Dumbledore's Favour
December of that year was colder than usual, or perhaps that was just the sadness from Mary's mind that seeped out of her body and instead enveloped her in a constant hug as she went throughout her days.
Or perhaps it was just cold.
It had been almost two months since the war ended. Two months when the world had been celebrating. Something that made Mary feel as if she was not a part of it. Her soul had disconnected. She was just an empty shell, walking around. One would almost think she'd gotten the dementor's kiss.
Mary almost wished she had. Then at least she would not have to feel.
She still remembered that crucial call she had made to Remus, her only friend left, days after the tragedy. He had been out on a mission with the werewolves.
"Remus, something awful has happened."
That was her words, but they didn't quite describe the measure of the tragedy that had happened in Godric's Hollow.
The ground crunched beneath Mary's feet as she walked across the cemetery, a bouquet of flowers in her hands.
Lilies.
When Marlene died in her home surrounded by her family and Yasmine, a part of Mary died with them, but she still managed to carry on. She had Lily, James, Peter, Sirius, little Harry, and Remus, though the latter, still alive nor in jail, seemed to slither further and further away from her as the days passed.
She understood. Remus had lost the love of his life, not to death, but to treachery. Still, she missed him. Almost with an amused smile, though fleeting, she thought back to their days at Hogwarts. She remembered even sleeping with the wolf-man, a first and a last.
She reached their grave. They had been buried together, intertwined in the earth as they had been above it. Mary crouched, and wiped a bit of snow off the stone. She placed the flowers underneath Lily's name.
"Merry Christmas, Mr and Mrs Prongs."
A tear slid from her eye. Soon more followed.
* * *
She received the owl in mid-January. It was a white snow owl. For a second she found herself thinking that James would've loved it, but then she remembered.
She took the letter attached—the owl took off through the open window—and read the neat, familiar scrawl.
Dear Mary
I need a favour. I'll be arriving today around dinner time. My visit will be short - Dumbledore
Mary tightened her jaw and crumbled the paper. She had not been a fan of the bearded man for quite a while by then. It was easy to blame their death on him. He should've been the secret keeper. He should've insisted—
Sirius was a Black, he should never—
A Black you loved, the voice in her head whispered. You were friends. And he still left you.
She shook her head and turned away from the window. If just her memories would shut up.
Dumbledore arrived at six, just as Mary was in the middle of doing absolutely nothing. She had moved out to a house in the country shortly before it had happened and even had a room for Harry when she was on babysitter duty.
That would never happen now and the room stood empty. Maybe one day a baby of her own would crawl over the floor in there.
She heard him appear outside and met him at the door. "What do you want?" she asked, crossing her arms.
"A favour, as I said in my letter," he said.
"Hmm, a favour. Okay, gotcha, nice." Mary's hands were trembling. "Can I ask you for one too, huh?"
"Of course."
"Go back in fucking time and change your decisions!"
"I can't do that," Dumbledore said, simply. "I know you're grieving, but that would also mean Voldemort would return. You know that."
She scowled but said nothing. She stepped aside. An invite to let the old man inside. He stepped in.
In her living room, she started making tea, hands trembling.
"So? What do you want?"
"I want you to keep something for me," Dumbledore said. "Something I..." He blinked. Was his eyes wet? "Something that I can no longer have in my office at Hogwarts."
"Oh, thanks, a gift, how delightful," she said, sarcastically. She set the water to boil, not with her wand, but with her hands as she had been raised to do. Mary had begun to despise the magic that coursed in her veins.
The only magic she needed in her life was gone.
The corner of Dumbledore's thin lips quirked up. "I see you still have your wit."
"Gotta keep what you have close. It gets taken away too easily, doesn't it? So, what it is you need for me to keep?"
Dumbledore pulled out his wand and with a swipe of it, a large mirror appeared in the room, not facing Mary, but Dumbledore himself. He looked at it, sadly.
"Socks," he mumbled, lowly. "Wollen socks."
"Scuse me?"
Dumbledore looked at her. "Pardon me. Just thinking. Now, this is the mirror I need you to keep for me."
"For how long?"
"I'm not quite sure."
"Why do you need me to keep it?"
"Because I, too, Miss Mcdonald, wish that I'd done things differently in the past. Now, I'm sorry, but I'm in a bit of a rush. I'm afraid I'll have to take you up on some tea another time."
"Alright."
After he left, Mary looked at the golden backside of the mirror. She found her wand and used magic to guide it up the stairs into little Harry's room. She didn't want to touch it. Didn't want to look at it.
She let it stay in that room without looking at it for a very long time.
* * *
Mary decided to do it in March. She simply couldn't take it anymore. She needed to forget, otherwise the weight of her past would simply weigh her down too much to move forward.
She was sat on her bed, her wand in her hand. Her hands were trembling slightly. This would be the last bit of magic she ever did. It was scary as much as it was freeing.
"I'll remember you in the afterlife," she mumbled as she raised the wand to her temple. "But for now it's too much to bear, I'm sorry." She closed her eyes. "Obliviate."
Everything turned foggy and was foggy for days.
* * *
1983
Mary was walking along the aisle of the supermarket, humming along to the song that was playing in the background.
Ch-ch-changes
She loved Bowie.
Suddenly a red-headed woman stepped into the aisle before her and she was reminded of lilies. Maybe she should buy some to put—
Where exactly?
* * *
1985
It was about time Mary broke that door down into that room. It had been locked for four years and never had she been able to find the key. Neither could she remember what was in the room, so she had not bothered, but the need to move houses had filled her body, and therefore she needed to break it down.
She did. With a hammer.
The room on the other side had egg-shell-coloured walls. A... crib of all things in the corner and a large oval mirror with unknown words engraved in the golden frame.
Intrigued, she looked at the mirror. Where had that come from?
She stepped closer and a gasp fell from her lips. She was not alone in the mirror. Her reflection was surrounded by a group of people.
She turned around, but no, she was alone. There was no one else. She turned back to the mirror. They were still there.
A man, with long black hair, pearly skin, and a piercing in his ear, winked at her while wearing a confident grin. Next to him stood a tall, lanky man with dark-blonde curls, a scar that curled over his face, and a small smile directed at her—and the black-haired man. There was a shorter man as well with mousy hair and a cheeky grin. He wore a sweater with a chessboard embroidered. He stood in front of the lanky man. There was man on the black long-haired other's side, too, a mischievous grin on his handsome face, round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and black, unkempt hair. He had his arm around a woman who was slightly shorter than him, with long red hair and freckles speckled over her pretty face. Her eyes were sparkling green, just as the baby's she held in her arms was. The baby had a scar on its forehead.
That didn't feel right to Mary.
Then there was a blonde woman, her hair cropped to her shoulders, her arms crossed as she smiled at Mary, a dimple pooling in her cheek. She, more than all of them, made Mary's heart skip a beat.
"Who..." she mumbled and placed her hands to the mirror's surface. "Who are you?"
They didn't answer, but the baby in the mirror basked his arms, his hand reaching out to touch Mary's.
* * *
1991
Mary returned to the mirror every day, had for years, but never brought its secret outside the walls of the room. That mirror was the reason she stayed in her home. She was afraid to move it but she was also afraid to leave it behind.
However, that decision would be taken for her in the summer of that year when a man with a long white beard appeared unannounced on her doorstep.
"Hello?" she said, more a question than a greeting. "Who the heck are you?"