To all my lovely friends, who waited two entire years for me to post this story and just get it done. I hope this is to your satisfaction. If not, stick it. I worked too hard and too long to not just let this be.
This is my disclaimer. I do not own Harry Potter, as much as I would like to pretend I do. This won't stop me menipulating facts as if I did, but I don't.
I need reviews, as all people do, so even a thumbs up is appritiated, dear readers. I just want to know I've been read, is all.
Finally, this chapter is in dedication to my most amazing and beloved friend and editor, Eliana. Eliana, you know who you are. This is for you because you put up with me and all my blunt, half master-minded oppinions, and sit with me on the internet while I have a mental break-down, just to make sure I'm satisfied with my work. You make me a better writter and remind me that I've still got worlds to go until I'm able to call myself good. And because you get it, and I love you for it.
Although often used interchangeably, the words "fate" and "destiny" have distinct connotations. "Fate" relates to events of the future and present of an individual and in cases in literature unalterable, whereas "destiny" relates to the probable future. Fate implies no choice, but with destiny the entity participates in achieving an outcome that is directly related to itself. Participation happens willfully - Wikipedia
Seasons change, as do people.
Winter's sparkling ice and snow melts into rainy, blooming spring. Spring will descend into summer, hot, sunny, alive, and that dims into fresh, real, natural autumn. And autumn, with its darkening colours and golden weeping trees falls into the barren, pure white of winter. And so the cycle continues.
Lily feels a bit like she's floating between these ever-changing periods. One moment she's summer, happy and awake, true and simple. The next Lily finds herself in the raucous winds and dips of autumn, only to awaken feeling fresh and joyous, glowing and growing before she's hit with the ultimate snowstorm. Those leave her staggered, withered, frozen; devoid of any substance that won't melt away and disappear at the slightest hint of warmth. One moment, then the next, followed by another then one more, only to find herself at the start, starting another round. The pattern shifts, the seasons align and realign, and all Lily is left with is experience and the wisdom that follows.
But Lily doesn't mind, it means she's living, growing, and learning. When faced with difficulties, it's best to roll with the punches, River Psychology and the like.
So when she arrives alone at the Hogwarts Express on the first of September, pushing an excessively heavy trunk in a broken-down trolley, she still has a smile on her sunburnt face. And when she has a hard time piling into a reasonably crowded compartment with the aforementioned trunk, it's no trouble at all. This is just life, and this incident is something she is sure will be forgotten almost immediately.
She would have been right, undoubtedly, had James Potter not factored himself into the equation.
Later, much later, Lily will decide that this moment - her, him, her weighty trunk and his unusually stony expression - is the start of forever. James will disagree, stating that the critical moment, the one that would unknowingly influence their future is the one that follows, albeit indirectly. They will both resolve the dispute by agreeing that the moment where it all shapes into more than potential and possibility and into indisputable reality is the moment they both realize that seasons change, as do people.
That moment, however, is still much too far away for Lily to understand its magnitude.
Instead, she pushes damp strands of vibrant red out of her eyes, as patiently as any redhead can when faced with an unsavoury challenge, and tries to yank for a second time on the slick black leather handles. A crowd of second years gather behind her as she prepares for another round of tug-of-war with her unruly luggage. By her fourth try, the only notable success is the front of her trunk finding a home on the second step, blocking the train's entrance entirely. She's entertaining the thought of leaving without her personal belongings.
Alice is around her size, she can borrow robes from her, and the library undoubtedly has any books she may need for the term.
She tries once more, thinking that the comfort of her new bathrobe is too much to give up, and then kicks the back of her trunk when it refuses to budge.
A particularly brave second-year clears her throat. "Err, is it possible to maybe hurry this up? It's nearly eleven."
Lily, red faced, still dripping from this morning's rain, and frustrated beyond belief, turns and sets a very menacing stare on the younger student. "Really? Hadn't noticed."
Immediately, the girl shrinks back.
"Sorry," Lily sighs, pushing her hair behind her ears again. "I- this will just take a minute. I packed too many books, it would seem."
And with a quick smile she means to be reassuring but probably comes off as glowering, she turns back to her trunk for another go. Then a second. On her third try, it works, and suddenly the cumbersome trunk is being lifted off the platform and onto the train, feeling as if it weighs thirty pounds less than it had a second ago. As if someone else had contributed to the push and haul efforts, Lily thinks, and then realizes that someone had.
"Thank Merlin," Another second-year mutters. "I thought we'd be here till the next holiday."
Lily turns, intent on saying thank you to whichever witch or wizard has decided to take pity on her.
"Yeah, well." He scoffs. "I guess it's your lucky day, mate" He mutters, tone holding no sincerity. He turns and walks away before she can fully register his presence, as if oblivious to the weight he'd lifted - literally - from her.
That voice sounds familiar, Lily realizes.
James Potter.
The name sends a bolt of anger through her. James Potter, resident arsewhole and bane of every self-respecting Gryffindor's existence. Bane of every self-respecting anything, she corrects. The wizard who thinks himself Merlin's gift to mankind, torturer of all those less than him, and now- well, now the one who helps her when her trunk gets caught in a train entrance before walking away.
Lily thinks of letting him go, watches as he steps around a cluster of Ravenclaw prefects – the group easily recognizable what with how they're clutching heavy tomes and in their school robes before the train has given its first warning whistle. She almost lets him duck into another compartment and disappear for good, maybe not to be seen until classes tomorrow, maybe not ever, but – damn it. Lily has been raised better than this. She has manners, ideals, standards even, and this is one of them.
Someone is humane enough to help, be humane enough to acknowledge it. Even if someone is Potter and you are Lily Evans, she thinks, frustration underlining her every breath.
Besides, she's made a promise. In the spirit of a new year and with the foolish hope to hurry up the process of what her mother calls 'moving on.'
"Hey, wait!" Lily calls. Her feelings about James are conflicted at best, yet she knows she couldn't let him walk away like this. She is better than that, and she has to show him- show herself. "Thank you."
Potter turns, and she waits for the inevitable. He'll ask her out in return, she just knows it. Nothing comes free when it's Evans and Potter. Lily will yell at him, and she'll know he's learned nothing from last spring. She braces herself as he stares at her a moment, his features expressionless for once.
A second passes, and then he rolls his eyes. It's a cold, angry motion and she feels the act slam into her like a slap in the face. He's never looked at Lily that way. Pesky first years, a particularly difficult Herboligy assignment, those all receive this look on a regular bases. But her, Lily Evans?
She had been wrong. It seems the past year has left lingering scars on more than just one relationship.
"It wasn't for you, Evans," his tone is still devoid of any benevolence. "I wasn't going to leave them standing there."
And before she can even blink, Potter disappears between a mass of coloured robes and eager students.
What in the world?
She shakes her head, and then pushes back the thick curtain of red that tucks itself between her lashes and sticks in her lip-gloss. She made a promise to let last spring go, she must keep to it. She is being the model witch here, offering her gratitude, and he is being an arse about it. It's nothing new with Potter, she shouldn't care. It doesn't matter that he treats her differently now, aloofly, it's what she's been aiming at for years.
Potter is the least of her worries, she reminds herself. Well, perhaps not the least, maybe not even one of the least, but the theme is all the same. There are more important things to occupy her time with than this.
"Will you let us get on the bloody train now?"
Lily starts, turning to find four sets of expectant eyes trained on her. She shrugs, tries to play this as calmly as she can because she doesn't care.
"Go ahead. I'm certainly not stopping you," She tells them irritably as she steps aboard and begins to wheel her trunk towards a different compartment.
She doesn't care, Lily reminds herself numbly, and tries to go with this flow, roll with these punches. River Psychology, she repeats mentally. She doesn't let thoughts of Potter, or Severus, or of that word permeate her mind. She needs to let go and move on.
After all, Lily realizes that people change.
Lily Evans doesn't understand the magnitude of this thought until later, much later. When she finally does, she also comprehends the irony in this thought, this moment - her, him, her weighty trunk and his unusually stony expression – is the ironic start of something that will define her. Something that will eventually change the world, give it hope through her faith, and save them all.
Seasons change, as do people, and this is the making of history.
But right now, as Lily tucks herself into one of the last available compartments and pulls out her own heavy tome from her too-heavy trunk, she reflects on life. On how one moment she had all she needed, and now she's rather alone.
Even her bloody cat is missing.
I would like to ask for any availible Brit-checkers. I am not British and this is a British fiction; therefore, I would love for someone to check my work over, and maybe even answer questions for me. Suggestions?