign that he was recovering and getting on with his life.

Upstairs, she plopped onto her bed and read the letter over twice. He sounded as happy as she had always felt at Hogwarts. She was glad that at least the students at Hogwarts were somewhat shielded from the war. The walls of Hogwarts Castle were a solace she had never fully appreciated until she was too old to go back.