I Always Knew

by AllIWannaDo

I always knew that I would die young. I wasn't sure, of course, and I certainly never told anyone. But I knew. A brief look at the life and death of one Dorcas Meadowes. oneshot

I always knew that I would die young.

I wasn't sure, of course, and I certainly never told anyone.

But I knew.

Don't get me wrong, I'm no seer. I never claimed to have a clear vision of the future; I still don't. I can just sense things like that sometimes. It runs in my family.

I swear I'm not crazy.

As a child, I had no concept of a future. I could never imagine myself married with a family, or growing old. I never even saw myself happy. I saw myself through my teenage years, graduating Hogwarts and getting a job at the Ministry, perhaps working as an Auror – then, nothing. The trail of my thoughts ran cold, and somehow I knew it wasn't due to my lack of an imagination. After twenty-one, I would cease to exist.

I had no hopes, no dreams for the future.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" folks often asked, faces shining with enthusiasm.

I knew they expected a nice, normal answer. Too bad the word "normal" had never been introduced into my vocabulary. I settled on the truth instead. "Alive."

Everyone avoided the question after that.

So, I plastered a smile on my face and learned to pretend. I resigned myself to my fate, trying to maintain some level of normalcy. I didn't want to end up in St. Mungo's with the rest of my crackpot family.

Funny, isn't it? While other young women dreamed of their wedding day, I was coming to terms with my certain death.

I don't think it really sunk in, everything that I was losing. Sure, I liked life. I didn't want to die. No teenager does. But I didn't properly mourn for the life that I'd never get to have. Instead, I tried to make the most of the time I had left.

I was unnecessarily reckless at school, ditching class in favor of snogging boys in broom cupboards, and partying in Hogsmeade till well past curfew. Pick a rule, any rule, and odds are I broke it. I never studied; my poor marks hardly mattered to me. Quidditch was my one talent, and even that didn't warrant my full attention. I was reasonably well-liked, though quick to pick fights. Lily attributed it to my carefree nature, Alice to my sharp-tongued insanity. I had a natural charm, and I learned to use it to my advantage. No one could control me. Not my parents, not Dumbledore, and especially not Filch. I received more Howlers than I could count, but it never did any good. Neither did the detentions. Or the guilt.

I didn't care. Not about any of it. Rumors circulated that the Dark Lord and his followers were among us, gaining strength in their campaign against muggle-borns, and all others deemed unworthy of practicing magic. Reports of murders, kidnappings, and mass destruction appeared again and again in The Daily Prophet, casting a shadow over the entire wizarding world. I was no longer alone in my assumption that my life could end at any moment.

I still didn't care. I was young and alive – for now – and I wanted to feel it. I'd be damned if I let fear get in the way of that. For if there was one thing I was certain of, other than my premature death, it was that I was a fighter. Maybe I wouldn't live to see Voldemort defeated, but I would contribute to the cause. I didn't know the circumstances of my death yet, but I hoped I would go down fighting. I wouldn't make it easy for those bastards either.

But I was young, and I wasn't ready to give my life to the cause yet. It took me a while to decide to join the Order, Dumbledore's "secret society," dedicated to annihilating Voldy and his precious Death Eaters. I wasted time on other things. I reckon somewhere, in the back of my mind, I hoped I was wrong. Maybe I would live to see my shiny dark hair turn dull with flecks of gray; maybe there were fat grandchildren in my future, after all. Was it too late to start collecting cookie recipes? I wasn't sure. Clearly, nothing had changed. My "inner eye" found nothing but blackness in my future. I took comfort in the fact that my powers were probably weak, rusty from lack of use. Maybe I'd been wrong all along. Maybe I'd never had any special abilities. Maybe…just maybe…I wouldn't have to die. I couldn't shake the notion. I ran from my destiny, all the while pretending to accept it.

Everything changed in my 7th year, when I had my first real vision.

I was sitting at the bar in The Flaming Phoenix, a quaint little pub located in the heart of Hogsmeade. It was a Friday night, and I was on my sixth (or seventh) drink. I wasn't drunk, exactly; my senses were merely impaired. I'd helped Alice and Lily – my best friends - sneak out of the castle to get Lily's mind off of her break-up with soon-to-be husband James Potter. Predictably, James and Sirius (his best mate) had joined us halfway through the night, sauntering over as if they owned the place. You just couldn't get away from those blokes. Alice was alone, hiding in a corner somewhere, trying to attract as little attention as possible. James and Lily were dancing. And Sirius had left me to go find the loo. Or so he'd claimed. I had it on good authority that he was actually spying on James and Lily. Typical. The poor bloke was in desperate need of a life.

I would manage just fine on my own. Sirius' absence didn't trouble me. I was too far gone for that. Besides, I could take care of myself. I knew enough not to talk to "creeps." I may have been reckless, but I wasn't stupid.

Which is why, when a scary old hag slid onto the stool next to me, I pretended not to notice. I took another sip of my drink, keeping my eyes trained on the dancers swaying to and fro. When the glass was empty, I set it down on the counter, swiveling back and forth on my stool. The motion made me slightly queasy, so I stopped. I continued to scan the crowd expectantly. Let her think I was waiting for someone. Maybe then she'd quit ogling me.

She didn't. "Imagine meeting you here, dear," she said, flashing me a crooked smile.

Her voice was surprisingly clear, a stark contrast to her weathered appearance.

I was leaning forward before I knew it, drawn toward her strange mystique.

I turned, eyeing her curiously. "Yes, imagine that. Do I know you?"

I was being rude on purpose. Disrespecting my elders and all that. My mother would've surely reprimanded me for that display. I expected a similar reaction from the old hag beside me. A lecture complete with a one-way ticket to Azkaban. Or something equally as horrifying.

I got neither. "No. But I know you, Dorcas."

Funny. I didn't remember telling her my name. "Excuse me, but how the hell do you know my name…ma'am?" I added the last word in a mock attempt at politeness. See? I wasn't all bad.

She shrugged. "I know plenty." Her silver eyes bored into me, searching my soul, sifting through my thoughts with ease. I chewed on my tongue absently, unable to look away. For once, I was at a loss for words. "The Dark Lord will rise…the end is near, Dorcas..."

Huh? She started mumbling incoherently then, and I assumed at first that she was going to warn me against wandering alone at night. The bit about the Dark Lord (a.k.a. Volde-pain-in-my-bloody-arse-mort) was her way of leading into it. I would've bet ten galleons on it. Old people live to lecture. Trust me, I've had experience.

Only, her little talk wasn't progressing quite like I'd imagined. Snapping to attention, I noticed that her face had changed. She was no longer smiling, and her eyes had glazed over. Her small form quaked violently, her breathing ragged.

What was wrong with her? I didn't understand, didn't know what to do, or what to say. Panic struck me. "Erm…are you quite all right?" I asked, all animosity forgotten.

Her gaze redirected toward me, her eyes unseeing, though somehow aware of my presence. Words tumbled out of her mouth at rapid speed, rising and falling in pitch and running together in their mad effort to reach me. My head began to ache painfully, and suddenly I wished I were back at Hogwarts, curled up in my dorm, a heavy textbook open in my lap, a tiresome night of studying ahead of me…but I couldn't just leave. No, it was wrong. I put a hand on the hag's shoulder, trying to soothe her into relaxation. Gradually, her breathing slowed, and her words became clear…

"You will die alone. Beware, Dorcas Meadowes." At the mention of my name, her face contorted into a sickly sweet smile – almost a grimace – her voice so quiet that only I could hear. "The Dark Lord will rise. He is coming; he will not stop. You will die at his hands before your 22nd birthday. You can't change fate. You will die…ALONE."

She was rocking back and forth again. Before I could react, she leaned forward and latched onto my arm. My entire body shook with the force, paralyzing me to the spot. Inexplicably, my surroundings began to dissolve around me. I blinked, and I was submerged in darkness. Everything had disappeared. I tried to cry out, but my voice failed me. And then I saw it: my death. The image seemed to move in slow motion. Voldemort sweeping through the doorway, anger visible in his beady red eyes. A photograph, information that I refused to give. Harsh words exchanged. Pleading. A terrifying shock of green…and then, it was over. Just like that. One clean sweep of Voldemort's wand and I was gone forever. I felt so…alone…the darkness beckoning me forward…

Alone. The word strengthened my grip on reality. I maintained it long enough to free my arm. "Leave me alone!" I shouted, finding my voice. "LILY!" But there was no answer. I stumbled into the crowd, my vision blurry. I touched a hand to my cheek, surprised to find it moist. A sticky mixture of sweat and…tears? No. I never cried. I whipped out my wand, swiping angrily at my cheeks, and ready to hex whoever was foolish enough to lay a hand on me. Sirius called my name from a distance. He ran forward, red light shooting from the tip of his wand toward my attacker. She dodged it. Shaking my head to clear it, I tried again, but she was ready with a counter-curse this time. We continued to fight, flinging hexes wildly. BANG! I spun around, my eyes falling upon the crumpled form of Lily on the floor. I screamed, panic rising like bile in my throat. I swallowed, forcing it back. James came then; he helped me drag her upward, carrying her through the crowd and out into the rain. The rest of us followed suit. By the time I had composed myself, my so-called attacker had vanished. Gone. Or…perhaps "gone" isn't the correct term to use. Physically, she was no longer present, but she never truly left me. I replayed our encounter over and over again in my mind, trying to make sense of it. I could still hear her, even smell her. Her words struck a cord inside of me. You can't change fate.

My darkest suspicions had been confirmed.

I was going to die. I was sure of it now. I'd seen it with my own eyes. Voldemort would come for me soon. I didn't know when, exactly, but it would be before my 22nd birthday. I had five years – at most – to live. Merlin. There was nothing I could do to keep him from killing me. It was fate. Five years was all I had left. It wasn't enough time – no, not nearly enough. Five years. I would have to accept it.

The next morning I told Dumbledore I wanted to join the Order. He didn't ask questions. He nodded and motioned for me to take a seat.

From then on, I stopped trying to suppress my visions.

It would take me a while to perfect my skills – the rest of my Hogwarts' career, in fact. A lifetime of neglect had weakened my control of my senses, and at first it was difficult to force a response from them. Things had only ever come to me involuntarily, unwanted: snippets of information I tried to ignore, haunting me as I skipped past gruesome headlines in the morning paper, or stared out across the Great Lake, my mind blank. Whatever my instincts were telling me, I assured myself I didn't want to know. I still didn't. But it didn't matter. I had a duty to uphold; the entire Order was counting on me. I was their one certainty. Their only hope of predicting Voldemort's seemingly random attacks.

My attempts weren't always successful. Predicting the future is a tricky business. Voldemort was a rather indecisive bloke. He changed his plans frequently, confusing my visions, and forcing me to resort to guesswork. The fact that innocent lives hung in the balance only complicated my job. I almost couldn't take the pressure. It made me remember why I disliked the art of Divination so much. Why I hated the very thought of a future shrouded in darkness, of secrets swirling in the mists of a crystal ball, or strewn carelessly amongst leftover tea leaves. What was the use of peering into the future if it wasn't clear?

Luckily, my guesses were usually right. At least seventy-five percent of the time. I rejoiced over my triumphs, and tried not to dwell on my failures. It wasn't long before word spread of my existence, my remarkable ability to get inside the Dark Lord's head, and accurately predict his movements. Needless to say, the news didn't please him. I went into hiding shortly after, in an attempt to slow the arrival of fruit baskets and Death Eaters on my doorstep, products of my newfound fame. I was Voldemort's prime target, the Order's most heavily guarded member. Useless. It was my destiny to die; I still hadn't forgotten. The excitement surrounding my twenty-first birthday celebration was tainted. The end of my life was near. One more year. I wouldn't live to see the start of the next. My life was of a temporary quality, as if I were slowly slipping away, already part of the spirit world…

All of this has led me here. The moment I've been waiting for my entire life. My time has just run out.

"You know, if you're going to kill me, you'd best do it now. I haven't got all night," I say, yawning as I try – and fail – to break free of my binds. "Just think of all the poor, defenseless mudbloods you could be torturing!"

Voldemort pauses in his pacing, turning toward me with a snarl. "When the time comes, I shall truly enjoy killing you."

I snort, masking my fear as he gazes at me in a way that I can only describe as hungry – like a wild animal stalking his prey. "And I shall truly enjoy dying?"

Did he just roll his eyes? "No. Not until you tell me what you see."

I sigh noisily, addressing the Death Eater on my right. "Do you believe this guy?" He – Nott, most likely – looks away. I focus back on Voldemort, biding my time till he comes within spitting distance again. I would love the chance to cleanse his blood. "I told you. I don't see anything."

I wasn't lying. I really hadn't seen anything. The photograph in my lap – Lily and James, a baby nestled safely in Lily's arms – had so far yielded no information. I knew their past well, perhaps even better than my own, witnessing most of it firsthand. It was their future that evaded me. A future that Voldemort now wished to meddle in.

"Crucio!"

My flesh burns as the dark magic tears into me, distracting me from my thoughts. I feel myself thrashing and writhing, fighting to escape the pain, for death's sweet release…The photograph falls to the floor, and Voldemort lifts the curse.

He smiles smugly. "NOW…what do you see?"

The Death Eater at my left – Snape, maybe? – kneels and hands me the photograph, his eyes pleading. Is that compassion I see? I blink, deciding it doesn't matter.

I sigh, closing my eyes, concentrating on the image of the happy family before me. I probe deeper this time, making an honest effort to discern their future. Nope - nothing.

I can feel Voldemort watching me in anticipation.

Hmm. I may have a few tricks up my sleeve yet.

I move my hands to my forehead, massaging my temples. With a gasp, I fling my body backwards. A cry of agony escapes my lips as I begin to convulse, successfully drawing Voldemort's attention.

"What – What do you see?" His voice is anxious – excited, even.

"I see…ohh…I see…" I moan a few times, in a comical imitation of a muggle physic. Or at least I thought it was comical. Voldemort appears not to appreciate my brand of humor. "A dark room, with a Chudley Cannons poster…and a trolley of chocolate frogs…and…a letter, my Lord…concerning…"

I pause for dramatic effect.

Silence.

Then…

I am caught off-guard by a real vision. But it's different, more expansive than any of my others. Suddenly it's as if everything has fallen into place – like pieces of a puzzle, coming together with a click. Everything is connected. Voldemort. His interest in Lily and James. My death. Everything makes sense. We all have a purpose. And not only that, but I have a choice, an opportunity to manipulate the future as I see fit. The hag was wrong; I can change fate, after all.

It was Harry he was after, not Lily and James. The boy who would someday be famous for putting an end to the Dark Lord's reign. Voldemort had already identified Harry as a threat. Snape had seen to that. He was going to kill him – a mere infant. He only needed me to confirm his suspicions.

He wouldn't kill me if I cooperated. My death would be senseless in his eyes, wasted potential…If he kept me alive, he could use my power to his advantage. But he would kill Lily and James. And Harry too.

It was a trade-off: my life or theirs.

It should have been an easy choice, but it wasn't.

My life had never truly been my own before; it wasn't mine to keep. I was a slave to my destiny. I had always known that I would die young, that my stay was only temporary. I had no right to question fate, no right to go back on my word now. I'd long ago given up hope. I was prepared to die. Of course. But was it really so wrong to want to live?

I supposed I had done all right in my life. Anyone else would have been satisfied. But not me. I wanted more. Dammit, I wanted it all! All the things I swore I'd given up hoping. I had my whole life ahead of me, and I wanted to live it. Wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything. Wanted it so much that it hurt. Voldemort could go to Hell for all I cared. I was tired of fighting, and yet so tired of giving in. I was going to live. It was a simple enough request, wasn't it? Was it really so wrong to want to live?

Yes. Yes it was. I would die before I betrayed Lily and James. The choice was already made for me. Maybe it was that easy.

Someone's life was ending tonight.

I posed the question to myself once more: theirs or mine?

Mine.

Slowly, I force my eyes open. Did Voldemort detect the change in my demeanor? It's impossible to tell.

He looks mesmerized, forgetting his vow to maintain a safe distance. His face is mere inches from my own. "Yes, go on…"

It seems as if no time has passed. Everything is exactly the same as I left it. I sigh. Well. It's now or never, eh?

I've been waiting for this moment my entire life.

Best make the most of it.

"Kill me!" I demand, spitting at him.

He stumbles back, spittle running a river down the length of his face.

"CRUCIO!" he shouts, and I try to ignore the biting urge to scream…I can almost smell my flesh sizzling in protest this time…it will all be over soon…

The Death Eaters on either side of me reel me in, forcing me down onto my knees in an apologetic bow.

"How dare you!" Nott growls, drawing his wand.

Guess he didn't like my method of cleansing the wizarding world…

Voldemort silences him with a raised hand, the pain dispersing.

"Kill me," I try again, choking. I'm weak. I can already feel myself slipping away, the last of my stamina draining.

I breathe deeply, my lungs burning. I try to commit it to memory. All of it.

I'm really going to miss living.

And I wonder – for a moment - if anyone will miss me.

If they'll know how much I loved them.

That I so willingly gave my life for theirs.

Maybe it – like so many other things - doesn't matter.

Voldemort's pupils are no longer visible. He's frustrated, I can tell. He thinks I'm more trouble than I'm worth. "Patience. Not until you - ."

"Kill me!" Just one more good push…

"No!" His body begins to shake with fury, his Death Eaters recoiling automatically.

"Kill me, you filthy half-blood scum!" I gag at the salty taste in my mouth.

That does it. I win. And I lose all at once.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

It's funny. I always knew that I would die young. I just never knew I'd be so sad to go.

A/N: Yep – this is a repost. Though only about 11 people read it the first time, so it really makes no difference. And it might still get reposted again. I'm strange like that. I just had to make sure I did this story justice. It's very close to my heart, you see.

Review and you will make me one happy teenager : ).

I sincerely hope you enjoyed this.

Oh, and by the way: Whoever gets the Buffy reference in this fic gets a special treat.

I don't what it is yet, but it'll be something yummy. Heehee.

Love,

AllIWannaDo

P.S. To readers of Getting Over James: A Twelve Step Program – Hey! How's that for an explanation of the bar scene? Not what you expected, huh? Haha. I'm tricky.