Valkyrie

Late November 1978

Mary is standing on a cliff. Below her, the dizzying sight of tiny trees and green grass sends shockwaves down her spine. The dirt beneath her feet starts to crumble, and she lifts her head up to the sky as though to ask for help.

Something brushes her shoulder. She knows who it is, as the jasmine wafts across her nose.

“Come with me.” Lily whispers into her ear, and Mary turns to see her but her heel slips, and she plummets downward into nothingness.

Gasping, Mary comes back to in her bed, arms flailing. The room is dark, the sheets around her damp with sweat and shoved away from her. It takes her a moment to realize this is not her bed, her room, but one of the Potters’. She is at the Potters… where she lives now. This is home, for the time being.

As her heartrate calms down, the overwhelming feeling she’s grown so familiar with spreads across her limbs and chest: loneliness. Mary is surrounded by people she loves and yet she is desperately, terribly lonely.

She swings her feet over the side of the bed and sits there for a while, the soles of her feet pressed firmly against the cool floorboards. She tries not to think about anything, tries to keep her mind completely blank. It is easier, this way.

The window is cracked open slightly, the air turned cold and biting in the night. It is November already, probably about five months since she left Hogwarts. Mary feels much older than she ought to. She turned nineteen a month ago, but it was no celebration. It was a grim reminder of the passage of time, while she stands here, frozen in place, petrified.

Not for the first time, she thinks about Hestia. She hasn’t seen her in months, not since September. Everything feels so distant now, like a half-forgotten dream. It is strange to remember that there is a past, that everything is not this present moment.

Mary presses her hands into the bedsheets for a moment before standing up, fishing a sweater off the vanity, and padding down the cool hallways to the kitchen for a glass of water.

A soft glow comes from the kitchen, and Mary freezes in the doorway. Remus is standing against the countertop, eating an apple. He blinks at her. His eyes are sunken in, dark circles below.

“Hi.” Mary says, too exhausted to turn and abandon this fight.

Remus, slowly, inclines his head to her. “Hi.”

They stare at each other. Remus reaches behind him and produces an apple. “Want one?”

“No, thank you.” Mary shifts from one foot to the other. “I feel bad taking food without asking.”

“Oh.” Remus glances down at the half-eaten apple in his hand. “Right.”

Mary goes to the pantry on the other side of the fridge to grab a clear cup. “How long have you been awake?”

Remus shrugs, his left shoulder stiff. “Few hours. Not much of a sleeper.”

“Really?” Mary says, lifting the filled glass to her mouth. “That’s not what James and Sirius say.”

“Not much of a sleeper anymore, then.”

“Ah, right.”

It is an open secret that Remus is sent on solo missions for the Order. He’s already been gone on at least two, since he spent about a week away for both. Sirius was so antsy that he also vanished for a night, coming home completely trashed on James’ shoulder.

Everybody seems to know something except for Mary. It is the other secret about Remus Lupin, where whispers turn to loud small talk once Mary enters a room. Remus gets ill a lot, that’s fairly well known. Truth be told, Mary thinks she knows, but more than anything she hates being left out. This feeling has grown more acute since they all got involved in the war.

Mary leans on the counter. Remus watches her warily, like a wolf stalking its prey. He is the only other person she knows who watches others so closely.

“You have a secret.” She says, draining her glass.

Remus’ eyebrow twitches.

“You don’t wear anything but baggy long-sleeved jumpers. You get ill once a month. Everyone is super protective over you and your reputation.” Mary lists, ticking each point with her fingers. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? You’re a girl.”

Remus chokes on his apple. “I’m a what??” He says through coughs, eyes bulging.

Mary lifts her palms to stop him. “It’s fine, really. I won’t tell anyone. But… you’re not so good at hiding it.”

“Mary, I’m not a girl.”

“I knew a kid when I was little. He was born a girl, so he wore a lot of big clothes so nobody could see his chest. I didn’t mind. Plus, you get more ill than any of us for our monthlies.”

“Mary.”

“That’s why you were so weird around Lily when we were at Hogwarts. You liked her, but you didn’t know if she’d like you because of it.”

“Merlin.” Remus mutters under his breath, then louder: “Mary, I’m a werewolf.”

Mary pauses, lips still shaped around her next word. “What?”

Remus glances around the kitchen, even though they’re alone, and then hisses, “I’m a werewolf. I transform at the full moon. I’m not a—I don’t even know what to call it.”

Mary blinks once, twice. “Huh.”

“Yeah.” He swipes a hand over his eyes.

Neither of them says anything. Mary processes, Remus rubs his temples, apple core on the counter long forgotten.

“So, you’re a—”

“Yes.”

“And everybody else knows?”

“The guys found out in second year. Lily figured it out in sixth, and Marlene caught me over the summer.”

“How old were you?”

Remus glances down at his hand, the broad silvery scar running across his knuckles. “Five.” His voice is small. He looks like a little kid. He looks like Rafe.

Mary tries to keep her voice from quavering. “Does it hurt?”

Remus’ jaw ticks. “Yeah.”

Unconsciously, Mary’s hand moves to clutch at her other wrist. Remus glances at her. There’s a strange spark in the air.

Something occurs to her. “In fifth year, you guys all stopped talking. Was that because of the werewolf thing?”

Something dark and vicious flashes in Remus’ yellowish eyes. “I’m not talking about that.”

“It was about Snape, though. I remember.”

Remus doesn’t say anything.

“Snape was shit to me. He was shit to you too, right?”

“Mary, we aren’t the same.”

“I know. But you get it.”

You get it. Severus Snape’s two favourite targets: Loony Lupin and Mary the Slut. She remembers it, the feeling of profound isolation when no one else even batted an eye at his insults. No one except for Remus.

Remus’ eyes were a strange yellow in the soft light. “Mary, you don’t know me. Please don’t think you do.”

Mary stares at his side profile, the long Roman nose. “Okay.”

The undercurrent in the room thrums between them: trust is not so easily earned.

Remus leans down to throw out the apple core. “Sleep well, Mary.”

Mary stands there for a while after.

~*~

“He’s my friend, Mary.”

“You’re my friend, too.”

Mary hates crying. She hates the shame of it, how weakness becomes so visible. Lily is standing there, unreal and ethereal, and Mary hates her now, hates her weakness.

“He calls me a slut and a mudblood.”

Lily shakes her head, as though she’s trying to convince herself. “No, no, he doesn’t mean it. He’s good, I promise, Mary. He’s my friend.”

“He’s your friend, but he’s not mine.” Mary feels like she’s about to crawl on her hands and knees to pray at the temple of Lily. “How can you let him treat me like that?”

“He’s all I have from home.” Lily says, tears spilling down her cheeks now too. “He was my only friend.”

“You were my only friend when I came here!”

“Mary,” Marlene says behind her, trying to coax her away, but Mary is too sad to listen. She keeps staring up into Lily’s eyes, those lovely green eyes.

“Are you going to pick him over me?”

“I shouldn’t have to.” Lily says stubbornly, sticking her upper lip out like a little kid.

“He hates us, Lily. Everyone here hates us!”

“He doesn’t hate me.”

Mary stares at her from far away. Marlene has gone quiet. Lily’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything. The words hang in the air, creating the divide.

Slowly, Mary says, “So it’s okay that he hates me, and muggleborns, because he doesn’t hate you?”

“Argh!” Lily screams, turning suddenly to sweep the clock and books off her nightstand. It clatters to the floor in a cacophony of sounds. Mary is barely aware that she is crying anymore.

“Lils,” Marlene says in a low, warning tone. “Go take a breather.”

“No.” Mary says, standing up, drawing both pairs of eyes to hers. Lily’s darts away, ashamed. “I’ll go. It seems I’m the wrong company here, anyway.”

“Mary—”

She keeps walking, walking, walking, down the halls. This is the opposite of numbness: every inch of Mary’s body is screaming, on fire. She can barely contain her sobs.

When she first came here, Lily was the one who understood. Lily was like her.

But Lily is good at magic. Lily belongs here. Lily has transcended mudblood status; Mary has not.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here, gents?”

Mary looks up into the dark eyes of Milton Mulciber. He grins, sharp like a knife.

“A mudblood plaything.”

And everything goes quiet.

~*~

Mary has made the executive decision to forgive Lily Evans.

Sitting on the back patio, watching Lily freak out as James tries to coax her onto a broom for Quidditch. The unsteady smile that spreads as she soars up into the air, grabbing the Quaffle from Sirius. Making a goal and cheering, fist up in victory, grinning down at Mary and Effie, watching below.

Mary watches from underneath her lowered eyelids, unable to face her directly. It is easy to forget about Lily Evans’ flaws when she fixes you with that smile and charm, when you are in her good graces. Mary finds it easier and easier these days to hold a grudge, especially against Lily. Beautiful Lily, intelligent Lily, talented Lily, perfect Lily.

You hurt my feelings; Mary thinks. Not just once, but several times. Because you don’t see us as equals anymore. You belong here, and I don’t. you know that as well as I do. You are going to hurt me again, and I will say thank you, because it means you have thought about me.

“Did you see that! I got a goal!”

Lily is running across the field towards them, red plaits swinging behind her. In her peripheral vision, Mary sees Euphemia glance at her.

Mary manually tugs her lips into a smile. “Shit, well done Lils!”

Lily, out of breath and red faced, starts to move for a hug, but hesitates. They linger there in awkward space for a moment, before Mary closes the gap, leaning in and inhaling the jasmine perfume.

~*~

“Mary?”

“Mh, yeah?”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I know.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“…”

“…”

“Lily, I’ll always forgive you.”

~*~

Late evening. Mary is leaning against Lily’s shoulder, listening to her even breaths as she sleeps. The television is playing some movie. James is passed out in Lily and Sirius’ lap, Remus and Pete in the armchairs, Marlene on the floor. Mary’s cheek is pressed against the bare skin of Lily’s arm, and she starts to wonder why she could ever consider not loving Lily. At this, Lily sighs in her sleep.

The telephone starts to ring in the kitchen. Marlene, who is spread eagle on the floor, groans and clambers to her feet, hair frizzy from the carpet. Mary watches her go lazily; her head too tired to move.

Marlene murmurs in the kitchen. Lily shifts a little and leans her head against Mary’s. Mary wonders if this is what peace is.

Footsteps. Marlene comes back in, her face strange and twisted.

“Guys,” she says loudly, rousing the sleepers. Lily pulls herself up with a yawn. Mary stares at Marlene’s face as though in a dream.

“Alice called. She says nobody’s heard from MG in weeks. They think she’s gone missing.”