The War
Mary spends her 21st birthday alone. They’ve been caught up in this war since mere weeks after they left Hogwarts but the end is near, hopefully. Lily is away on a mission with James and Sirius, an attempt to rescue a half-blood family that had been taken hostage by the death eaters.
Mary spends the day gloomy and miserable, there is nothing anyone can say to cheer her up. People bring gifts that Mary doesn’t open, thanking them profusely but determined to wait until Lily returns next week. Regulus brings a letter from the trio, who have been gone for two weeks already and are only allowed to send one owl every Tuesday. They all crammed words onto the pages, wishing they could be there, apologising for missing it and promising to make it up to her.
Mary doesn’t really care about the fact it’s her birthday, it sucks but she understands and is mostly concerned. They were supposed to be back already, so she’s out of her mind with fear.
Marlene brings cake, and plays music, singing obnoxiously to Mary to try and take both of their minds off of it. It doesn’t work, and the night ends with Marlene calling for Dorcas to come and rescue them when they get locked on the balcony in a drunken mess.
Four days pass without a word. Mary meets with other Order members, all as unaware and frightened as she is. They plan, going over countless ideas and plots, thinking of a million different things that could go wrong and preparing for two. They practise, they do everything they possibly can and then some, desperate for this war to finally end.
On the fifth day, James runs into the Order building mid-practise, Mary had been watching the Prewett twins try and fail to overpower Regulus when he burst through the doors, carrying a child who couldn’t have been older than 4 in his arms as he screamed out for Madame Pomfrey.
In a split second Regulus has been at his side, his wand moving so quickly Mary couldn’t even be sure of what he was casting. The blood cleared, only to instantly be replenished, dripping thick and fast from gaping wounds on both of them. Madame Pomfrey raced into the room, joining them in a desperate attempt to save the boy.
The air is thick with the scent of blood, it lingers in the air even after the boy in taken to the infirmary on a stretcher, closely followed by James who resists all treatment, determined to keep his eyes on the one he was couldn’t protect.
Mary can’t help the panic that overtakes her entire body. James had returned alone, bloodied and beaten after a clearly gruelling battle, no one had sent for aid or backup and James hadn’t asked for any to be sent. Did that mean it was too late? Had things gone so terribly wrong that there was no need to send help? Had Mary lost the love of her life without even realising it?
She isn’t sure how long it takes for someone to bring news. At some point Marlene rushes in, settling into the seat next to Mary when no one will let her into the infirmary to speak to James and no one has any information for her. The two of them sit there in silence, trying their hardest to convince themselves that everything is okay.
This is the worst things have been in a long time. It never usually takes this long for anyone to be healed enough to at least have visitors, never before has Mary had to wait this long for information about the other members of a mission.
Mary is no stranger to losing people to this war, her very first mentor after joining the Order had died in her arms, she had attended the funeral of old professors, of classmates, of people who had offered her kind smiles and comforting arms in the face of such hatred and destruction that she felt that everything could be okay. She had lost a lot, but the agony of waiting never ceased and the constant ache of grief never left.
She doesn’t let herself cry until Sirius limps through the door, his face swollen and bruised while he clutches at a recently healed rib, his arm is twisted at an odd angle and he clearly hadn’t stayed with a Healer for long. There would only be one reason he came alone and without healing.
“I’m so sorry,”
Mary knew before he could even say the words, she thinks she knew the whole time but was just so determined not to believe it that she repressed it, pleading with some greater being for it to not be true, begging to keep this one thing.
Mary Macdonald was born three months after Lily Evans, she was born into a world where her soulmate was waiting for her. She had met the love of her life at 11 years old, and known from the very first time that she had seen Lily that she would love her in any way she could, for as long as she could.
It takes her a moment to realise that the screaming is coming from her own mouth, that she is even capable of making these noises. The sound echoes around the room, so agonisingly pained and broken that it sounds as if someone is having their heart forcefully yanked from their chest. That is sort of what it feels like.
Mary had never had to live in a world without Lily before.
The next thing she realises is that she is going to have to grow old without Lily. That despite Lily being the only girl she’ll ever love with her entire mind, body and soul, she will never know her until they grow old and grey together. They’ll never build the life they wanted together, will never raise children and care for animals and create so many memories that it’s impossible for them to look back with any regrets.
The last thing she thinks as she blacks out is that she hopes she’ll see Lily again.
She isn’t that lucky. Mary wakes up in a hospital bed, Marlene sat at her bedside distraught with tears that are impossible to speak through. She doesn’t need to speak though, because Mary remembers, she’s painfully aware that this was not some nightmare and is instead her hellish reality.
Not a single word passes her lips as an array of people try and get her to speak, to react, to do anything other than lie there in such a catatonic state. People try to explain things to her, all it does is cause a trickle of tears. After one instance where a wave of uncontrollable magic spills out of her sending two people crashing into a wall and an unbearable hour of wailing mournful cries, Mary is sent home.
Home. To the flat she lived in with Lily, to the place that represented their lives together, their hopes and dreams, their aspirations. To the home she had built and shared with Lily, to the kitchen they had danced around in, the living room they had curled up in to watch films and brave the cold winter nights, to the balcony they had smoked on and whispered about their fears.
Mary closes her eyes and lets Marlene lead her to the bedroom so she doesn’t have to see any of it.
☆☆☆☆
Mary doesn't leave their bed for three days. Regulus brings her tea, the majority of which she watches go cold and stares at until he changes it to a fresh one. He had probably spent more time at their flat than any other of their friends. Lily had always involved him in her research projects and Regulus had grown to do the same, the duo spending hours pouring over books and experimenting for days on end.
She appreciates his presence, she can almost make herself believe Lily is still there, that if she walks into their living room Lily will look up at her with a tired smile as she secures her hair into a loose braid to keep it out of the way.
It won't happen so she stays in bed and lets James bring her food and tell her about the little boy they managed to save. His name is Harry, and he'll be staying with James and Regulus when he's released from the hospital. Mary is glad the boy is okay, she would never hold it against him, but it still leaves a dull ache in her chest. Lily should be here to help protect and raise that little boy.
Mary lets Marlene sit at the end of her bed and cry, lets her beg for a response, for a glance, for anything that indicates she's still there. Mary tries to respond, and feels the strain on her vocal cords as a mental block prevents her from uttering a single noise. She fails, and instead lets tears stream down her cheeks until Dorcas comes and gently pulls Marlene away.
When Marlene leaves Dorcas comes back, brushes the hair out of Mary's face and gently wipes her tears, reassuring her that no one is upset with her, simply worried and she can take all the time she needs. Dorcas straightens the blankets and replaces the tissues, and Mary hates the fact that she's jealous. Jealous of the kindness Dorcas shows even when she's suffered and lost so much, jealous of the love she still has and the future she will build.
Remus closes the blinds at night, and opens them in the morning, sits in her armchair and reads. He speaks the words of Lily's favourite book, the one she had been in the middle of re-reading, the one she'll never get to finish again. Sirius doesn't enter her room, but she can hear him cleaning the rest of the flat furiously.
She can't decide if she hates the fact he's there or not, can't decide whether she wants him to hug her and reassure her or if she wants to punch him in the face. Logically she knows it's not his fault, she can't blame him, she doesn't, not really but everything aches and she just can't face him yet. Mary wants to beg him to bring Lily back, or to end her suffering so they don’t have to be apart, wants to plead with him to do anything so they can have an eternity together.
She can’t face any of it yet, she doesn’t eat, she doesn’t sleep, doesn’t do anything but blankly stare at the wall and try to convince herself none of this is happening. She only really lets herself grieve when she’s alone, well as alone as she can be. Their friends take turns staying, making sure she’s never alone in the flat, but when things go quiet she lets herself sob, scream, and curse the whole universe from taking this from her, for ruining her like this.
It isn’t until she overhears Remus and James arguing over who will be tracking down Lily’s family to inform them of her passing that she can bring herself to speak. The idea of existing in a world without Lily may be too much for her to bear but she needs to do this, she needs to stand face-to-face with them and inform them that in the end, it didn’t matter how much Mary loved their daughter, it wasn’t enough to save her.
“I want to go,” Her voice is hoarse, rasping eerily in the silence of their room. James startles, nearly falling off of the chair he was half asleep on as he peers at Mary, wondering if she had really spoken or if it was his half-asleep mind playing tricks on him. Mary gulps, pulling herself up on weak, shaky arms to sit against the headboard. “I need to be the one who tells them,”
“What?”
“Li-” Mary stops, unable to bring herself to say Lily's name, too afraid to utter it into a world where she no longer exists, “Her parents, Petunia, I have to tell them,”
Mary reaches for the cup of water James had put at her bedside and gulps it down while he plays with a silver ring on his finger, twisting it anxiously. Mary pretends not to notice which finger it’s on.
“Mare, it’s okay you don’t have to do that,”
“I want to,”
“Do you? Or do you just feel guilty,” Mary looks down, ashamed at how easy it had been to read her.
“I think I need to, I don’t want anyone else to go,”
“You need to look after yourself, let us take care of the rest, and let us help you, that’s all you need to do.” James gets up, starting to pace as he anxiously fidgets and moves, watching Mary like he’s scared she’s going to disappear if he even blinks. “Do you even remember the past few days,”
“Well I’m sorry if me being upset has been difficult for you, James,” Mary scoffs, rolling her eyes at him and folding her arms. She doesn’t remember much at all, but that doesn’t change the fact that she has to be the one to tell Lily’s family. “Clearly didn’t bother you too much,”
James’ gaze snaps to where Mary is pointing, his hand dropping from where it was still twisting his ring. When he looks back up at Mary there are tears in his eyes, and he nods his head slowly as he tries to pull himself together. “You don’t get to be mad at me,”
“And you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do,”
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I’m trying to take care of you,”
“I don’t need you to do that,” Mary shakes her head frantically, she didn’t need anyone to care for her, she needed Lily. She needed things to change, for someone, something to bring back the love of her life, to stop this endless torment of knowing she will never be able to hear her laugh, watch her dance or hold her close again.
“You need someone too,” James counters, his voice thick with emotion, as if it’s hurting him to even speak of this.
“No, no what I need is to not have had my entire world torn to shreds, what I need is my girlfriend, but I don’t get that, so I need to be the one to tell her family,”
“I don’t think you can handle it,” James shrugs matter-of-factly as if he knows what Mary can handle more than she does. “I think it’s too much for you and you need to let someone else deal with it.
“I can handle it, I am handling it,” Mary laughs harshly, more of a cruel mocking exhale than a laugh, glaring maliciously at James.
“You’re not handling it, at all,” James bursts out, his pacing speeding up as he clenches and unclenches his fists, clearly on the verge of a panic attack, “I’ve spent the last three days listening to you beg someone to kill you, I’ve barely left you alone because we are all terrified the second there’s no one here to stop you we’re going to lose you too. The only reason you’re not in a fucking hospital is because I wanted you to be here where it’s familiar, this is the first time since you found out that you’ve even been able to say anything coherent and you really think that you’re in the right mindset to go and tell her family?”
“You can’t stop me.”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t,”
James waves his wand, barricading both the bathroom door and the window as he shuffles out of the room, his shoulders hunched as he sighs in a mixture of exhaustion and defeat. Mary closes her eyes for a moment, letting the wave of guilt wash over her as she hears him sob in the other room.
James had even made sure she was as safe as could be in the room before he left. She hadn’t missed the double meaning in his words, but he was still doing the best he could, even when she was nothing but cruel. She doesn’t have enough energy, or enough space in her mind to allow herself to dwell on it, so she takes a steadying breath and makes a deal with herself to sort things out with James later.
☆☆☆☆
Less than 12 hours after the argument, Mary is standing outside the blue front door of Lily’s childhood home. She had agreed to James’ request for Marlene to sit and talk to her while she showered, even though the area was already secured and Mary wasn’t really intending on doing anything rash anyway. Then she had forced down some food, attempting to ignore the way it tasted rotten and sickly in her mouth, choking her as she willed herself to swallow it. She donned the same black dress she had worn to so many funerals already and set off with the early morning sun.
She had decided to walk part of the way, apparating to the other side of town and trekking through the place Lily had grown up in, the primary school she attended, the park she played out, the shop where she hung off her father’s arm and begged him to buy her sweets. Each step had felt monumental, as if she was dragging Lily’s entire past behind her, attempting to pull her forward into a future that she was not supposed to be a part of.
Reaching the door had been the worst part, a colossal wave of grief and pain in a place of so much laughter and joy. Lily had grown up here, lived an entire childhood of braided hair and plasters on scuffed knees, she had learnt how to ride a bike on this very path, had made daisy chains on the grass and climbed the tree that leaned over the fence.
Behind the door, that awful wave of blue that made Mary feel like she was drowning, was where Lily had learnt how to walk, to tie shoelaces, to read, to cook, to dance, to sing, to draw, to write, to do anything and everything.
It took her an age to lift her hand and knock.
There was a brief moment where she hoped no one would answer, that Mary could just stand here and stare at the door until she became a part of the nature that surrounded it. She wanted the grass to grow tall and loop around her legs, the vines to surround her in a tight embrace, the flowers to grow to suffocate her and let her be absorbed into Lily’s past, just so she could feel even the briefest connection once more.
The door swung open, and Mary was eye to eye with the same green she had seen every day for years, the one she thought she would never be able to see again. It took her a second to realise that it was different, that it was a duller, darker green than the vibrant eyes she had become so accustomed to.
“Mr Evans,” Mary takes a steadying breath, trying not to burst into tears, she had wanted to be the one to tell them after all, she can’t back out now. “Would it be alright if I came in?”
Lily’s father nods, his face stuck in a show of fear and hopelessness, he can already tell this isn’t going to be good news, otherwise Lily herself would be here. He gestures weakly, his face visibly paling as he lets Mary in, offering to hang up her coat, which she carefully declines.
He leads her down the hallway, one lined with pictures of every stage in both Lily and Petunia’s lives. It's an awful reminder of the life that has been lost, the future that will never be lived, Mary torturously following the man who had been there for every step, armed with the knowledge that he wasn’t there for the last.
They stop in the kitchen, neither of them talking, both too afraid to break the silence, terrified of what happens next.
“Are Mrs Evans and your daughter Petunia around?” Mary keeps her voice quiet, overwhelmed with the unsettling feeling that the very act of showing up on his doorstep has already shattered Mr. Evans’ world.
She can’t even recall his name. Lily must have mentioned it before, but Mary can’t recall, she didn’t talk about her parents often. There was too much there, sometimes it felt like everyone was getting wounded and no one could do anything to stop it. Now Mary is left with the task of delivering the final blow.
“Call me Tom,” His voice is thick with grief before the news is even delivered. Mary can’t help but wonder if her own father would just know she was gone if it would even affect him. It's awful, too be thinking that while at her late girlfriend's house, so she shakes her head to try and dispel the thoughts and smiles sadly. “I’ll go get them from the garden,”
The second he’s out of earshot, Mary curls in on herself, taking huge gasping breaths that echo in the space Lily used to occupy. Looking around the room, she thinks of the countless times Lily must have run in here, the smell of breakfast luring her in while music played loudly from the mounted radio in the corner. She wonders if Lily had a specific seat she liked to sit in if it’s the one Mary’s resting against now.
Despite only living here part-time since 11, and having moved into their place over a year ago, Lily’s presence is ingrained into this place.
He returns almost instantly, the three of them rushing in, all pale and clammy as they look at her in desperate hope and fear. She can’t help them, can’t protect them from this pain, from suffering at the hands of the Death Eaters despite Lily’s countless efforts to keep them safe.
“I’m so sorry,” Mary starts, finally understanding why it had taken Sirius so long to speak, it's hard to find the words you know are going to destroy someone. “Just over two weeks ago, Lily went on an extended mission to rescue a little boy, Harry.”
“Is he safe?” Mrs Evans asks, the only one who seems to be full of complete hope and belief that her daughter is okay.
“Harry was transported to a hospital a few days ago, and is waiting to be released into the custody of a couple of our friends?”
“And Lily? Was she injured? Is she at the same hospital?” Mrs Evans asks, her voice tight. Mr Evans grabs her hand, holding it like a lifeline as she watches Mary. Mary tucks her head down, sniffling as she builds up the courage to tell them.
“I’m sorry,” She croaks, her voice catching in her throat as the tears fall and she is unable to bring herself to look at the family in front of her. “Lily never made it back,”
“No, no,” Petunia moves forward, and Mary takes a precautionary half-step back before darting forward when she realises Petunia is more falling than attempting to attack. They stand there, the majority of Petunia’s weight against Mary as she weakly hits at her chest, too encased in her grief to actually do any harm.
“I told her, I told her she’d end up dead,” Petunia wails, her face screwed up as if this news is physically paining her, “My baby sister and you all took her away from me,”
Mary feels her own eyes welling up, countless apologies falling from her lips. Mary knows from first-hand experience how difficult it is to be the eldest, and have your siblings kept from you, how hard it is to live with the knowledge that there is nothing you can do to protect them, that you are helpless in their times of need.
Mary’s beginning to understand Petunia more than she ever had before, and hates the way that it feels like betraying the only girl she’ll ever love. Nevertheless, she apologises, holding Petunia upright as she falls apart, trying to make up for her failure. She hadn’t been able to save Lily, hadn’t protected her.
“I tried to warn you all that this world would get her killed, and everyone treated me like I was a monster,” Petunia is curled in on herself, making her body as small as she can as she mourns so loudly that the Gods themselves can hear it.
There comes a point where Mary can barely hold them, Petunia is too distressed, and Mary is too weak. Mr Evans, Tom, comes to take her and leads her to a seat while tears pour down his face.
Mary can't stand it, knowing that she has just brought them all the same devastating helplessness she has felt since they lost Lily. She can't stay here and watch it, so she doesn't.
Mary runs.
There’s nothing else for her to do, so she runs. Despite her aching limbs and her pounding heart, wanting nothing more than for her to collapse right there on the grass and sink into the earth. She’s vaguely aware of voices calling after her but she doesn’t stop, how can she when she just tore their lives apart?
She runs to the only place she knows to go to, the only person she thinks can possibly help her in this situation. She runs to the first home she ever had, the first person who ever loved her.
Mary stops on the doorstep of her childhood home, the house her parents and siblings still occupy. Her breathing is ragged and hoarse as she clutches her side, trying to find the courage to reach out and knock.
The door opens, and Mary comes face to face with her mother for the first time in years. She opens her mouth to talk, aware that her grief is etched into every atom of her being and she looks a mess but hoping that if anything it will encourage her mother to talk to her.
Very few things appear to be going Mary's way, and the door starts to close before she can utter a syllable.
"Mum please," Mary pleads, choking on her tears as she stands in front of the woman that gave her life begging for an ounce of comfort from the arms that cradled her newborn form, that hugged her when she scraped her knees and held her tight before sending her off to school each year.
For a moment, she thinks her mother is going to reach for her. They're stood there, on the doorstep of Mary's childhood home, mirror figures of grief and Mary thinks, or maybe it's just hopes, that her mum will provide the comfort she so desperately craves.
Her father appears in the doorway, a looming figure that once made Mary feel safe but now just shows how unwelcome she is.
"You need to leave," Her mother's face crumples at that, her forehead creasing and her eyes closing tightly as she takes in a steadying breath. Her father doesn't notice, his gaze fixed on Mary's face, stoic and emotionless in a way that can only be forced.
The door shuts in her face before she can say another word, a pathetic whine escaping as the sound reverberates around her brain, a solidification of this as the worst day of her life.
It's unclear how long she stands there crying in front of her old house, blankly staring at the chipped white paint of a door she had entered through a million times that is now bolted to keep her out.
Eventually, she takes a deep breath, holding it to try and stop the relentless stream of tears and calm herself. She's officially alone.
She takes the first few steps to leave, stumbling slightly and shivering as the cold really settles into her bones for the first time since she ran off that morning. When she reaches the gate, covered in the same flaking white paint as her front door from the near endless swinging of it every day of her childhood.
Every step feels like torture like she's physically cutting a new Mary entirely separate from the old. When she closes her eyes she can almost feel the summer breeze, can pretend she can hear the childish laughter that used to echo this street.
She risks a look over her shoulder, one last glance at a home she will never come back to, a family that once made her feel whole but has now left her broken. In the top left window, a figure with their hand splayed against the glass snd another hidden in their shoulder. It takes her a second to realise who it is, hastily blinking away tears as she peers up at them.
Her youngest brother, Sam, sits there watching her leave with a mournful expression his hand trying to reach through the glass as if her can grab her and keep her close. When he notices her looking he jolts, nudging the other, her oldest brother, only 15, with tear-streaked cheeks to look.
The two of them move, trying to talk but Mary can't hear them. The glass is too thick, her father is too strong, two worlds sit between them. The magical and the muggle are dragging them in opposite directions, ignoring their relentless pleas for the prophecy to change.
Mary waves, mouthing an 'I love you' and hoping that they can see it, that they can feel it and never have to doubt it. She blows them a kiss, trying to laugh when they over dramatically grab them to their chests like they did before Mary left for the first time.
Her gaze drifts, the choking realisation that she has to leave now and for a second she thinks her mothers watching her from the kitchen. It's hard to tell, the lights are off and it could equally be a trick of the mind, but she chooses to believe that her mother blows her a kiss back.
Despite it all, she feels a flicker of hope as she apparates away.