Chapter Two
They all leave.
That’s what Mary remembers. There is a fog around her, clouding everything she sees, hears, thinks. She is only ten, but when she lays awake at night, staring at the glowing stars on her ceiling, because the dark scares her and she is afraid of her nightmares, and when she lays like that, frozen, eyes not blinking, Mary forgets how to breath. She is only ten, but when the air just won’t get into her lungs, she feels as if she’s lived a thousand lives, as if she herself is eternity.
Time moves in weird ways. Mary doesn’t feel it anymore. Is it morning? Lunchtime? Evening? How would she know. Mary isn’t in the presence. Mary’s still in front of her apartment, looking at the ambulance, hearing the officer talk, is still standing in that street, frozen in time with no way out of it. Lights turned off.
There was a funeral. She thinks. She was there, too. But- well, all the while that priest talked, Mary was still in the street. The shock doesn’t leave. Sometimes she tends to forget. She will walk into their kitchen and call her. And then her lungs will stop working and her father will find her on the floor, everything shattered to pieces, knives, spoons, forks laying around, plates broken on the floor, nails dug deep into her hands. She can’t count the times her scar has started to bleed again.
Her mother is dead.
And Mary’s stopped living, too.
***
They all leave.
That’s the first thing, that drags Mary out of this fog around her, the thing to bring her back to reality.
All her uncles and aunts and all their babies came, wearing dark clothes to match the darkness, that has filled their hearts. The funeral was filled with so much sadness there was no place for anything else. A deep sadness with claws sunk into their skins, scarring their hearts and souls and every good memory they have left until nothing is the same again.
Mary remembers people hugging her, but she can’t recall their touches. Did they really hug her? Were they really there? Was she there? She doesn’t know anything, doubts everything.
And then, the next day, they are gone.
No one’s left.
Empty apartment.
Mary slowly makes her way to the living room, ridiculously afraid her father might be gone, too. But no, he sits there, head in his hands, shoulders shaking silently.
“Dad?” She asks.
He looks up, eyes wet. “Sweetheart.” His voice is rough. Maybe they had fought, before they left.
“Where are they all?”
Something clouds his eyes. She can see how he tries to talk, mouth opening and closing, but no sound comes out of it.
“They’ve left.” She states, lip already trembling again. “Why did they leave?”
“Sweetheart.” He says again, though it sounds almost like a plead this time.
“Why did they leave?” She asks again, voice wavering. “Why does everyone just leave?”
He just looks at her, helpless, vulnerable, broken.
A silent tear runs down Mary’s cheek. “Are you going to leave me, too?” She whispers out the fear, that had held her awake all the nights, that had kept her from breathing.
Before she can blink, there are arms wrapped around her, holding her close, squeezing her to the point it almost hurts. “No.” Her father says, voice for the first time entirely sure. “No, never. I will not leave you. Never. No.”
She cries, hot tears trailing down her skin. “Why did they leave, Dad? Why didn’t they stay?”
He holds her even tighter, not answering.
“Didn’t they-” She hiccups. “Didn’t they love us?”
She feels his shoulders shake again, this time more violently.
“Dad?”
“They-” His voice is rough, broken. “They loved her. They loved your mother.” Only her. He doesn’t say it, doesn’t need to. Mary can almost see it in the air, standing between them. She kind of always knew. Kind of always had that feeling. It still breaks her apart.
“Did she love us?” She asks, hands clutching her fathers sweater, face hiding in it. “Did Mom love us?”
“Yes. Yes, she did. Very, very much.”
“Then why did she leave?” She knows it was an accident. In her head she knows that, but her heart still keeps clinging on that stupid, childish feeling that maybe if she wanted to, she could’ve stayed, if she just loved them enough.
“She didn’t.” Her father whispers, parting them, but still holding her tight. “Don’t think that, Mary. She will always be here.”
“Where? How?”
He taps on his chest right above his heart. “Here. Through your love, through your memories. Nothing can take that away.”
Anger starts to form inside of her. “But I don’t want her like that. I want her to be here.”
“Mary-”
“No!” Her hands curl into fists. “No, she shouldn’t have left. She should’ve stayed here. I want her to be here!”
With a loud noise the cup on the table explodes, glass shards falling everywhere.
She stares at her father, scared, overwhelmed, angry. “Dad?”
He takes her face in his hands, eyes staring right into hers. “It’s okay.”
“But-”
He shakes his head, still not leaving her eyes. “Everything will be alright.”
A sob escapes through her closed mouth. “How?”
“Because we have us.” He holds her tight. “I am here, you have me and I have you. Nothing will ever change that.”
Mary doesn’t know in this moment that her father couldn’t be more wrong. Right now, though, she looks at him and clings with everything she has onto that little spark of hope, not knowing that it will be extinguished soon, leaving only a suffocating darkness.
***
She starts to play poker again. First, hesitantly and then, after she’s held the familiar cards in her hands, after feeling that long missed thrill inside of her, she can’t stop anymore. It’s easy, getting lost in her fathers hall, numbers and cards and chips all around her, her mind doing things without her having to think about it. Sometimes it feels like drowning, but she doesn’t mind. After all, she still loves the sea.
She knows she is good. Better than good, she is fucking amazing. (She feels bad for swearing, for doing it more often and often. Every time she does it, it feels as if someone is twisting a knife inside her chest. She hates it and then sometimes she will do it on purpose just to feel anything at all, as if her mother would be more alive like that. Or maybe she just hopes her mother might come back just to correct her.) Poker is her thing, she can feel it. In school she’s always been good in Math, but now she feels just how good she is.
Her father is not surprised as if he’s always known it. Sometimes she can see him grinning smugly in the back of her eyes, when she is yet again the one with the most chips. Months fly by and then her father lets her do the book work until she handles the table like an owner herself. They, she and her father, they just work, click, make it happen.
He has had to work again in that office job he’d given up to look after Mary, when she was born. Now, he needs to work again, but they can still keep the poker-hall, because even though Mary is not even eleven, she is already handling it as if she was born just for that.
They don’t talk that often, just work together, but sometimes there would be nights just for them and Mary’s mother. Late night cries, reassuring words, tight hugs, steadying touches and long walks to the river and the sea. Her mothers siblings never call or write, but Mary doesn’t miss them. If they’d ever loved her or her father, if they’d ever really loved their mother, they wouldn’t have left just like that. She has her father, cards everywhere she looks and the sea to drown out her thoughts. What is there more to need? Maybe life could be okay again.
***
It’s all ruined in one night. Everything Mary has tried to build back, that little spark of hope, on which she had been clinging tightly, it’s all ruined in one night.
They are sitting in front of their TV enjoying some evening channels, pasta in their laps, when there is suddenly a knock on the door. It’s just a knock, but Mary somehow knows it means more. Time stops for just a second, panic crashing her, pulling her down, and then her father sighs and stands up to get the door.
There is a man at the door. She can make out his silhouette behind her father. They talk and then her father whips around and stares at Mary with an odd expression on his face, something so confusing, so shocked and desperate that time stops yet again for a second.
And then her father steps to the side and lets the man in. It’s fucking Thompson. Mary sighs out of relief. For a moment she thought something terrible would happen.
“Mary.” Her father says, voice as odd as his expression. “Turn the TV off, will you?”
She nods, doing it without thinking too much about it, until she turns back around and looks at Thompson for the first time really. She frowns. Since when does he wear such weird robes? And what is that thing in his hand? Thompson’s right hand is holding something looking like a stick.
“Mary-” Her father starts, but that’s all Mary needs.
“What is going on?” Her voice is more steady than she feels like. “What does he want, Dad?”
Her father sighs, a tiredness strains his features suddenly. “Mary, I think we need to talk.”
“Talk?” She stands up. “About what, Dad?”
“Mary-” He tries to start again, but she stops him again.
“Don’t say my name like that.” She snaps, a cold panic creeping its way up to her heart. “Like- like you’re fucking saying goodbye.”
“Mary.” It’s just her name. Just that, in this weird sad, defeated tone, that makes Mary furious. “Mary.” He says again and Mary just explodes, anger, fear, panic, everything collapsing out of her. Her nails dug deep into her hands as the light above them explodes. Darkness.
“My, my.” Thompson chuckles. Mary can make out how he raises his hand, mumbles something under his breath and then suddenly, the light is back on, lamp back to working. Mary stares at him, feels weirdly exposed under his critical and amused gaze.
“Who are you?” She asks, voice louder than she intended.
He smiles at her. “Well, I am not Thompson, first of all.” He chuckles. “Or more, my name is not Thompson. You can call me Dumbledore and I am here to pick you up.”
Coldness crashes over Mary. “What?”
“I’m the headmaster of Hogwarts, school for wizards and magic.”
Yeah, right. Mary wants to say. As fucking if. But the words are stuck in her throat. Something feels too real, too much like that man might be saying the truth.
“Dad?” She whispers, not daring to look at him, not ready to see the inevitable truth.
Thompson- no, not Thompson apparently, chuckles again. “No worries, I’ve already talked with your father. I know it must be kind of shocking right now, but I think your handling it pretty well.” He leans down, whispering the next words. “For sure better than your father did.”
“Fuck off.” Mary spats out, not being able to control herself any further, panic slowly but surely taking a hold of her.
“Mary!”
She whips around to her father. “Who the fuck is that? What does he want?”
Her father sighs. “He- he explained everything to me, Mary. That stuff that has been going on with you. There is nothing wrong with you.” A faint smile dares its way onto his face. “It’s magic, Mary. Magic.”
“No,-”
“Yes, you are going to this brilliant school for wizards and then you’re going to learn how to control it.” Her father is talking faster now, excitement visible in his voice. “Can you believe that? You have magic, Mary. Do you know how rare that is? I don’t have it and your- your mother didn’t have it either. It’s basically a miracle.” He steps forward, crouches down and takes Mary’s face in his hands. “You have magic!”
“No.” Mary shakes her head. “No. No, I- I’m normal. I don’t have anything. It’s a mistake. It has to be a mistake.” Her heart cramps, everything going insanely cold.
“It’s a boarding school in Scotland and Mister Dumbledore said we won’t even have to pay for anything.” He looks over to the man, Dumbledore, before smiling at Mary again. “You’re going to get a wand and all the books and a broomstick. Can you believe that? Flying broomsticks really exist.”
“No, I don’t want to. Dad, please, don’t let him take me.”
“It’s going to be great, sweetheart. I promise you, you’re going to have so much fun. There are so, so many kids just like you.”
“No, no, no.” She basically whimpers, head still shaking from side to side. “No, please.”
His smile, his excitement, his joy for her, it’s killing everything inside her. “And I can even write you letters.” He says, eyes glowing. “With owls, Mary, owls.” His smile softens. “You are finally going to have what I couldn’t give you.”
“But I don’t want it!” A tear slowly makes its way down her cheek. “I want you, Dad. I want to stay here!”
“Mary-”
“No!” She practically pleads. “No, because you’ve said it. You’ve said nothing will change us. You and me forever.”
Sadness overcomes her fathers eyes.
“You promised.” She whispers. “You promised me.”
With a thumb he swipes the tear from her cheek away. “I’m sorry, Mary.”
“No, no, Dad, you promised.”
He looks at her, warm and sad eyes, the only spark of hope, that’s been left for Mary, the rope, she had been clinging onto. Extinguished, loose. “It’s for your best.” He says and just like that the world slips away, breaks apart, swallows Mary and spits her back out, alone, broken and hopeless.
“Well, better pack your stuff.” Dumbledore says chuckling. “Tomorrow we will already be at the train station and we wouldn't want to miss the train, would we?”