Mary’s tea was cold and watery, but she could see steam slowly drifting up from Marlene’s mug as the other girl lifted it to her lips. The idea of heating it up with magic hadn’t even occurred to Mary, but now it was only contributing to her unrest.
There had always been such stark differences between the two of them. Marlene’ short, straight blonde hair offset Mary's long, black curls. Marlene kept to herself, only letting the people she was closest to see her personality, while Mary would talk to anyone who’d listen. When Mary showed love, it was with kind words and physical touch. Marlene preferred joking insults and quality time. Marlene was just so sharp and sure of herself in a way Mary could never be.
These differences seemed minuscule at school, a way to help each other. They knew that seeing Marlene’s pale fingers intertwined with Mary’s dark ones was a visceral ‘fuck you!’ to the rest of the student body. The purest of pure standing next to a spec of dirt, a piece of pure filth. Opposites of every spectrum, coming together with nothing but love between them.
That was before, though.
Before this war broke out and claimed her friends. Made them into living corpses dead-set on making Mary join their ranks.
First it had been the boys. James, of course, joined as soon as he possibly could. He confessed to her how much he loved the idea of being a savior, of protecting innocents. Peter did anything James did, but Mary knew he secretly fancied the idea of glory. Sirius would do anything to rebel against the world or, at least, against his family. And it’s not like Remus had any other options.
Then it was Lily Evans. Well, Lily Potter. Just as wonderful, but slightly tarnished in Mary’s eyes. Especially after her disastrous attempt to convince Mary to join her on the front lines. Still, Mary didn’t hold it against her, she really did understand Lily’s desperate need to prove herself.
Now, Marlene.
“It’s been too long,” Marlene said, after having swallowed her magically-warmed tea. The circles under her eyes make her look older than 20.
“It really has,” Mary agreed with her sweetest smile. “I’m sure you’ve heard about Fabian and Gideon,” Marlene commented, and it turned the air in the cozy living room stale. Sucking away whatever happiness the reunion held.
“Of course,”
“I know we’ve talked about this before, Mary, and I know how you feel. But we need people now more than ever–”
“No,”
“D’you need to think about it?” Marlene said, sarcastically.
“I’m not you, Marlene,” Mary said, after a moment’s silence.
It was almost comical how offended Marlene looked, “what’s that supposed to mean?”
Well, if she wanted to be mad, Mary would give her something to be mad about.
“It means I’m not you, okay? I’m not you, or Sirius, or James. I’m not looking down at injustice from a place of privilege,” the sentiment ripped through her.
Mary watched the sour look on her face turn defensive. Her gaze hardened, her jaw clenched. It was intimidating. Or it might've been to anyone else.
“That’s not what this is,” Marlene said dismissively.
“Isn’t it? Because it looks like you’re all fighting a pointless war,”
“In what world is this war pointless?”
“In the real world! In the real fucking world.”
“This is real! Innocent people are being attacked! Muggleborns, like you,”
“Like me?” she asked, angrily. Marlene, of all people, knew how Mary felt about generalizations like that. How she hated the way people thought they knew her because they know someone ‘like her’. A muggleborn. A black person. While she was both, her identity was so much more. She was so much more.
“Yes, like you!” Marlene spat out. Then, after registering Mary’s tone, switched her approach, “I mean, kids, Mary. Kids and their families. I’m not going to sit and watch the world go to shit,”
Mary gave her a sarcastic half-smile, “I guess that’s the difference between us.”
“What? That I’ll fight for them and you won’t?”
Mary loathed how smug she sounded.
“The difference is I don’t have this insane dream of being a martyr!” she shouted, relishing in the way Marlene flinched, “You’re such a white knight, aren’t you Marls? Defending all those poor little kids. But nobody cares about them, huh? They’re just another cog in the machine, the next generation of eager killers! Next generation of fucking graves. Their death won’t solve anything. Your death won’t solve anything!”
“Why are you acting like everyone who fights has to die?” Her body language told Mary she was still in this battle. Coiled like a snake, ready to pounce.
“You don’t have the best track record,” Mary muttered, almost jokingly, “I mean, what do you think happens? How do you see this ending?”
“We win,” she was as determined as Mary had ever seen her. Face steeled as if she was a superhero in a comic book, facing down danger.
Mary scoffed.
“We win.” She repeated, “and we get the ministry back. We make laws to protect the rights of muggleborns. We bring death eaters to justice!”
Mary rolled her eyes, “You’re a politician now?”
“Why don’t you care?” She annunciated every syllable, every breath in exasperation.
Mary only waved a hand, “It’s none of my business.”
That’s what really set her off.
“Shut the fuck up!” Marlene exploded, “Of course it’s your business! You owe Dumbledore literally everything! You were nobody until he picked you up and brought you into Hogwarts. You are nothing without him,”
“I’m nothing without him?” she echoed, disbelieving.
Marlene didn’t expand, only seethed in silence.
“I will not fight in his war, don’t owe him shit” Mary said decisively, with venom in her tone. Marlene opened her mouth, a snappy comeback undoubtedly queued in her mind.
Mary was faster.
“Where was he when one of his students attacked me?” she asked, “Where was he when I was screaming, while Mulciber pinned me down and tried out every nasty spell he knew?” if she couldn’t get through to Marlene with logic, she would wear her own pain as armor. “Where was he when kids were sending me notes at all hours, howlers even, enchanted to shout ‘mudblood?’ Huh? Where was he? Why does he care now?”
“I can’t believe you,” she said with such infliction, such raw disbelief.
“No, I can’t believe you!” Mary yelled back, all emotion. “Who the fuck are you to come to my house, to walk into my life that I built for myself, and tell me I owe it all to a man who couldn’t be bothered to fucking talk to the kids who were making my life hell?”
She crossed the miniscule living room in two big steps, looked up at Marlene, snarling like a rabid animal, “Who do you think you are?”
“I’m the person who was there!” she answered, sounding so earnest that it hit Mary like a punch to the gut, “I was there, in the hospital wing, while you were unconscious after the attack! I’m the one who stayed up with you while you cried!”
Mary remembered every detail of the attack. The cold titles pressing into her back, the helpless sight of the sun setting, the smell of his breath. His fingers, his lips, her own defeat, and, of course, the pain.
But more than that, she remembered the shame. The way it ruined any attention she got after that, romantic or otherwise. It was like the attack changed her, made her into a dulled, lifeless, version of the girl she was before. It was almost karmic, the way she fought so hard for her popularity only to grow to hate it a few years in.
Oblivious to her turmoil, Marlene continued, looking on the verge of ripping her hair out.
“I’m the one who talked to Snape, and Mulciber and anyone who looked at you funny! I saw what you went through, and I’m willing to do anything it takes to make sure that no other muggleborn has to deal with that!”
And Marlene was far too sweet. Sweet and stupid and in over her head. But here she was, standing in front of Mary with her beautiful brown eyes filled with tears.
So, Mary pushed down her shame, her reluctance, her resentment for this war and asked, “You’re willing to die?”
A question, but it didn’t sound like one.
Marlene nodded, “Whatever it takes.”
Mary felt a childish urge to warn her, so that’s what she did, knowing full well that Marlene was smart enough to understand the severity of her cause.
“There will always be hate,” she said, “there will always be prejudice, that’s how the world works,” it was a bitter pill, a cautionary tale, a harsh truth of life Mary had to learn far too young. It was illustrated through glares, through opportunities that passed her by, through words at the top of newspaper articles. She’d learned hate before she learned magic. Apprehension is intertwined with her wonder. Insecurity laced with love.
Marlene had always been the type of person who faces challenges head-on. And, to her, that’s all this war was. A challenge.
Mary watched her exhale, relaxing before she calmly explained, “I know that it’s all you’ve ever known, Mary, but that type of hate isn’t all there is.”
“I know that,” Mary said, equally subdued, “look at my life, Marlene,” a ghost of a smile etched its way onto her lips. “I have a job – a real job, and an apartment. I’ve done perfectly well for myself and I’m happy,” She emphasized that last word the way she would if it was a spell, maybe trying to cast it upon herself.
Marlene was red, still, looking out of place as ever next to Mary’s pink couch. Their tea was discarded on the table and Mary was already grieving. She’d been learning how since school, since she’d lost the girl she used to be and turned into someone so woefully inadequate.
“Why can’t you accept that I’m happy? That I won’t throw this all away,” her voice broke, and with it, Marlene’s residual anger. Mary watched her let out a breath, watched her eyebrows draw in.
“I want you to be happy. Of course I do.” she murmured, gently. Comfortingly.
Mary took a moment to wipe away her unshed tears as carefully as she could. God forbid her mascara ran.
“That’s what we want for each other, right? That’s what best friends want for each other?” Tears were welling up in Marlene’s eyes, too. Shimmering in the warm light. She sounded so defeated, so unlike the stone soldier she’d been carved into.
Mary nodded, quickly, desperately.
“We’re still friends, right?”
“Of course we are,” Mary said, and she meant that with her whole soul.
She watched with mild horror as Marlene’s face crumbled, as she broke down. It was ugly. Loud and explosive. She covered her face with her hands and Mary could see her whole body shaking with the force of her anguish.
Mary wrapped her arms around her before she could think, hugging Marlene like it was instinct. And it was, of course it was, because her best friend in the whole wide world was distraught and crying in front of her. Maybe instinct is what made Marlene cling to her, too.
And cling, she did.
Marlene had always been muscular. From quidditch star to revolutionary, her arms stayed impressively strong. Those arms were locked around Mary now, as she buried her face in her shoulder.
“I’m-” She started, but was cut off with another full-body sob.
“Shh,” Mary cooed, petting her hair cautiously, “it’s okay, love. It’ll all be okay,”
Mary’s words only made her cry harder.
Like it was the last time.
And it was.