Previously in the Darklyverse: Alice spent most of sixth year dating Dirk Cresswell from the year below, but their relationship ground to a halt when Dirk disapproved of Alice joining the Order of the Phoenix and declined her invitation to join it with her. Alice grappled with the discrepancies between her progressive friends' beliefs about werewolves and blood purity and those of her subtly purist parents. Damocles Belby published his Wolfsbane Potion recipe in The Practical Potioneer. The Gryffindors speculated about who would be named Heads of Hogwarts this year, with Alice considered a frontrunner for Head Girl.
Revised version uploaded 11 January 2022.
xx
July 31st, 1977: Alice Abbott
Alice still doesn't understand why she got invited to the latest unofficial summer Quidditch scrimmage. It's not like she plays, or like she's demonstrated any interest at all in Quidditch in her last six years at Hogwarts, or like they're even short on people and needed a quick stand-in or something. No, Alice is relegated to the sidelines with Remus and Peter, snacking on crisps while they watch the players toss around a watermelon and whack apples at each other, and she voices what everyone's thinking by asking them, "How did I end up here again?"
"James asked you to come, didn't he? Probably wanted someone to show off for," Peter sniggers.
"I know he asked me," says Alice, "but why me? None of the other girls are here."
"I think he said something about Dirk Cresswell wanting you to come," Remus answers.
This catches Alice by surprise. She turns her eyes up to the sky again, searching Dirk out, and finally lands on him where he's hovering high above the others, eyes peeled for the faux Snitch in the air somewhere. After they dated casually all last year, things ground to an awkward halt after Alice invited him to join the Order of the Phoenix and Dirk declined, saying he thought it best to leave the Dark wizard hunting to the authorities. Then, of course, came the disastrous ambush that left Millie and Elisabeth dead, and Alice spent the rest of the year in a protected bubble with the rest of the Gryffindors without much more than a "hello" to Dirk when she passed him in the library or the corridors.
But when the match is over, Dirk locks eyes with her and gives a big wave and runs up to her to say hello. "I'm glad you could make it! I was really hoping to see you soon," he tells her, beaming.
"It's good to see you, too. Nice Seeking up there," she says, for lack of anything better to say.
"Oh! Thanks. You don't play at all, do you?"
"Not unless you count breaking my ankle as a little kid on my toy broomstick," she says. He cackles.
They get to chatting, and it surprises Alice how easy it still is to stand there talking to Dirk once again for five, ten, twenty minutes, even as some of the other players start to Disapparate or head back into the McCormacks' house to Floo out of the fireplace. They finally reach a lull in the conversation, and Alice looks around to take stock of who's still here: they're two of the only ones left, besides Sirius, Peter, a couple of Ravenclaws, and, of course, Meghan. "Well, I better go," she tells Dirk a little awkwardly. "I'm Apparating Peter back home, and I don't want to keep him waiting."
"Listen," says Dirk nonchalantly, "it was really great catching up with you, Alice. Would you want to do it again sometime? Maybe over dinner sometime before we go back to Hogwarts?"
"I… I mean, I have to ask," she says, the words bursting out of her of their own accord, "what changed? I thought you and I were, well, over, and then after everything that went down in May… I thought it was a dealbreaker for you."
He shrugs, but his eyes belie his lack of confidence. "Honestly, I thought so, too… but I know there's more to you than one mistake. I know it. And you're done being reckless, aren't you? I mean, after all that happened?"
She thinks about the look on Dumbledore's face when he asked the Order to join forces with his group, like he was resigning himself to it to placate them and keep them out of worse trouble. She thinks about the shape of Elisabeth's corpse under Madam Pomfrey's sheets. "I'm done," she says, and it's only half a lie because there's no way Dumbledore will allow them to get themselves into any real danger, is there? "But, I mean—I'm still going into the Auror program after I graduate. There's still going to be risk if you associate with me."
"It's different if you're a qualified authority," says Dirk. "You'll be trained, you'll be…"
"I won't be safe. Aurors are never safe."
"It takes a lot of bravery to fight, and I respect that. I just want you to—to not do anything rash."
Alice smiles weakly. "No more rashness. I promise."
Dirk twists his lips self-consciously and then says, "Oh, screw it," and pulls her into a tight hug. Alice laughs and pats him on the back and tries to pretend like she thinks this is going to work.
xx
She's at Lily and Sirius's flat the next day when they get the news. Alice, Lily, Sirius, James, and Marlene are sitting in the living room when two sleek black owls bearing letters tied to their legs arrive at the nearest window and start rapping on it with their beaks. "Oh, those must be from Hogwarts," says Sirius as Lily pecks James on the lips, crosses to the window, opens it, and starts untying the letter attached to the owl that starts hopping in place on the windowsill in front of her.
Sirius rips open his letter and starts scanning it quickly. "Not too many new books this time—Goshawk's Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven, and a new one for Defense. Wonder who our new professor is going to be?"
"Oh!" Lily yelps, and Alice sees a flash of gold as something falls out of her letter and hits the ground.
Alice's mind races as Lily stoops to pick it up. What dropped from Lily's letter has to be a badge. Either it's a prefect's badge, because Alice has been named Head Girl and needs a replacement named, or it's…
But Lily can't possibly have been named Head Girl, could she? Alice gets higher marks than Lily does, and up until recently, Lily was just an oddball with a Slytherin best friend who was rumored to be dabbling with him in the Dark Arts. Alice is the one who has the social skills and the diplomacy for the Head Girl job, not Lily.
And yet—
Lily's eyes dart back and forth between the badge and the letter for a long moment until James breaks the silence and asks, "What is it, Lily?"
She looks up, though she avoids meeting Alice's eyes. "I'm, um—I've been named Head Girl."
James gets up to kiss her while a chorus of congratulations rings out into the room. Alice feels like her stomach is going to drop right through her abdomen and out of her body. "That's wonderful, Lily, congratulations," she says, and her voice is quite steady.
Lily looks at Alice, then, and her eyes are wide and—pleading? Surprised? Alice can't tell. "Thank you," Lily answers quietly, and then her eyes flick away again, and she laughs as James engulfs her in a big bear hug.
Alice needs to get out of here. It'll be obvious why she's gone if Alice gets out of here. Why did Dumbledore name Lily Head Girl instead of her?
Alice doesn't generally consider herself to be a very jealous person, but then again, Alice usually doesn't find herself in the position of losing something to her competition. She always gets the best marks out of everyone in her friend group, edging Lily out year after year; Dumbledore chose her for prefect over Lily, and hasn't she proven that she deserved it, that she's done a great job of it for the past two years?
Dumbledore must like that she's been willing to be friends with Slytherins, says a tiny voice in the back of Alice's mind. But no, that can't be it, either: if anything, that reasoning should have made Lily a prefect back in fifth year, not made her Head Girl today, now that she's no longer friends with Severus and has instead enmeshed herself in the social circle of her own house and year.
Wracking her brains, Alice can't think of a single reason that Dumbledore should choose Lily over her for Head Girl. Alice wonders whether that says the most about Lily, about Dumbledore, or about Alice.
She white-knuckles it through another two hours that involve more discussion of Lily's Headship and speculation about who's been named Head Boy. James seems determined to keep saying over and over that he knew she had it in her, how glad he is that Dumbledore knows it too, and that Lily was always the obvious choice of Head Girl. He may feel that way, but it strikes Alice as more than a little insensitive to keep repeating it right in front of Alice, when one could easily make the same case about her instead of Lily.
When she can't stand it any longer, Alice says she needs to be getting back home to her parents, and she Disapparates after making plans to pick up her books in Diagon Alley with the others next week. Upon arriving at home, Alice finds a letter with her name on it sitting at her table-place in the kitchen. "An owl arrived for you, dear," says Mum. Her voice is wavering with excitement, and Alice knows that she's expecting Alice to make Head Girl, just like Alice thought, too.
"Thanks, Mum," she says, and she tears it open and scans the booklist quickly, trying not to dwell on the lack of a badge. She can see her mother watching Alice out the corner of her eye, probably looking for a badge that isn't there.
The thing about Mum and Dad—they always say they're proud of Alice. They've been calling her their brilliant baby girl for as long as she can remember, and they never pass up a chance to brag about her to their friends and hers alike (to her eternal humiliation, in the case of the latter). But that's just it: the way they've always done it is so, well, showy. It's not like she doesn't think they appreciate her, but sometimes, she wonders to what extent they think of her success—her prefect's badge, her high marks, the first sign of magic she showed at age four months—as their own trophies, to be paraded in the world as if to say, look who we raised—look how well we've done.
And she genuinely doesn't know whether the praise would keep coming if she stopped performing—if she failed to live up to that pressure. Honestly, she could see it going either way, but she doesn't think either way would be good. Would they lecture her on what a disappointment she is? Or would they avoid a confrontation with her while desperately trying to frame her as being better than she actually is to others in public?
She's never had to find out before because she's never actually slipped up before. She's been in the race for valedictorian since first year; she made prefect; she started an Auror internship as a sixth year; and, perhaps most importantly to Mum and Dad, everybody at Hogwarts name-drops her in casual conversation as the smart Gryffindor in her year. She knows Lily views her as competition, but to be completely honest, she's never reciprocated—Alice has always seen Lily as beneath her, at least in terms of academic and career achievement.
But suddenly, Lily is a challenge—a threat—and the worst part is, they're supposed to be friends. How many times has Alice congratulated herself on having been kind to Lily when she was an outcast? And now that Lily's on the inside—now that she spends real time with Alice and trusts Alice—the second that Lily gets picked for something over Alice, all Alice cares about are her wounded pride and her parents' reactions.
"Alice, dear? Was there anything interesting in your letter?"
Alice's attention snaps back to Mum. "I—no. Just my booklist."
"But we were expecting… you've done such great work as a prefect these last two years, haven't you?" Mum is maintaining very careful control over her voice; the excitement is entirely gone from it.
"It's fine. My friend Lily made Head Girl, and I'm happy for her. She works hard, Mum—she deserves it."
She's lying through her teeth, but suddenly, she's seized with a desire to stick up for Lily—and, in doing so, sort of stick up for herself, too. She doesn't want to make excuses for herself—she doesn't owe Mum any. So what if Alice isn't Head Girl? Isn't she just as deserving of love and pride now, without a Head Girl's badge, as she was yesterday?
Mum looks ready to argue, and Alice knows that the first thing out of Mum's mouth is going to be something that crushes her. She doesn't want to hear it. She may be a Gryffindor, but she's a coward, apparently, who can't face her parents' disapproval.
So she changes the subject to the first thing she can think of to avoid having to answer any more questions. "Did you hear about the paper in The Practical Potioneer about the invention of the Wolfsbane Potion?" Alice asks quickly.
"Oh, no, I'm rubbish at potions, you know that," Mum says with a laugh. "Why? What's it about?"
"It's been making a lot of waves," says Alice. "It was created by a bloke in my year at Hogwarts, in Slytherin. He's claiming that werewolves who take the potion will be able to keep their human minds when they transform at the full moon."
Mum sniffs, "That sounds like a load of tosh. Keep their human minds? It can't be done."
"Actually, the paper says that his test subject—"
"This student had a test subject? At Hogwarts? Goodness, that doesn't mean Dumbledore's been letting werewolves into the school, does it? That's so dangerous—the risks are unimaginable—"
Alice chooses not to mention that she knows the werewolf in question and that he hasn't infected or hurt anyone in the six years he's been at Hogwarts. "But with this potion," she presses, "don't you think it's a great thing for werewolves? If they can keep control when they transform, doesn't that give them a shot at a normal life the rest of the month, too?"
"A normal life? Honey, there's no such thing as a normal life for werewolves. Goodness, what are they teaching you up at that school?"
Alice shrugs. "Oh, by the way, I should mention that I might be out late on Tuesday. I have a dinner date."
"A dinner date?" echoes Mum. "With that Cresswell boy again?"
"Yeah. Dirk. He's a sixth year; he plays Seeker for Ravenclaw, remember?"
Mom purses her lips. "We don't know any other Cresswells."
"Yeah, he's Muggle-born," says Alice casually.
It surprises her, therefore, when Mum doesn't respond right away, and when Alice finally looks over at her, Mum's got her lips pursed and has set down the spoon she was using to stir the noodles that she's got on the stovetop. "Don't you want to be with someone who's from the same background as you are? Can a Muggle-born ever really understand the lifestyle you're from?"
"He's lived at a boarding school for wizards for the last five years, Mum; I think he's figured out how our 'lifestyle' works."
"Yes, well, he'll always have one foot in the Muggle world, and that's dangerous," Mum argues. "The International Statute of Secrecy exists for a reason. These people would burn all of us at the stake if they knew we exist."
"But… but it's the pureblood supremacists who are killing Muggles and Muggle-borns, not the other way around."
"But just because a few bad wizards are acting out of prejudice doesn't mean we all are."
What Alice wants to say is, Yet you don't want me dating a Muggle-born, and you can't give me a straight answer why! But Alice is Alice, and she holds her tongue for the sake of keeping the peace, even though she's starting to think that her mother has more prejudices than she believes she does.
Ever since last year—ever since that day at the bar with Sirius and Mary and Remus—she keeps noticing it in Mum and Dad whenever she talks to or hears from them. She never thought she lived in a society with systematic pureblood supremacy at its heart; she'd thought the same thing Mum's saying now, that Wizarding Britain is troubled by a few rotten apples and nothing more. But—just listen to Mum now. It's not just the Death Eaters committing senseless murders who are the problem: it's every last person like Mum who's ever tried to keep people like Alice away from people like Dirk—to strip werewolves like Remus of their ability to provide for themselves or participate in society in a meaningful way.
The more she's thought about it, the more she hasn't been able to justify any of the legislation against werewolves. She knows Remus: he's talented and thoughtful and kind, and at a minimum, he deserves to have friends, to have ambitions, to make a paycheck that he can use to live comfortably. Sure, he shouldn't ever pick up a job where he works the night shift, but as long as he clocks out before sunset on full moons and takes his Wolfsbane Potion one week out of every month, Alice can't think of any reason why Remus shouldn't be permitted—
Not be permitted: that implies that Remus answers to somebody else, that he's got to prove his worth, and Alice knows that Remus has worth. No: there's no reason why Remus shouldn't have the right to live like—well—like a human being. He may be a werewolf, but he's a human first—he's got human emotions and desires and heartache and, perhaps most importantly of all, dignity.
The thought that Mum would just as soon strip him of that dignity if she knew what Remus is—that Mum would forbid Alice from dating Dirk if she could help it—makes Alice feel sick. "I'll be up in my room," she says abruptly. "I want to write Remus a letter."
xx
Alice doesn't know whom to confide in about her feelings about Lily's promotion to Head Girl. Marlene is too close to Lily, Mary would probably spread word of what Alice said to the rest of the school, and Emmeline, though she's genuinely been trying to reintegrate into the group, just isn't close enough to Alice for her to feel comfortable approaching her about it.
So she ends up talking to Peter and Remus about it when they're both at Peter's house a couple of days later. She knows Remus better, of the two, but also knows that Peter can be trusted not to blab Alice's secret feelings to anyone else. "I'm just… okay, I'm jealous," Alice admits, fiddling with her robes. "But is that so wrong of me to feel that way? It feels like I've spent the last six years proving that I'm more deserving than she is, only to have it thrown back in my face in my final year at Hogwarts."
"Dumbledore must have had his reasons," says Peter gently. "Maybe he saw something in her that he wanted to bring out by naming her Head Girl. You know he made James Head Boy?"
"What?" says Alice, so stunned that she momentarily forgets what she's upset about. "James is Head Boy?"
"I know. We were all surprised, James most of all," says Remus with a little smile.
Abruptly, Alice realizes that this puts Remus in the same position that she herself is in, and she feels a rush of sympathy for him. "I'm sorry you didn't get it, Remus. I know you were considered one of the favorites for the position."
"Oh, that's all right," says Remus, waving his hand in the air as if to swipe the problem away. "I didn't exactly exercise much control over my friends as a prefect. And James does have the charisma to make a great leader, if only he were to apply himself in the right direction."
"But Lily? She's not charismatic; she…"
But that's not quite true, is it? Lily can be quite charming, and loyal, and sweet (when she's not being cheeky to get a rise out of others—usually James), and Alice ought not to be too competitive to recognize that. Didn't she say all last year that she was proud of how inclusive she always was to Lily, even before Lily dropped Snape and got popular? Is Alice really so shallow to go back on her principles just because Lily got a Head Girl badge and Alice didn't?
"I'm a terrible mate," she says, burying her face in her hands. "I'm being so selfish. Why can't I just feel happy for her like a normal person?"
"You're allowed to feel the way you feel," says Peter. "You know, if I were Lily, right now I would probably be feeling self-conscious about where my relationship stood with you. Maybe it would do you both some good to spend some time together, remember why you're friends and not just competitors."
"You're right," says Alice miserably. "You're right. I should stop by her flat tomorrow, spend some time with her."
But she already knows she's not going to reach out. Alice tries to be a good friend—she's probably the best member of her friend group at reaching out consistently to others over breaks and such—but she never really feels like she manages to connect with anybody, not on the level that her friends all connect with each other. She's not just frustrated with Lily for beating her—she's frustrated with herself for managing to feel in this moment like Lily is just a competitor, because it's just a reflection of how much Alice feels like she's on the outside. Reminding herself what that feels like by hanging around Lily deliberately just feels like a recipe for disappointment.