Warnings: Abusive relationships, mentions of death/non-graphic descriptions of death & violence, alcohol, murder. Misogynistic themes.
A/N: I took a few liberties with the fairytales depicted in this fic — if something's wrong, it's on purpose.
Lily is aware of every eye fixed on her as she makes her way down the grand staircase, towards the prince. Her glass slippers clink on the gilded steps and her gown sparkles in the light of thousands of crystals. She can hear them muttering. But all of her attention is on him, her handsome prince, looking back at her with such reverence. She's going to get her happy-ever-after.
She feels almost…undeserving of his gaze. Under ordinary circumstances, his gaze would have swept right over her, dismissing her as another village girl, dressed so plainly and unremarkably. But tonight, she feels like a princess. She feels worthy of his judgement.
It seems like no time has passed before she's at his side and he's swept her into his arms, gliding them effortlessly across the dance floor, the crowd of guests parting for them as they go. This is their dance floor, their moment. She's finally getting the chance she's always dreamed of.
There's the nagging feeling that this is all just temporary, but one look into her prince's eyes and the feeling is quashed under her delicate heels.
"You're beautiful," he tells her, and she practically melts. "How come I've never seen you before? Who's your father?"
Lily hesitates as his second question slices through the haze clouding her brain. Dead, she wants to say, but that seems too grotesque for a place like this. Instead, she settles for a coy smile and, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
His eyebrows rise. "A girl of mystery, I see," he says. "Why can't you tell me?"
For the first time, Lily feels a trickle of discomfort down her spine. "Must I?" she replies evasively.
The hand on her waist tightens, compelling her to look directly at him. He's smiling pleasantly, but there's something…unsettling about it. Like he isn't finished with this line of questioning.
"How else am I supposed to find you after tonight?" he presses, and something more than a trickle of discomfort slides down her spine. Lily resists the urge to shiver, unable to quell her rising dread.
"If it's meant to be, you'll find me." She purses her lips, not so sure she wants him to find her. Luckily, the orchestra finishes its piece and she tries to pull away. To no avail. The prince holds her fast.
"Why would I need to look for you when I have you right here?" he purrs, his grip suddenly feeling like manacles, his teeth suddenly bared in a predatory grin. "I don't intend for you to get away so easily."
Lily pulls and pulls and pulls, but the prince does not let her go, and she glances around wildly, wondering why no one is interfering. She catches the eyes of a few people — her stepsisters included — but all of them deliberately look away. She can almost hear them whispering, She's lucky the prince is captivated by her. She's lucky he even deigned to glance her way. He's just dancing with her out of pity.
The prince watches her, looking amused, as she continues to struggle. "It's cute that you're trying," he says, his eyes roving over her greedily. "There is no escaping me. Nobody here is going to help you."
"You bastard," she seethes, but his words trigger an idea. Her eyes shift to the wide-open door on the other side of the hall. She thinks she can make it — she just has to time it right.
The music reaches a deafening crescendo, the prince smiles victoriously as she goes limp in his hold, loosening his grip, and that's his mistake. Because that means he doesn't notice when her knee jerks up to his groin.
The effect is immediate: he releases her entirely, clutching his jewels, and Lily allows herself a satisfied smile before gathering up her skirts and booking it to the other end of the hall, as fast as her glass slippers allow her. Once again, the crowd clears a path for her — too stunned to do anything except gawk at her brazenness.
Just as she clears the doorway, she hears him shouting behind her. She can hear the heavy thumps of approaching guards behind her, over the roaring in her ears, but she has no time to think, only run.
Stupid, stupid dress!
The stairs leading down to her carriage are in sight. Miraculously, her carriage is waiting for her — still disguised as a carriage, as the clock had not struck midnight yet — and the sight spurs her own. She hoists her skirts even higher and starts the descent —
It happens in slow motion.
Lily makes it halfway down the steps when there's a sickening pop. Excruciating agony explodes in her ankle and she stumbles, tripping, unable to maintain her balance —
Her arms are pinwheeling, her hair is flying —
She falls in a whirlwind of shimmering fabric and auburn hair, her glass slippers lending her no purchase on the rough stone, and then —
Her head cracks against the ground, and she is no more.
When Lily awakens, she is no longer at the palace. Instead, steel bars surround her from all sides, and a monstrous beast is pacing in front of her cell.
As consciousness returns, so do her memories, like always. She remembers the prince's malicious smile, his possessive claim. She also remembers everything leading up to this moment. She had never lived this life before, but she knows everything about it.
She has a father in this lifetime. She'd traded her freedom for his escape. She is in another castle, trapped with a beast with a horrible temperament, and he is debating whether or not to keep her alive.
Lily sits up, making no effort to confront him, instead choosing to observe her captor. Her eyes fall on him the same moment he turns to face her, and she's met with an unusually gentle expression.
"I have decided," he says gruffly. "After consulting with…my servants, I will let you live. Under the condition that you do not try to escape. Do not enter my quarters or venture into the west wing. Otherwise, I will have to…" An unreadable expression flits across his features, but the threat is implicit.
"Fine," Lily says dully, crossing her arms over her chest. "But in order to execute this, I will need better accommodations. How will I even attempt to escape if I am locked up in here?"
"I was just getting to that," the beast snaps. "You will be moved to a room in the east wing. My servants will see to it that you're settled in and have something to eat." Something scrapes against the lock and Lily jumps. The door creaks open, but the beast does not linger, stalking away. Lily waits for a few moments and then dares to step out.
In theory, she could run now, but she'd heard rumours of dangerous creatures lurking in these woods at night — one glance out the small window in her cell tells her it is nighttime — and she'd been lucky to make it here unscathed. And while the beast had imprisoned her here, he'd at least allowed her a warm, safe place to stay — even with him prowling the lonely halls. He isn't trying to kill her — not anymore.
Someone curses and she whirls around, her skirts billowing (why is she still in a dress) and thinking that the beast has returned to issue another cold proclamation. Instead, she's greeted by someone else — or rather, something else.
An…enchanted candelabra? For such a delicate candelabra, it has quite the colourful mouth and quite the range of gestures. Lily's mouth curves into a real smile for the first time since this life had begun. One word catches her attention — Cogsworth — and she looks just past the door to see a clock positioned in the doorway, illuminated by the sentient candelabra's candles. The clock has arms folded across its chest and is wearing a smug smile.
Great. At least she has company. This is the least weird thing she's ever seen.
"Woah woah woah!" she says, kneeling in front of the candelabra, careful to avoid its swinging candles. "What's going on?"
The candelabra finally calms down and…scowls? "I am Lumiere, and that imbecile over there is Cogsworth. He thinks that since I am the one with the light, I must be the one to enter this rat-infested dungeon."
"That sounds unfair," Lily says, noncommittal, while privately sympathising with the clock. "Perhaps he should have joined you."
"Thank you!" the candelabra huffs. "He's also foiled my chance to make a good impression on the first guest we've had in ages! One that the beast hasn't brutalised!"
Lily winces. "I'm…sorry?"
"Why are you apologising? I should be the one to express my deepest apologies, and perhaps smack some sense into that —" He rattles off another string of what Lily assumes are French curse words. For the first time, the clock's grin falters.
"Er," Lily interjects, because this rat-infested dungeon isn't becoming any less cold, "would you mind helping me find my rooms?" Her stomach rumbles, punctuating her question and lending credence to her desperation.
"Oh, of course, madam, I'm sorry," Lumiere says quickly. "If you would follow me."
(He takes a swipe at Cogsworth as they pass him and Cogsworth, chastised, takes up the rear.)
—
The beast had specifically ordered her to stay away from the west wing. He had explicitly ordered her, which naturally had stoked her curiosity.
Lily really had tried to stay away at first. Once or twice during her explorations she had wandered a little bit into the west wing, only to be discouraged by the long gouge marks against the wall, or one of the sentient pieces of furniture intercepting her. She had no interest in severed limbs, so she'd stuck to her side of the castle.
But one could remain discouraged for only so long, and soon, Lily found herself ascending the stairs into the west wing, electing to not notice the claw marks. No one had stopped her. She reaches the top of the tower unopposed, pushing open the door, and is greeted by —
A rose?
It's a damn rose. A rose, encased in a glass covering. Upon closer inspection, it doesn't look like an ordinary rose — it's not wilted; the petals are a rich red and seem to shimmer a bit. Lily knows magic when she sees it.
Is this what the beast had not wanted her to see? A sparkly rose?
Unfortunately for her, she gets her answer about five seconds later, when there's a crashing noise and the door caves in, revealing a furious beast. His face is twisted in an ugly snarl, and he looks like he very much wants to kill her. Fear floods through her body and she backs away, towards the large, stained glass windows behind the rose.
"What," he growls, "do you think you're doing here? I ordered you to not come here."
Lily gulps. Her only weapon is a lantern. Clutching its handle in her white-knuckled fist, she casts around for an answer. "I…got lost?" she tries feebly.
The beast glares at her, thoroughly unamused, and Lily flounders, panic gripping her bones, and she does something entirely irrational and ill-advised — she flings her lantern at the beast.
Who catches it with ease.
Now she's really screwed. There's no way she's getting her happily ever after here — that is probably reserved for some other girl.
Next thing she knows, the beast is advancing on her, a cry escapes her throat, and then —
She's falling, already woozy from being thrown through a glass window, and it seems like an eternity passes before her back slams into the ground.
Those were some beautiful windows…
When Lily wakes up this time, there's a man hovering over her, watching her expectantly. She gracelessly scrambles into a sitting position, forcing the man to back away, and allowing her the opportunity to scrutinise this new man.
"Did you just…kiss me?" she asks, touching her lips, and the memories surge through her mind. She knows his answer before he says it.
He has the nerve to look offended. "I did," he says sharply, scowling magnificently. "You could be a little more grateful, you know. I could've left you just lying there and gone on my way."
Oh hell no.
"Thank you so much for saving me," Lily says, sparing him a sweet smile as her mind churns. "You can go on your way now. Just like you wanted."
"Are you kidding me?" The man catches her wrist as she stands, encircling it with iron-like fingers. "I saved you, and you're just going to abandon me like that?"
Lily doesn't bother to hold back her instinctive retort. "Excuse me, but you're not entitled to my attention," she snaps. "I appreciate you saving me, but I don't appreciate the way you're behaving, like you did me a favour. Like you said, you could have just passed me by. And besides, who walks up to a comatose girl and kisses them out of nowhere?"
"Aww, but how could I resist such a pretty girl?" the man says, stepping closer, and Lily steps back. "If I let you go, I'll just have wasted my time, and for what? I need a wife anyway. You're coming with me."
"No, I'm not." Channelling all of her strength, she wrenches away and charges in the opposite direction, deeper into the sunlit forest. She thanks the stars that she's had so much experience in running away from all these men; it's certainly boosted her stamina. She can hear him hollering behind her, and can hear the hooves of his horse pounding into the ground in pursuit.
She can outrun a horse, right?
The answer is maybe, because the horse is gaining on her. Lily veers to the left, cutting through a swath of thigh-high bushes, the thorns slicing through her skin, but she hardly feels the sting. Soon, the sounds of hooves die, and she's all alone.
She cautiously continues picking her way through the foliage, straining her ears, but the forest is eerily silent.
There's no danger, she reasons, it's daytime.
But she hears a crackle behind her, and she whirls around, but it's too late. A hand grabs by the throat, squeezing, and she gasps.
"And just where do you think you're going, sweetheart?" says her "saviour", his face twisted in a wild, feral expression. "If I don't get you, nobody will."
"You're — mad!" Lily gasps between breaths, black spots dancing in her vision as the pressure on her throat increases.
The man does not deign to answer, and the last thing Lily glimpses is a golden insignia embroidered on his collar — of course he's royalty — before the last of her air leaves her lungs.
She wakes up again, and again, and again, in an endless cycle of waking and death. She wakes up. Meets her douchebag prince or leading man. They try to capture her, or force her into marriage, or kill her. It's never anything else. She's always in some ridiculously impractical garb, and she's forced to flee somehow. Somehow, she ends up dying and waking up in an entirely new dimension, her memory fully intact, but still a victim.
This will be the final time, Lily tells herself firmly, as she comes around for what feels like the one-hundredth time. She will not die in this lifetime.
And this time, the world seems to agree with her. Because the world she wakes up in this time is vastly different. It's extremely disorienting. She wakes up in a bed, surrounded by absolutely no one. Instead of glitzy ballgowns and sleazy princes, there are robes and wands.
Lily slips into the bathroom and splashes water on her face, feeling memories snake through her mind. She's at a school called Hogwarts, which is a school for witches and wizards. She's in Gryffindor house, she's Head Girl, and — much to her horror — she's already dating someone. Her fellow Head. James Potter. Whose room is across the hall from hers.
Oh God, he's going to be some world-class jerk, isn't he?
Steeling herself, Lily exits the bathroom, only to collide into someone. She mumbles a quick apology and finds hands braced on her arms — the touch not controlling, but…affectionate? Hazel eyes peer into hers, mouth curved in a smile as he murmurs, "It's okay, Lils, you can bump into me anytime."
Lily blinks. Your boyfriend, her brain supplies, and she recovers quickly. "Hey," she says shyly, returning his smile. So far, he doesn't seem inherently evil. So far.
"I'm sorry I didn't come to your room last night," James says, sounding genuinely apologetic. "Sirius, the tosser, snuck some firewhiskey into the Gryffindor dorms last night, and one thing led to another, and he almost organised a protest over werewolf rights." One of his hands releases her, and he runs it through his hair anxiously. "It was nearly one in the morning by the time I talked him down and broke up the protest. For fuck's sake, he was going to try and steal armour from those knights, and — I'm so sorry, Lily."
Lily stares up at him, her lips slightly parted as her memory fills in the gaps. Sirius, James' best friend. Remus, James' other best friend, also a werewolf. "I can't blame him," she manages. "Werewolves are grossly mistreated."
"You know I agree with that more than anyone, but I don't think stealing armour and Apparating to the Ministry while drunk is the best way to do it," he says, snorting.
Lily, despite herself, lets out a giggle, and James' posture seems to relax a bit. "I'm more upset that he didn't invite me," she says. "I could've figured something out without the firewhiskey."
"And that is why I love you," James says, sighing, dropping his forehead to hers. The touch is so…intimate, and foreign, and she finds herself relaxing as well. "I trust you more to lead a protest than him."
"That's the golden standard," Lily murmurs, savouring his skin against hers, feeling her walls start to come down. In the back of her mind, she knows she's going to be even more devastated if this man turns out to be evil. But he looks at her so earnestly when he pulls away; she can practically see the hearts shimmering in his eyes.
"Want to get breakfast?" he asks, leaning in again and nuzzling her neck, and Lily tilts her head back, immersing herself in the delicious feeling of his mouth against her throat. "Let me make it up to you."
"You're — ah — doing a good job of that already," Lily says, more than a little breathless. "But I wouldn't say no. You've got — oh — a lot to make up for."
With apparent reluctance, James removes his mouth and Lily feels its loss immediately. "If you insist," he says, twining his fingers through hers and gently tugging her down the hall, and Lily almost goes with him, except —
"James, I need to change," she says a little giddily, pulling her hand free of his. She carefully observes his expression, but it doesn't change — he doesn't flip out, he doesn't demand anything. If anything, his eyes widen with realisation, roving down and up her body.
"I don't know about that, I think you make even pyjamas look attractive," he teases. "Change if you must. I'll go wait in the common room."
Lily gazes at his retreating back, something unfamiliar but not unpleasant welling up in her chest. James Potter, she muses, rooted to the spot as she sorts out her thoughts. He's no grandiose prince, no knight in shining armour, but he's…nice. He…loves me?
Searching through her memories for dreadful incidents proves to be mostly futile. She catches a few glimpses here and there — of James taunting a boy, holding him up by his underpants; whispered hexes aimed at the same greasy-haired boy; that endless arrogant streak of his. But somewhere along the way, he'd grown up. He'd shot up in height and responsibility, dramatically reduced his ego, and she watches herself falling in love with the man he'd become.
Lily smiles to herself, feeling more optimistic. Maybe she is capable of finding a happily-ever-after after all.
…and we all know how this lifetime ends, unfortunately, but it's a comparably better death.
Written for:
Hogwarts, Assignment 8, Martial Arts Task 4: Krav Maga: A form of self defence that uses reflexive responses - Prompt: Write about someone being forced to defend themself.
3374 words