Lily cradled the still mussed sheets to her face, and shakily inhaled the mingling smell of her vanilla perfume with Mary’s floral one. Oh, what she would give to bottle this scent forever.
Only this morning, she had laid here, head propped on her elbow, watching the soft morning sunlight stream through the bedroom windows, bathing Mary in a warm, ethereal glow. Lily could drink in the sight for hours; would do if Mary stayed asleep. Lily reverently stroked the purple birthmark on Mary’s cheek, worshipping the soft lines of her face, eliciting a fluttering of eyelids and a soft sigh.
“Good morning, my love,” Lily whispered into her hair, pressing a featherlight kiss onto Mary’s forehead.
“Sweetheart. Hey,” Mary greeted, disentangling her bare legs from Lily’s, “tea?” Lily grinned in agreement, helping Mary to her feet as they shuffled in a wordless synchronicity to the small kitchen in their flat. No matter how many times they did this routine; making morning tea over hushed gossip and whispered endearments, Lily found herself utterly at mercy to the deep connection she and Mary shared. The little things; spraying perfume on the other, adorning the other's neck with jewels, would never get old. Their mindless domesticity spoke of their devotion, and Lily wanted nothing more than a lifetime of this bliss. Of her Mary.
Lily was standing behind Mary’s chair, chin on her shoulder and whispering sweet nothings and kissing the crook her neck, when the fireplace caught their attention. They were being flooed, by Dumbledore. Not now, please.
“Hello Miss Evans, Miss Macdonald,” Dumbledore said in his usually cryptic, airy manner. “Professor Dumbledore, to what do we owe this pleasure?” Mary asked, pushing her chair back to the table as they walked over to the fireplace.
“Are the two of you alone?” Lily nodded in assent. “I’m afraid I need you both today. I’m rallying the troops, so to speak-” Lily was seeing red; “We’re supposed to be on a break from any and all war duties, sir-” “for the next two months, yes Miss Evans, I am aware. This is, however, completely unavoidable. The Order will all be needed for our next mission. I am afraid our foes are targeting muggleborns and their families at an unexpected rate. For you to elect out of this mission, may be disastrous for other young witches and wizards like yourselves.” Lily saw the way Mary visibly deflated, and though she was devastated herself, Dumbledore was right - Lily couldn’t opt out of this one. “I’ll send an owl with details shortly.”
And with that, Dumbledore was gone. Lily looked over at Mary, and her heart shattered as she watched her shoulders slump. Lily was not blind to the fact that Mary was taking the war particularly hard - not that everyone else wasn’t, but Mary was different. Mary, her sweet Mary, felt all emotions with an extraordinary depth that she was sure most people couldn’t even begin to comprehend. For each loss the Order faced, Mary’s soul was chipping away. Lily would find her, nearly drowned in the bathtub, mourning the lives of people she’d never even met. Her capacity for love and empathy had always been one of Lily’s favourite things about Mary - but now, she wished more than anything to be able to take the pain for her, protect her from herself, because with each passing day, she saw the woman she loved lose herself.
“I want to floo the boys,” Mary said, devoid of much emotion. Lily walked up and kissed a tear from under her eyes. She then went and called to James’s flat for Mary, and saw both him and Sirius through the fire. From the look in their faces, they’d already spoken with Dumbledore.
“Lils, hey. Everything all good?” Sirius asked, stepping in front of an uncharacteristically quiet James.
“Yeah, I’m okay, just heard from Dumbledore though.”
“Right, us too. Is Mare there?” James asked, smiling when Mary stepped up to Lily’s side in response.
Sirius sighed rather dramatically, and looked over at James, who nodded quietly. “Guys, he wasn’t telling you everything.” Lily’s heart dropped.
“Dumbledore?” Mary whispered.
“Yeah, here’s the deal…”
And Lily listened as her best friends told them about yet more death. This time, one closer to home.
“We all knew she wasn’t letting up, and wasn’t listening to orders from Dumbledore, not that I can exactly blame her after Marls…” Lily winced, and squeezed Mary’s shoulder at the mention of their dearest friend, one the two of them had shared a dorm and a life with, before her family was killed. Decimated. “She was powerful, we all knew this. But you know what they say. Nobody lives once he decides to kill them.” Lily’s heart shattered yet again.
She heard Mary whimper from beside her, “Dorcas…”
“Mare, Lils… I’m so sorry. Come over?” James plead, as he watched the girls with silent tears tracking their cheeks.
“Yeah okay-” Lily started, before she was interrupted - “No, thank you James. I have to talk to Lily about something. I’ll write to you though,” Mary said, a detached determination in her voice. It made Lily nervous.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, no need to write, Mare,” James said back, clearly not picking up on anything slightly off. “Still, I’ll write.” And then the boys had left.
Lily knew that call had been the end. Sure, maybe the end had started months ago, even years. Maybe Mary had been slowly slipping out of her iron-tight grip. But losing yet another member of their inner circle? That had been when Lily lost the love of her life.
The fight that ensued had been emotionally devastating for both of them. And yet, it had come to an end, Lily distraught and clutching to the hem of Mary’s dress, begging her not to do it. But hadn’t this been what she’d wanted? To protect Mary from the depths of her emotions, to save her more heartbreak? Not at the expense of us, she thought. What we have is too beautiful to lose. Mary wouldn’t budge, though.
So they spent the afternoon ignoring Dumbledore’s owls. Curled up on the couch, speaking in soft whispers, reminding themselves of each moment of bliss they’d shared. Laughing through tears as they pictured their friend group, whole and complete, sitting around a fireplace at Hogwarts, thinking life would be easier when they grew up. They cooked their favourite meal one last time , spent hours tangled up in sheets, trying to permanently imprint the memory of each other’s bodies into their brains. When eight o’clock rolled around, the two of them were locked into the same position they’d woken up in that morning, when they hadn't know it would be the last time; legs tangled and fingers softly caressing the others hair, face, anywhere they could touch. Whispering reverently to each other, all of the things they loved most.
So when Mary pushed back a stray hair from her face, Lily’s heart clenched, seeing the look in Mary’s eyes. No. She couldn’t do this. Panic bubbled up in her chest, tears filling her eyes. “Mary, please…”
“Sweetheart, please, let’s not fight again. That’s not how I want you to remember us.”
“We could come out of this, Mare. You and me forever, my love.”
“Lily… I can’t,” Mary choked on her words, and Lily knew. She had to let her go. Instead of answering, she nodded, and stroked Mary’s cheek with the hand that wasn’t gently massaging her neck. She leaned forward and melded their lips together, drinking up everything Mary was offering to her.
Mary grabbed her wand, packing the bare minimum. Lily grabbed a few t-shirts out of her own dresser, and slipped them in too. At the last minute, she grabbed a full bottle of vanilla perfume from a drawer, and gave it to Mary, who’s lips wobbled as she took the bottle and gently put it in her bag. “You keep mine, Lils. Wear it everyday,” she whispered.
“As if you had to ask, my love.” Lily cringed at the words, they felt so final. “Mare… I can’t watch you go, I’ll stop you,” Lily admitted; this was already tearing apart her world, she thought watching the love of her life leave might actually kill her.
“I know, sweetheart. The letters are all sitting on the kitchen bench. You have to promise me they’ll get them,” Mary said, grabbing Lily’s two hands with her own.
“I promise. If it’s the last thing I do,” Lily breathed, pressing a kiss to each of Mary’s wrists.
“Don’t let it be the last thing you do, sweetheart. Come find me when this is all over. Maybe we can fall in love again.” Mary’s own eyes were shining with heartache now.
“We’ll fall in love in every lifetime, Mary Macdonald,” Lily said, wrapping her arms around Mary’s waist, pulling her into a kiss, mustering as much love as she could into the action. Mary’s hand snaked into her hair, stroking it softly, trying to commit it to memory, which, given what she was about to do, felt like such a cruel irony.
“I love you, Lily.”
“I love you, Mary.”
Lily had walked away first, keeping to her promise that she wouldn’t watch Mary leave. She had flooed to the boy's apartment for dinner, taking with her Mary's letters. The one's she'd written for each of them. Remus wordlessly pulled Lily to a hug when she walked into their living room; tears tracking down her face. He ran his hands through her hair as she wordlessly handed each of them a letter.
It hurt to watch them thumb through the pages, crying over their friend. It was bittersweet; they were all glad Mary would escape the war alive, but to them, her loss felt nearly as real as death.
After trying to eat dinner; her mouth too dry to choke down what would have been a delicious homecooked meal from James under any other circumstances, the boys insisted she stayed the night. But Lily couldn't bear the idea of sleeping in any bed other than her own. The bed that she had shared with Mary. That they got tangled up in every night, that they lazily remade every morning. After she watched James, Sirius, and Remus exchange glances; speaking a language only they understood, they decided to let her go. James made her promise to floo if she needed anything. Sirius pushed a freshly baked batch of biscuits into her hands. Remus pressed a kiss to her hair. And then she was gone.
That’s how Lily found herself back in her bedroom, on the floor, clutching her and Mary's floral printed sheets to her face, wishing with her whole heart that the pain Mary had felt could have been her own instead. Maybe she could have been able to bear it for them.
She replayed the conversation in her head, over and over. She knew she was driving herself halfway to insanity, but she couldn’t help it. Come find me when this is all over. Maybe we can fall in love again.
Lily was nothing if not fierce in her loyalty and devotion. As she shook like a leaf on the floor, clutching to the remnants of her life with Mary as if it were a lifeline, she made a vow to herself, and to Mary. I’ll be back my love, she thought. I will end this war, even if I have to do it myself, and I will come find you. We’ll have our happily ever after, and I’ll spend the rest of my days watching you make tea, and I’ll keep blushing every time you call me sweetheart.
Lily was a determined woman; she herself couldn’t deny that, but without Mary, she felt as though she was a broken shell. An empty void that called out for its lost love; soft whispers or harrowing screams, it didn’t matter - it was always unanswered. She went about her duties feeling as though her body was acting independently; her mind wasn’t completely with her. She painted a ghost smile on her face when her friends celebrated a milestone, she acted relieved when the Order came out of a battle victorious. The impact of losing people in the war was, of course, devastating, but the depths of grief Lily used to reach never made another appearance. There was a constant stream of Mary, Mary, Mary, playing in the forefront of her mind; all other thoughts pushed aside. They couldn’t be as important.
Lily just had to remind herself of her promise with every passing day. I’ll be back, my love. I will find you.
Mary Macdonald led a quiet life. Perhaps that was because of her personality, but she couldn’t be sure. Maybe before the accident that landed her in hospital with near total amnesia, and no family who had come to claim her, she was different - bubbly, jubilant, loud. She could never be sure.
People were always surprised to find that she was ‘so well-adjusted’. After all, it’s not often that a woman in their early twenties is found leading a normal life, with absolutely no recollection of their life prior. Not that Mary had been well-adjusted at first.
After waking up on a hotel bed with nothing in the room but a suitcase with clothes she assumed belonged to her, limited toiletries, and a full bottle of vanilla perfume, Mary had felt oddly hollow. She had wracked her brain, trying desperately to figure out how she’d landed in this cheap-looking hotel, spread out on a tacky blue and orange bedspread. She’d inhaled the perfume, and not knowing why, she’d had a full-blown meltdown. She’d rushed out of the room to the receptionist, who called the local hospital upon seeing Mary’s dishevelled state and listened to her senseless rambling.
She’d been told she had been in an accident; there was a minor, yet unidentifiable in nature, trauma to her brain that had left her with next to no memory of her life. The neurologists had been surprised Mary had even known her own name - they’d even speculated it was entirely possible that she’d made up the name. The hotel room hadn’t been pre-booked, and she had absolutely no form of identification with her.
After weeks of circulating her picture and name through newspapers and television advertisements, no family, friends, or even acquaintances had come forward as someone recognising Mary. At first, this had stung. Even if she had no loved ones, surely someone recognised her, even in passing, enough to come forward.
But, as with all things, time went on. Mary moved out of the country, to a small town in the south of France. She worked in a small bookstore, and made a life for herself. She met people, even made friends, but she never got too close. She wasn’t sure why, she just felt as though that time in her life had come and gone.
Most of the time, though she plastered on a cheery grin, Mary felt hollow. A little bit like a phantom, living in a body she didn’t belong to. She didn’t mind this though. Because the times Mary felt whole again, she didn’t understand. The times were few and far between, and always fleeting. They left a distinct melancholy ache through her body, it was though her soul was breaking in two.
The first time had happened before Mary had been discharged from the hospital. Two neurologists had been consulting her condition in the corner of her room, the medical jargon boring her to tears. Then, a kind nurse had walked in and asked if it was okay to take her vitals. When she nodded, the nurse pulled out a pair of round, gold rimmed glasses and placed them on his face. Mary jolted at the sight, feeling as though the wind had been punched from her lungs. She had cried and wailed, eventually being restrained by a different nurse. She never figured out why, but the thought of those glasses, all these years later, made her head spin until she was beyond nauseous.
Eight months later, Mary purchased a one-way train ticket to France. She’d spent the time since her accident learning to reintegrate herself into the world. She was speaking French phrases to herself, when she was approached by a ticket inspector. Her heart, for no reason she was capable of remembering, plummeted. The worker had a blonde mullet and an easy grin that felt, more than looked, familiar to Mary. Within minutes, Mary had been on her knees in the bathroom, emptying the contents of her stomach.
Over the past six years, Mary had come across a handful of other people that gave her one of those gut-wrenching feelings of heartache. Once, a tall man who had been covered in scars. Another, an ebony skinned woman with braids that were adorned with silver charms. A man who played chess in the corner of the bookstore. Another man who wore outrageous platform Doc Martens and a battered leather jacket, laughing boisterously as he swept his long black hair into a bun.
None of them had stopped her heart though. Not until today. Mary was standing at the counter of the bookshop, writing a neat to-do list on a pink sticky-note beside the till. It was quiet; there was only an older woman with her tabby cat in the store. Mary wandered off to the back to grab herself a mug of tea, and slowly made her way back to the register after hearing the bell ring, signalling that someone had walked in.
And Mary’s heart stopped dead in its tracks.
Facing away from her, already browsing the shelves, was a woman with long, thick red hair. It was loose, except for a small portion in the middle that had been gathered and tied off with a thick white ribbon, adorned with pink lace edges. Her hair seemed to have an ethereal quality; soft and creamy highlights throughout that sparkled where the sunlight filtering through the window hit it.
Oh. Mary’s heartbeat was restless now. She felt a yearning in her heart. Not for the woman in front of her, though. She couldn’t explain the sensation, not really. Oh, but it hurt. It hurt in the best way possible.
Her knees buckled, and she dropped the mug onto the floor; not caring as the ceramic shattered around her feet. The girl whipped around at the noise, and walked up to Mary.
“Are you okay? You look unwell,” the red-headed stranger said. Mary blanched at the honeyed quality of her voice. Not even bothering to answer, she stared at the freckles pasted on the woman’s face; for some reason, Mary felt as though she had connected them, drawn constellations on her nose.
Memories were bubbling to the surface, but they had a glossed over quality to them. They felt fake. In fact, Mary couldn’t even fully uncover exactly what she was remembering. Flashes of creamy skin adorned in silk, legs tangled up in floral printed sheets. The taste of earl grey mixed with honey, which was strange since she never made her tea that way. Freckles hovering above her eyes, red tresses tickling the birthmark on her cheek. Each time Mary grasped for the memories, they flitted away.
“... okay I’m calling an ambulance,” the older woman with her cat said, breaking Mary out of her trance.
The red-headed woman was sitting down, and guiding Mary’s head into her lap.
Black spots began to cloud Mary’s vision, and her head was swimming. Her heart was beating so fast she could hear the blood pumping through her veins.
Her eyes fluttered shut as she fainted, uttering one word, barely audible.
“Lily.”
Time went on, and Mary Macdonald continued to live in a constant state of melancholy. She never recovered her memories. Though Mary never knew it, perhaps this was a blessing in disguise.
Because what she didn’t remember, was Lily Evans’ sacred promise to her.
I’ll be back my love, and I will come find you. We’ll have our happily ever after.
What she didn’t know, was that Lily could never fulfil that promise.
What she didn’t know, was that as Lily took her final breaths, she whispered her promise over and over, chanting it like a prayer.
What she didn’t know, is that they never got their happily ever after.
Mary didn’t understand the deep hole that seemed to be carved out in her chest, the way it never disappeared. She didn’t understand that she was missing half of her soul. But maybe that was for the best.