The River
Sirius's world blurs away and together, his consciousness lapping for control like ocean waves. He watches as he falls away, still focused on the beautiful stranger in front of him. He watches as he is carried through the dimmed streets of Slytherin, fear gripping his body briefly before he melts away again. He watches as he is laid down on the damp, soft earth of a forest. The smell of moss and life flood his senses and he is overwhelmed again.
He regains control with a rising sun. Its hot glare shines through a window and blinds him. The air is cool, but he is drenched in a sticky sweat. When he goes to wipe his hot forehead, Sirius finds that his hands are bound. With a soft groan, Sirius shifts himself into as much of a sitting position as he can manage. There is a cup of tepid water next to him. He reaches out, only for him to be limited by his restraints. He lets out a weak scoff, suddenly aware of the burning in his chest.
What kind of torture is this?
Defeated, Sirius lets his head rest against the wall. The gray stone is still cool, giving him the smallest sense of relief. It's enough to give him the motivation to fight for clarity.
What happened?
Sirius tries to piece the night together. The masquerade ball. The handsome stranger. The crowning ceremony.
The ceremony!
He practically jolts forward. He was never crowned. He isn't sure how or why, but he had escaped his fate. He's free! The rope against his wrists burns against him in a cruel irony.
Suddenly imbued with a spark of motivation, Sirius looks around the room wildly for a knife. The rope is made of a strong fiber, but it wasn't impenetrable. If he could find a knife, or even a sharp shard of glass or metal, then he would be able to cut himself free. His eyes focus on the knife casually stuck into the table a few feet away from him. Determined, he flattens himself against the floor, stretching out his legs as far as he can manage. Sirius points his toes towards the leg and hooks it onto his ankle. Finally things were looking up! With a grin, he begins to curl his leg inward, dragging the whole table closer to him.
The wooden legs rattle and screech against the stone floor. Sirius winces. He tries again, going as slow as his racing heart can manage.
"Not a very effective technique in my opinion." The voice comes from above him. Sirius startles, kicking the table away from him as if he's been caught rummaging through the kitchens. He hadn't noticed it before, but there had been a thick shelf above him, acting as a loft. A mischievous pair of eyes are peeking over the edge, watching him in amusement. He feels himself growing hot. The exertion had given him nothing but a wave of nausea and embarrassment.
The eyes disappear and a pair of boots swing over the edge. In front of him lands an unfamiliar woman. If he had to guess, she looks no older than eighteen. Her physique is slight and agile, but he could see the strength and stability in her movements. Her black curls fall loosely around her face, framing her expression — amused, but unimpressed — like she had just been watching a young puppy play wolf.
”To be honest, I expected more out of the Crown Prince,” she crosses her arms, cocking her head to the side.
“What? I’m not the Crown Prince?” Sirius lies, unconvincingly. How did she know who he was? Who was she? Where was he? Where was that man he had seen… at the party and before he blacked out?
“Sure, pretty boy,” she rolls her eyes. Sirius opens his mouth indignantly, but a soft knock at the door interrupts him. The girl raps her boots on the ground in reply. More knocks reply. He vaguely recognizes the pattern as morse code, but he was still fighting the urge to go under again.
“Oi, you don’t look so good. Drink this,” she bends down and pushes the cup of water closer to him. He nods at her gratefully and begins to gulp the water down.
It is only when the world washes away that Sirius notices its strangely sweet taste.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
“He’s out again,” Mary swings open the door to Lily’s concerned face.
“Oh thank god. I got worried when you stopped responding to my knocks,” she remarks, relieved, The signs of worry have just begun melting away from her face. Mary resists the urge to smooth out her furrowed eyebrows.
”It’s not like he can do anything anyways,” Mary shrugs, wanting to appear indifferent, as they begin descending the stone stairs together. “Whatever sleeping draught that Borgin sent over from Demian must be expensive. It’s not something that commoners would ever be able to get their hands on.”
”Speaking of Demian, still no word from him,” Lily shakes her head, “I don’t like this. We’ve been in one place too long. I’m sure that there is some kind of search effort going on. It’s already been a full day and night. Even with the Tower’s defenses, it won’t stand a chance against a Royal force.”
“I know. We need to get a move on. Take ourselves north to the mountains in Ravenclaw or south to the countryside. The mountains will be harder for anyone to follow, but I’m not sure Mr. Crown Prince can make the trip right now.” Mary groans. This is much more convoluted than the Hunters were used to. Usually, the extent of their jobs consisted of threatening a few people and at the most, getting rid of some. it usually took no more than a week to receive the final payment of any given job. The job that Demian had hired them for was apparently going to drag on for weeks.
Mary had never been good at patience. Ever since she was small, her impulsivity dictated her every move, landing her in various amounts of trouble throughout the years. It was how she had ended up entangled with Lily and Remus.
They had been about fifteen or sixteen. It was Winter, a particularly brutal one. The frost came early and killed off much of the harvest from the south. Businesses in Slytherin suffered tremendously and no one could afford any neighborly kindness or grace. Mary had been working odd jobs in Slytherin since she was about twelve. Her family had died of disease when she was young, but the Macdonalds had been well liked by their neighbors. With the kindness of a few family acquaintances, she was able to earn a small wage working menial jobs and supplement her earnings with a few stolen goods. Her bosses had always been lax and had either graciously turned a blind eye to a hungry child or were too comfortable to care about a few missing loaves of bread. This Winter, they would have none of it.
And so, Mary waited. She had worked hard to maintain old family relationships with the few who employed her and she couldn't risk the money (or the kindness) over a few measly portions. As the dark nights stretched with the changing season, Mary found it easier to forget her hunger. Before, it had nearly consumed her, controlling her every thought and action. It had clawed and growled desperately from behind her ribs, like a feral animal. Now, she found herself disinterested and distant, her desire to earn even money waning.
Mary knew the signs of starvation. She had watched her parents, her siblings, her neighbors, and herself weaken from it. It was why disease was so devastating in this part of town. Mary didn't want to die. She didn't want herself to grow still in the back of a storage shed, cold and alone. The only possessions to her name: a few measly galleons. Would she even have the dignity of being buried next to her family in the community grave? She doubted it. This could go on no longer.
And so she showed up to work, adamant about receiving either an increase in pay or free meals while she worked. The Mulcibers had been the family she liked the least. Their family lived closer to the inner circle of Slytherin, but clearly didn't have enough weight in the local politics to be invited into the richer neighborhoods. Still, they were the few outer citizens to be able to afford a nice home, as well as a cook and maid. They were rude people, undoubtedly grown sour with their inferiority complex and job turnover was quick. Mary had managed to keep the job for around a year. During that time their son, who was a few years older than her, had taken an interest in her, watching her in the shadows while she worked and using every excuse to talk to her. She had rejected his advances a few months ago, and ever since then, he had done everything he could to make her time a living hell. Mary figured that even if the Mulcibers fired her, it wouldn't be a terrible loss.
Surprisingly, the conversation went quite well and the Mulcibers had decided that they would think on this proposal for a few days and get back to Mary. Elated, Mary offered to stay later than usual as a favor to them and clean the kitchen after they finished dinner. With her spirits high and her newfound hunger satisfied with a few leftovers from their dinner, she found herself humming in delight while she washed the dishes. Maybe there was a chance she could survive this Winter after all.
When the sun had set, Mary went out to the river near the Mulciber's home. She had wanted to gather the pinecones along the bank to reduce into a jam. She was a little late to the harvest, but she was feeling lucky. The last clear memory of that night was the Mulciber's son coming up behind her to strangle her.
Mary didn't know if he had intended to kill her that night, but she did know that he had laughed while forcing her head into and out of the ice cold water. That she had taken a rock from the bed of the river and cracked it over his head. That even through the blood that streamed down his face, she could still see the glint of malice in his eyes.
It was Remus and Lily who had killed him. They were already on their way to silence the Mulcibers, through money or coercion, when they had discovered the Mulciber's son over an unconscious Mary. It had been done swiftly, through a customary slit across the throat that Remus would soon become known for. Apparently, his life was over without so much as a soft gurgle.
Mary didn't like that he died quickly. Instead, she likes to think that he suffered before he died. That as he was hurting her, she was hurting him. That the blood oozed out of him slowly and painfully. That the world blurred in and out as his mind fractured. That he cried out in pain as he realized that his life would never be the same again.
Death hadn't been the plan for the Mulcibers, but that was their fate. Apparently, the Mulcibers had been blackmailing a powerful family in the inner district of Slytherin in order to gain entry into wealthier districts. Remus and Lily were here to scare them into submission and silence, but it was clear that there was no way that they would overlook the death of their son.
Mary often wonders what her life would have looked like if she hadn't asked the Mulcibers for more pay. What would her life look like if she hadn't stayed late that night? If she hadn't gone to the river? If she never raised that rock? She would have certainly survived that winter. Her patience would have rewarded her with an early spring and her relationships would have flourished. Maybe by this time, she would have moved up the ranks and owned a shop of her own. A quiet life in Slytherin. A life where Mary undoubtedly would have lived under someone else's power, even in freedom.
It is this thought that makes Mary grateful. Despite everything, she has found herself a kind of life she would never have dreamed of. An adventure-filled, unquiet life alongside Lily and Remus and Marlene. A life ruled by no one. A life that Mary so fiercely wants to protect.