Rule #13

Mary Macdonald has never been good with boredom. It makes her cranky, really, a sort of headache that starts in the mind and spreads through the body like poison. She thrives when she’s in movement. Constant action. Endless excitement. 

She used to find that thrill in bottles—handles and prescriptions alike—but she stopped that. She had to stop that. So now she moves. Across the world. Bouncing from job to job, from hook-up to hook-up, from friend to friend. 

Mary doesn’t do repetition. 

Mary doesn’t do ordinary. 

Mary doesn’t do boring. 

That’s probably why she likes working with Lily Evans so much. There’s nothing quite as entertaining as making that ginger scream. 

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it, Red?” 

Lily shoves baked ziti on her plate, the serving spoon smacking the tray with a clang. “Don’t call me that.”

As she moves to the tin of cut-up melon and pineapples on the right, Mary, gracefully, takes some baked ziti for herself. She’s sure to lean into Lily as she does so their shoulders don’t just touch, but make out. 

Lily jerks away, accidentally flinging a piece of pineapple forward in the process. The sweet chunk of yellow flies past the buffet line, landing in the line of woodchips in front of the kitchens. Mary meets Evan’s eye. He’s giggling, forearms resting on the end of the buffet line, where the silverware is spread out in sections. 

“I’m so sorry, Evan, I’ll clean that up—”

“No worries, Lils.” Evan saunters over to the pineapple, picks it up, then tosses it into the trash Lebron style. 

“What was that speech about no food waste yesterday?” Mary hums. She scoops up some fruit and sets it on her plate, once more, gracefully. 

Lily glares at the mess of colors on Mary’s wrists, likely counting how many friendship bracelets she’s collected—twenty-three, thank you very much. The two of them have an unspoken competition to get the most bracelets from the campers, and so far, Mary is winning. Must be her undeniable charisma.

Something Lily sorely lacks. 

“I’ll see you at Dumbledore’s. Don’t be late.” Lily stomps off with her plate. About halfway across the dining area, she freezes and comes strutting back. Mary joins Evan’s giggles as Lily fumbles for a fork, determinedly not acknowledging Mary, then spins on her heel. 

“No one riles her up like you,” Evan says, watching Lily leave with a fond smile. 

“Not even her beloved Padfoot?” 

Evan passes her a napkin and fork. “Sirius annoys Lily, but you, Mary?” He giggles. “You set her off.”

“It’s an honor.” Mary winks. 

Dinner is Mary’s favorite part of the day. Well, most meals are, because she loves both eating and sitting down. But at dinner, there’s the added bonus of the kids’ exhaustion. Less chaos and work that way. 

Lily and Mary swap Houses every day—another unspoken agreement. Today Lily’s with her precious Gryffindors on the left, starting with Marlene and her cabin. Like Mary, Lily will make the rounds and greet every camper before the end of dinner. 

Mary heads straight for Barty, his five campers huddled around him on the dining table farthest to the right. Cabin 4, in both Houses, are the eldest, and thus, the most difficult—or as Lily likes to call it, the most creative. 

No, Mary couldn’t say that the Weasley twins’ toilet prank was creative. At least, she was doing much more inventive delinquency at fifteen. Nothing could top defacing Confederate statues. 

Luckily, Barty has a good hold on his Cabin, unlike Gilderoy in Gryffindor. Mary plops herself between Cassius and Carolina and joins their serious debate of which is a worse way to die: death by the Big Zip, drowning in the Black Lake, or being run over by the horses. (Horses, obviously, who would want to die at the hands of such a majestic creature?). 

She flits about the Slytherins, perhaps lingering at Pandora’s table a little longer than the rest. Last summer she and Pan were on the verge of hooking up, but then Miss Cock Block Lily Evans got in the way in the form of a literal bucket of paperwork for Mary to finish the last few weeks of camp. 

Pandora’s by far the second hottest of the staff—after Mary, naturally—so they’re meant to be. Or at least meant to fuck. 

Mary’s still trying to assess the vibe, however. To see if the spark is still there. 

“So.” Mary smiles at Pandora’s campers. “What’s the verdict? Is Pandora the best counselor at Hogwarts?”

They all agree without hesitation. “She’s a fairy!” one of them adds. 

Mary scoots closer to Pandora on the bench. “A fairy, huh?”

Pandora’s thigh brushes Mary’s, the warmth of her skin palpable even from under her palazzo pants. Mary soaks up the pressure of their bodies, the taunting tension stretching between them, waiting to snap. 

She’s always loved the chase, the mere anticipation of desire, much more than all the rest. 

“I prefer fay,” Pandora says, her gaze steady on Mary’s. “Sounds much more pagan that way.”

Mary’s chest tightens. God, she even looks like a fairy—water color eyes with sloping lashes, and a crown braid of white hair. Mary has always seen herself more of the vicious sort, sirens and vampires, maybe even a werewolf, but there’s something beautiful about Pandora’s delicacy. A perfect contradiction to Mary. 

You know what they say, opposites attract. 

Mary smiles slowly and Pandora tilts her head. Yeah, the spark is definitely still there. 

“What’s pagan mean?” 

Mary blinks. She forgot that the campers were here. 

This time Mary recognizes the kid, Sebastian. He had an allergic reaction to a bee sting on the first day of camp and his parents wanted to send a ‘surgeon friend’ to check him out. Mary had told them, politely, sort of, that the camp’s nurse could handle it just fine. 

Pandora peels her eyes from Mary’s. “Pagan means a spiritual or religious practice different from the most popular religions. For example, witches are often pagans.”

“Well, I’m a Christian,” Sebastian stresses every word. 

“That’s lovely, Sebastian. The most important thing, no matter what religion you practice, is to be kind to everyone.”

Mary knocks knees with Pandora, code for nice bullshit. Though knowing Pandora, she means what she’s saying. She’s a walking peace sign. 

“If you’re free during the third activity tomorrow, Mary, I could use some help with Silk Printing,” Pandora says with a small smile. Half the time Mary can’t tell if she’s flirting or if this is just who she is—that’s half the fun. 

“I have to run the Baby Zip then.” Mary pouts. Before she can say more, Sebastian pipes up. 

“I’m taking that tomorrow!”

Mary meets the boy’s dark brown eyes. “First time?”

He scoffs. “No, it’s easy. I would have taken the Big Zip but it was at the same time as Drum Circle.”

“Glad to hear you have your priorities straight.” 

Sebastian nods. “Nothing beats drums.”

Eventually, Mary drags herself to the tall wooden house across from the dining area. She never looks forward to a meeting with the Camp Director, much less sitting through an hour of Lily kissing his ass. 

In general, Mary likes Hogwarts. It’s a cute summer camp, and not nearly as harrowing as some of the customer service jobs she’s picked up. But most of the campers here are rich, the staff are severely underpaid and overworked, and even with all his psychology spiels and ‘camp philosophy’, Dumbledore is a businessman through and through. 

Mary doesn’t get along well with businessmen. 

She enters the house from the back, walking past bookshelves full of dusty tomes, and a crackling fireplace. The wood flooring is covered with a cowhide carpet, alongside a couple of velvet couches and armchairs, and an old rocking chair in the corner. It’s a shrink’s haven—nothing personal, ordinary but classy decor coupled with enough academic paraphernalia to come off as rich. 

It’s not that Mary doesn’t like psychologists—she adores her therapist—but there’s something about white rich men analyzing young kids’ psyches based on Freud’s theory that makes her want to hurl.  

She opens the door to his office at the end of the living room, only to find Lily already inside. 

“Ah, good.” Dumbledore looks up from the papers on his desk. “Come and sit, Mary.”

Lily doesn’t turn as Mary sits in the chair beside her. The office is really a library, with mementos of Hogwarts history scattered throughout—a framed photo of the first year of campers, a more recent staff photo on the desk, old brochures and marketing materials, blah blah blah. 

“There are two things I’d like to discuss with you both today.” Dumbledore takes off his glasses and puts on one of his pleasant, dry smiles. His beard is nearly all white, matching his loose, linen shirt which is borderline ugly. 

“First, I’d like to check in on the Beauxbaton river excursion tomorrow.” 

Mary bites her tongue. This is the first time Dumbledore has so much as asked about the excursion.

“I have everything organized, the drivers are set and we are going to divide the Houses at the campsite. Mary and I will be switching between Gryffindor and Slytherin, ensuring that the activities go smoothly.”

Mary doesn’t bat an eye at Lily taking credit for the planning—she’s so predictable. 

“I’m certain everything will go smoothly with you two leading.” He winks. “How I admire your youthful spirits.”

“Will you be attending, Albus?” Mary asks with an innocent smile. She already knows the answer—for all his song and dance about loving the kids, the man rarely spends time with them. 

Dumbledore sighs. “Unfortunately, I must meet with some of the donors this weekend.”

“How are they taking our rejection of the parent visit idea?” 

“Not well, Lily. I have some threatening to back out of their donations.”

Mary’s never seen the numbers—Dumbledore conveniently handles all accounting—but she doesn’t understand why the donors are so essential when the camp’s admission fee is so steep. 

“Well.” Dumbledore straightens. “Onto the second item on our agenda. I’m concerned about some of the staff’s behavior.”

Lily frowns and Mary nearly scoffs. The staff at this camp bend over back to make these kids happy, even Gilderoy—what could Dumbledore possibly be referencing?

“I believe that one of our most critical rules has been broken.”

“Not Rule #3!” Lily gasps.

Dumbledore’s eyes widen. “No, no one has been violent. I apologize, in my attempt to express my concern, I’ve dramatized. Yes, Rule #3 is essential, but I’m talking about something a little more private.”

“You couldn’t be referring to…” Mary pauses for drama. “Rule #13?”

Dumbledore nods. “Correct.”

“But—that’s so unlikely—no one could possibly be dating—” Lily shuts up when Mary’s foot smacks hers. They are both well aware of staff romances, Evan and Barty’s engagement chief among them. 

No one follows that ridiculous rule. 

“It is my impression that Gilderoy Lockhart is…you might say courting our new nurse.”

Mary blinks, trying to keep her poker face steady. Courting. Courting?

Lily—who clearly lacks all the tact in the world—blurts: “Seriously?”

“You have not noticed this inappropriate behavior?” Dumbledore’s bushy brows furrow. “Gilderoy is not a subtle man.” 

Mary has noticed, of course. Gilderoy has been boasting, loudly, about how much he bench presses, and always flexes his arms when he walks by the nurse’s station. 

“You know, sir, everyone flirts with Remus he’s quite handsome—”

Mary smacks Lily's foot again. “What Lily’s trying to say is that despite Gilderoy’s…advances, there’s nothing going on between them. Remus isn’t interested.”

Mary actually has no clue whether Remus is interested in Gilderoy or not. In her not-so-humble opinion, Remus is way out of Gilderoy’s league. 

Dumbledore laces his hands together. “Though that may be true, I’d like you both to keep an eye on them during this excursion.”

“Of course,” Lily agrees in a serious tone. 

Mary smirks. “We’ll be sure to keep them separate.”

******

The Beauxbaton River is cute. Nothing to write home about, but Mary’s been to the Nile and the Seine, so her expectations are high. 

Technically, this river’s just a tributary, a snake of teal water winding through pine trees, gliding across gray rocks and pebbles. The campers adore the deeper bits, where they can cannonball into swimming holes, play mermaids, or marco-polo on blow-up floaties. 

For her part, Mary likes the warm red boulders she sunbathes on. She has a perfect view of Pandora floating on the water, her blonde hair drifting around her head like a halo. It’s like a vision of Ophelia—only in this rendition of Hamlet, Pandora is very much alive. 

Meanwhile, Lily is on the other side of the stream hiding under a sun umbrella, her pale legs tucked under her butt. 

The campers are all in the water, counselors watching on either side or in Sirius and James’ case, actively playing with them. Luna is spinning around not far from her mom, the kids beside her attempting water gymnastics. Mary doesn’t recognize the lanky ginger, but she does smile at the sight of Hermione finishing a perfect handstand. 

Mary doesn’t have favorites, of course, but she does like Hermione Granger best. She reminds Mary of her brother, always reading and reciting words like a walking encyclopedia. Or maybe it’s because Hermione looks just like Mary; gorgeous afro, soft dark brown skin, and a sort of smirk that scares most off.

But if Mary’s a narcissist, Lily is too. She’s all attached to that kid in Sirius’ cabin, Harry, a sweetheart with big glasses and the same shade of eyes as Lily. 

Serpent green. 

Mary latches onto Lily’s eyes when they fight. Just sort of stares into those green lights and goes goes goes. It’s Lily’s fault, really, that Mary’s so good at riling her up. No one else responds to Mary’s taunts with such…passion. 

“Stop it.” Lily mouths at Mary from across the river. 

Mary pushes her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. “What?” 

Lily wraps her arms around her chest, hiding the millimeter of cleavage her swimsuit shows. Yes, Mary’s aware of the dress code, but that one-piece is practically a turtle neck. 

“Stop staring,” Lily mouths.

Mary grins. “No.”

It goes like that for the rest of the day. Lily helps Ginny with her backstroke, and Mary stares. Lily passes out turkey sandwiches, hummus for the vegetarians, and Mary stares. Lily leads the campers in a loud, sappy rendition of “Lean On Me”, and Mary stares. Lily burns her marshmallow to a crisp, and Mary stares. 

It’s perhaps the easiest, most passive way of pissing Red off. All in all, Mary excels at doing the bare minimum and yet still making a splash. 

She only stops when all the campers are tucked in for the night. Without a word to Lily, Mary sneaks off to hang with the Slytherin counselors. It’s not that Mary dislikes the Gryffindors, she can get along with anyone, but she does enjoy the Slytherin counselors’ appetite for dark humor. And she has a vested interest in one pagan fairy.

They’re missing Evan, who had to stay and do kitchen prep at Hogwarts, and Dorcas, who is—according to Barty—a total traitor. Dorcas claims they like spending time with the Marauders, but Mary sees right through that excuse. Dorcas is obsessed with Marlene. Just like Mary is with Pandora. Just like Barty is with Evan. Just like Regulus is with James. Just like Sirius is with Remus. 

And yet, Dumbledore thinks it’s Gilderoy and Remus that he has to worry about. 

Mary says as much to the others, and none of them believe her. 

“No—no way!” Barty laughs and nudges Remus on his left. “Lockhart is courting you?”

“Dumbledore seriously said courting?” Regulus asks. He’s the only one not sitting on the forest floor, an unusually clean picnic blanket spread out underneath him, with the initials RAB embroidered on the corner. 

Pandora’s next to Mary, their hips brushing. Remus shot Mary an amused look once or twice, when she not so subtly pulled a blanket over them and rested her hand on Pandora’s thigh. 

“I think Gilderoy and Remus would make a nice couple.” Pandora pauses. Shakes her head. Then looks to Remus. “Though I do worry that you might find Gilderoy bland. He’s a meathead, and terribly arrogant.”

“I don’t know, Pan.” Mary’s thumb draws secret circles on her thigh. “I think Remus is into a little arrogance.”

Obviously, she’s referring to Sirius—while Mary isn’t clear what the hell’s going on, there’s undoubtedly something between them. Remus looks at Sirius like he wants to eat them. Literally eat them. 

Remus doesn’t blink. “I’ve too big an ego, there’s no room for more in my life.”

“You confuse intellect for ego,” Regulus corrects. “Remus once said, and I quote, ‘I have the worst bedside manner of the entire hospital staff at St Mungo's.’”

“Yes, that’s true. I can be a real dick.”

“Ah, he’s so humble and honest!” Barty swoons. “I can see why Gilderoy likes Dr. Moony so much.”

Remus rubs his face, perhaps hiding a blush. “Please, it’s bad enough that Sirius calls me that.”

“Where is Gilderoy?” Regulus cuts in, squinting at the other group of counselors across the campsite. 

Past a wide clearing with sparse, scattered trees, the Marauders—minus Peter who had to stay at camp—are huddled around a picnic table, Dorcas and Marlene sitting on the other side. Sirius is in the midst of re-enacting what seems to be Titanic, Lily holding them from behind while James makes body roll waves around the pair. 

“Gilderoy’s helping the junior counselors watch the campers,” Mary says sweetly. 

“You did that on purpose?” Remus smirks. 

“Dumbledore said to keep you two separate, I’m only doing my job.”

Remus laughs under his breath. “Your efforts are more than appreciated, Mary.”

******

When the group decides to turn in for the night, Mary nearly makes a move, but Pandora’s blinking eyes and kitten yawns are reason enough to postpone. 

“Go on then, maybe you can move your sleeping bag next to your daughter’s.”

Pandora smirks. “That’s against the rules, Mary.”

Dumbledore, apparently, has strict conditions about Luna’s attendance at Hogwarts—in short, Pandora can’t see her daughter. According to his philosophy, separation from family is an important element of the ‘camp experience’. Mary knows that if the donors get their way, Dumbledore will be eating his words when the parents visit. 

Funny how all those righteous principles never seem to matter in the face of profit. 

“Go snuggle with your kid,” Mary says. “I’ll make sure that Lily doesn’t tattle.”

Pandora smiles. “Lily wouldn’t tattle. She knows when the rules should be broken.”

Mary coughs she laughs so hard. “Are we talking about the same person? Lily Evans? The maniac who made us list every single rule during staff training? Twice?”

Pandora cups Mary’s cheek. “Perhaps you don’t know Lily as well as you think.”

Mary sits stunned as Pandora stands up, her long hair bouncing as she walks away. 

The thing is, she does know Lily. More than anyone else at camp, really. Better than any other living person, perhaps. 

Lily rambles when she’s nervous, but stays quiet when she’s overwhelmed. Lily counts her net carbs before she so much as takes a bite of a meal, and always double-checks her Diabetic app. Lily hates cold water, only drinks it room temperature. And Lily’s a closeted introvert with a passion for people. She’s neurotic and selfless, fierce and kind. 

Mary grimaces. This is what happens when you choose the life of a nomad, moving from job to job from country to country. Your arch-nemesis/co-worker becomes the person you know best. 

She looks down at her calloused hands, picking at the blister on her thumb. 

What would her brother say if he saw her now? When Sam was alive, she had so much more, a whole life full of friends, lovers, and family. But Mary burned all those bridges. 

She drowned her grief in liquor and dulled the ache with one too many party favors. 

Then, when she finally got her shit together, she ran away. She tried to build a life of endless firsts—serving food in refugee camps in Greece, hiking El Camino de Santiago with strangers, building permaculture farms in the Philippines. 

All the things she’s done, and she still can’t stand still long enough to connect. To love like she used to. 

Maybe it’s a sign that when Mary stands up, she spots Lily across the clearing, sitting at the picnic table alone. Yes, maybe that’s a sign that she should see if Pandora was right. 

Perhaps there’s more to Lily. 

Perhaps there’s something there. 

Or maybe Mary just can’t help but poke the bear. 

“What’s up?” Mary slides onto the bench across from Lily.

“I’m reading.”

“Come on.”

Lily’s red hair is gathered on the top of her head, a headlamp strapped around her forehead with three mosquitos buzzing in its light. She’s reading some book that looks much too big, with font much too small. 

“I need some space, Mary, ok?” Lily says, not looking up from the page.

“No.”

“No? Are you kidding me right now?”

Mary smirks. “No.”

Lily slams the book shut, and Mary’s heart races, excited for whatever comes next. Maybe a nice long rant about how inconsiderate she is, or perhaps a lesson in ‘manners’ that she should have learned in kindergarten, or even a long roast about how people as irresponsible as Mary shouldn’t get to supervise children. 

But all Lily does is sigh. “I can’t do this tonight.”

And well—that’s just no fun. 

Lily swallows, her eyes looking everywhere but at Mary. 

“What happened?” Mary leans on her elbows, the dust on the table scratching her arms. 

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

Finally, Lily looks up, her headlamp shining right in Mary’s eyes. “Oh, sorry.” She shuts it off.

“I’ve been trying to connect with one of the scholarship kids, Harry.”

“What?” Mary teases. “Millicent was too Slytherin to bother with?” 

The fact that Hogwarts gives only two full-ride scholarships is absolutely preposterous and at the same time, absolutely unsurprising. Just a dash of charity to make the business look good. 

“Regulus has done a fantastic job with Millicent, I know everyone tends to underestimate him when it comes to kids—”

“I think so too,” Mary interrupts. “Not that I knew Reg before this summer, but from what I can tell he’s a great counselor. Handles that Draco kid well, at least.”

Lily nods once. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

“That’s a first for us.”

“It’s not a first.”

Mary smirks. The two of them are always arguing. Even about not arguing. 

With a quick inhale, Lily continues, “I think Harry is struggling at home. He’s a very…positive kid, but sometimes he says these things that…”

Mary waits for Lily to find the words.

“He told Sirius that he’s homeschooled, and he never gets to leave the house. That he’s got no real friends, and he wishes he could stay with his cabin at Hogwarts forever. That—” Lilly swallows. “That he hates the smellofwhisky and whenpeoplescream and every time Sirius raises her hand for a high-five, Harryflinches.” 

Lily ducks her head, sniffling. 

Mary doesn’t know what to do with a crying Lily. Her hands are frozen in the air, wanting to reach out, but not foolish enough to do it. 

Lily presses her palms into her eyes. “It’s just—I used to say the same things. Sirius knows what my life was like back then, and we don’t know how to fix it. I don’t want that little boy to go through what I did—”

“Lily,” Mary’s voice is gentle but firm. 

Lily sets her hands down, those big green eyes rimmed with red. 

“Focus on what we’re giving Harry here, yeah? We’ll keep talking with him, and if we have to get CPS involved…” Mary winces at the thought. She’s never cared for cops, much less the foster system—but if Harry’s in an abusive home, they have to do something. 

“I—” Lily sniffs. “I’m so fucking tired of alcoholics ruining kids’ lives.”

Mary straightens, her thoughts tangling. 

“It’s so selfish and irresponsible!”

Anger bubbles in Mary’s stomach as she whispers: “You think they want to be drunks? 

“If they didn’t want to, they’d stop.”

Mary scoffs. “Cause addiction’s that simple.”

“It should be. Addicts should be able to stop for the people they love.”

The words punch Mary right in the stomach, leaving her breathless and bruised. “You know, just when I think that maybe you’re not so bad, you say something like that,” she spits. 

Then Mary pushes off the bench, and walks, no runs, away. 

She moves through the forest, away from the peaceful campers, into the darkness of the thick pine trees. The tears slip off her face and crawl into her mouth. She wants to scream. 

Instead, she sinks to the floor and wraps her arms around her knees. Her brother’s young face, too young, blurs her vision. 

“Oh, Sam,” Mary sobs.

She thinks of all the good moments. The neighborhood barbecues. Bad Karaoke nights. Lord of the Rings marathons. Sam's graduation day. 

She doesn’t think of the lows. His first DUI. The cash he stole for coke. A phone call, with the words ‘laced with Fentanyl’ ringing in her ears. Their mom sobbing at his funeral.

Mary forgives her brother for all of it. She has to. 

Because once he left, she did the same.