Chapter Nine
“You’re getting better.” Her father says proudly as he walks past her. Mary looks up from her cards and grins, before she concentrates back on the game in front of her.
Even though, she hadn’t played at all for almost a year, she still remembers everything. It’s more as if her body remembers rather than her brain. The way her fingers have to move, the flicker of her eyes, her tensed body. It’s all coming back, giving Mary finally the air she so desperately missed to breath.
She spends almost her whole time in the poker-hall with her father and it’s not just her. She can visible see how he starts to shine. His eyes brighten, his grin widens and stars appear in his brown eyes as he walks through the aisles. It’s his home, his and Mary’s, the one place where they both are a united form. No matter how much they might fight on the day before, no matter how little they talk at home, no matter how pissed Mary sometimes is, when they both work in the hall, everything is fine again.
But Mary doesn’t just like to play with the men there. She also likes to observe them. How they hold themselves, what they laugh at, how they narrow their eyes, how their body tense. She likes to know what makes them angry, what riles them up and then also what they find amusing, how she can identity their amusement. But, and more importantly, she likes to find out, what makes them feel threatened, at what point in their life they feel like they are in danger, what makes them question whether or whether not they still are in control.
Mary likes to know those signs, likes to be aware, to be conscious of whatever is happening around her. She likes to have the power of changing their moods, of controlling their actions just by answering a bit too late or a bit too snappy or by smiling a bit too sharp. She likes to know that she has this power, this power to manipulate them, this power.
Sometimes she would worry, if that is a bad trait. If maybe, she shouldn’t enjoy it. If maybe she shouldn’t seek it out, to feel higher than others, to feel like they are below her, in her control. Sometimes she would think about Lily’s words. That’s no reason to push yourself above others.
But she would never care for too long, because at the end of the day, Mary just can’t change the fact that having power, being in control, being aware and conscious just makes her feel so, so fucking good and so she keeps observing and keeps memorizing and eventually she feels as if she knows the poker-hall and every player in it better than herself and maybe that would be scary, but Mary already lost herself months ago, so she can’t really bring herself to bother.
Her father would ask about school and Mary would ignore him or glare at him or snap at him or, occasionally, scream at him.
That is until he brings her a letter.
“Mary!” Her father’s face is bright with excitement. “There was just an owl, can you believe that? Look it brought you a letter!”
Mary looks up from her book, which she was reading on her back to stare at the envelope in her father’s hands. “What?”
“You’re friends from school! They wrote you, isn’t that nice?” He grins at her.
“I don’t have any friends.” Mary mumbles, tearing it out of his hands.
“Well, kinda looks like it, I would say.”
Mary scowls at the envelope. It’s from Marlene. She keeps scowling as she opens it and pulls out the letter.
Mary!!!
How are you doing? What are you doing? Have you heard from anyone else?
I’ve only written to Lily, but I’ve been meeting with James and Peter almost everyday. They live only a few minutes away. Crazy right? We’ve been trying to get Peter on a broom, but he won’t even follow us on James’ pitch. James has a whole pitch! I freaked out, when I saw it. I mean a whole pitch? What kind of person has that?
Well, anyway, so we play most of the time Quidditch at James’. Or we play hide and seek in his house. It’s so, so, so, so big. Like soooooo BIG! I love it. Peter showed me all the good hiding spots and then we hid one day from James for four hours until we heard him complain to his mother. She is the nicest woman on earth, like literally. She always cooks and bakes this wonderful meals. James tried to teach Peter and me, but I am a miserable cook and Peter always stops after five minutes so it’s mostly just James cooking, while he explains what he’s doing. My favorite one is Tandoori chicken, but only when James’ mother makes it, but don’t tell him that.
Anyway, otherwise I’ve just been spending some time with my brothers. Mostly Mickey, though, because Mo and Matthew are both not at home right now. Matthew wants to travel a bit and Mo moved away to Europe. I miss them, but they’ll come back soon or so they’ve said.
I tried to meet Lily, but she has a bit stress at home. She’ll tell you more, if you ask her yourself, I guess, but she says she’s handling it.
How are you doing? I so wanna meet you, if we can. I hope you’re having a fantastic time. Write back and let me now.
Yours,
Marlene :)
“And who is it?” Her father asks.
Mary stares at the letter, that has smiles and hearts and sparkles all over the parchment. She wrinkles her nose at the weird feeling inside of her, that starts to bloom. “Nobody.” With that she throws the letter away.
“Mary!” The grin disappears from her father’s face. “Don’t do that.”
“What do you care anyway?” Mary snaps.
He looks at her for a moment, before sighing. “Okay, come on. We gotta talk.”
She watches as he sits down next to her, looking at her expectantly. “What?”
He raises a brow. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Why you just threw such a lovely letter away.”
“It wasn’t lovely.”
“Not my point.” He sighs again. “Come on, Mary. That person obviously cares about you.”
Mary huffs. “She wouldn't know how to not care.”
“So, who is she?”
She rolls her eyes. “Marlene. Happy now?”
He smiles at her warmly. “A bit.”
She sighs. “Okay, so she lives in my dorm and we’ve spend some time together.”
“Is she nice?”
Mary shrugs, thinking of Marlene’s big grin no matter what. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Good.” He nudges her. “And have you met anyone else?”
She shrugs again. “There is another girl in my dorm. Lily. But she is annoying. And there is a boy, Peter. He is okay.”
“Well, look at that.” Her father grins. “You’ve found yourself some friends. Isn’t that great?”
“I guess.”
He frowns at her empty expression. “What?”
“I don’t want to go back, Dad.” She whispers.
He smiles softly and sad. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
She nods, because what else is she supposed to do with that?
“Will you write Marlene back?”
Mary stares at the letter on the floor. “No.”
“No?” She can hear the frown in his voice.
“No.” She stands up. “And I don’t want to message with owls anymore.”
“What? What do you mean, Mary?”
“I don’t want those owls having to fly for a few stupid letters. They don’t deserve that.”
He smiles softly, admiration in his eyes. “Okay. That’s okay, Mary. We’ll just find a different way, when you’re back in Hogwarts.”
***
Marlene writes her two times again, but Mary never answers. She makes a big show of crushing the letters, loving the sound the papers make while doing so, but she never throws them away. They stay under her bed and when Mary feels particularly lonely, she leans down, grabs them and re-reads them over and over again. Then she feels a little bit bad for not writing back. And then she chooses to not give a shit. It’s as easy as that, isn’t it? If you don’t care, you can’t get hurt, right? Right?
She walks at the Thames, talks more with her father, learns and reads about the sea and somehow everything seems a little bit lighter. Like, maybe everything can actually be alright again. Like, maybe she isn’t doomed to be broken.
And then she has to pack her suitcase again. And suddenly the world looses its spark and Mary is again lost in the cold darkness of reality.
She watches the days go by and by, afraid of even blinking, because that would mean loosing one of the only good moments she might get, but nothing keeps the final day away. The day she grabs her suitcase and hugs her father for the last time for a long while.
“I’m sorry.” He says. “I love you.” Those words have lost their meaning a long time ago. Now they are just as empty as Mary herself as she nods and parts from her father.
She steps in the train and doesn’t look back.