Mary would like to make it clear that it wasn’t something she thought of on a whim. No, it was a calculated decision, more complex than one would think, actually.
You see, she wasn’t a coward for not fighting in the war. No, she was braver for it. She was smarter, to know that they were children. To know that they deserved lives – they deserved more than to lay down theirs’, when they had barely even started.
She always knew that this war was not theirs to fight, not theirs to die for, and not theirs to suffer from. She always believed that her knowing it would be enough for herself. Enough to live with, but no.
(…)
Marlene was the first to die.
Which was funny to Mary, at first. Marlene was far better at stuns, counterattacks, and duelling spells than Mary ever was. She was one of the most talented witches in their year at offensive spells. It was incomprehensible ot her that Marlene could even be killed. But Marlene wasn’t murdered in a duel. No, she was found dead, along with the rest of her family, at the Mckinnon home. Her wand wasn’t even drawn.
The funeral was rushed. Lily and Mary arranged it – Dorcas was inconsolable. It was small and quiet. The opposite of what Marlene would have wanted, and even further from what she deserved. Mary remembered watching, clutching Lily’s free hand – the other resting on her pregnant stomach, and staring unblinking as the last memory she had of her best friend was burned away.
As Mary watched, she remembered thinking, If only I could forget it all.
This was the first time, you see. And after thinking it once, Mary was certain she would never think anything similar again. Nothing would compare to the loss of losing Marlene – nothing.
Oh, how wrong she was.
(…)
It shouldn’t have been a surprise when not even a month rolled by, and Dorcas Meadows was announced dead. She had been out of control since losing Marlene. Mary had tried pulling away from everyone – she nearly succeeded, in fact. It was easy to claim that she was in hiding, after all, she was a muggle born, and very publicly associated with The Order. She had a very clear target on her back.
But then Lily gave birth. Oh, and little Harry was just perfect. He smiled at everyone and everything – he had James’s grin, and a laugh Mary was sure would grow into James’s as well. Of course, he had Lily’s green eyes, but he had the innocent and pure look that only those untouched by the world were capable of having.
Lily showed up at her doorstep on the third week of Mary’s solitude, baby in arms, and an unbreakable expression. Mary opened the door gingerly, expected to be berated and screamed at, but no. Lily simply looked at Mary and her face broke, “Dorcas is dead,” she choked out, tears already slipped from her eyes.
On pure instinct, Mary grabbed little Harry from Lily’s arms and ushered her inside. Dorcas had been on a killing rampage for the last three weeks, murdering every Deatheater in sight – completely disregarding The Order’s instructions and rules.
Secretly, Mary was proud. It’s what deserved to be done in Marlene’s name, if you asked her. But it’s what killed Dorcas in the end. And just like that, baby in one arm, and sobbing friend in the other, Mary found herself thinking it again.
If only if only if only.
(…)
Mary was alone one night in late August. She wasn’t lonely, per say. Her house had a haunted feel about it, she was always alone when inside, yet never truly lonely. And somehow, that was a negative aspect. She would rather her thoughts haunt her than the creaking floorboards and windows that rattled in the wind.
She assumed when she heard knocking on her door that it was just a rock flying in the storm outside. Maybe just the ghosts talking to her again, she thought to herself.
But the knocking remained consistent, and Mary grew aware. She reached for her wand, only to realise it wasn’t in her pocket. Only to realise she hadn’t touched it in days. It took her by surprise to register that a few simple weeks away from the magical world allowed her to slip back into her muggle roots.
Still, she quickly located her wand on the old stone counter and murmured a shielding spell. When she finally approached the door, she was almost certain the knocking had stopped altogether, but no, there it was again. Short, quick rapping against the wooden surface – not quick, but not patient either.
Mary opened the door to the storm outside and was greeted with a dishevelled Sirius Black. His blue eyes were open wide, as if ready to barrel headfirst into a fight. Under them were bruised, dark eyebags, and he looked skinnier than ever.
“Christ, you need a shave,” Mary blurted.
(…)
“Well, fuck.”
“Yeah. Fuck.” Sirius replied. “He’s a real git.”
Mary scrunched her eyebrows, “No, you’re both gits.”
Sirius seemed taken aback, like he couldn’t quite grasp the fact that Mary wasn’t completely on his side. “Mary,” He started, as if explaining something to a child, “He said I couldn’t be trusted because I’m a Black.”
Mary scoffed, “Yeah! Only because you said he couldn’t be trusted because he’s a fucking werewolf. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I didn’t mean it like that!” Sirius defended, “I only meant, he’s working with Dumbledore to try and recruit Greyback’s werewolves to our side and well, what he if let something slip, or trusted the wrong one?”
“Still a git,” Mary confirmed, almost smiling as she sipped from her tea. “When was this?”
“A couple weeks ago, but we properly argued yesterday.”
“James and Lily aren’t going to trust either one of you if you can’t trust each other, Sirius.”
“I know!” Sirius blurted, “I’m saying, Remus is a dick and he- he just is!”
Mary raised an eyebrow, “Remus is a dick and he just is?”
“Oh, shut it.” Sirius rested his teacup onto the recycled coffee table and dropped his head into his hands. “Mary, I need you to be on my side right now because I can’t go to James or Lily with this when they’re in hiding literally raising a fucking kid. Dumbledore won’t let me talk to them, and I can’t go to Pete – who knows where he is now days, Marlene and Dorcas are dead, and Reg- well everyone is fucking dead.”
Mary stayed quiet, listening to the sound of Sirius breathing heavily. Then, “Do you miss him?” she whispered, knowing who’ name was repeating in Sirius’s mind.
Sirius didn’t reply for some time, and Mary almost didn’t hear him when he did. Almost drowned in the wails of the wind from outside, Sirius breathed out, “Yeah, all the time.” Another moment of silence passed, but Mary knew Sirius had more to say. “I just- I know there wasn’t anything for him in the Deatheaters. Well, not anything worthwhile anyways. He just- it’s our fucking parent’s fault. It’s their fucking fault. He was sixteen when he got the mark – no one can blame a sixteen-year-old for that- I, I know that now.” Sirius let out a humourless chuckle, “Yeah, too fucking late, aren’t I? I’ve never yelled at him more than I did when I saw that bloody tattoo. I hated him. I didn’t see it at the time, but his face at first – before I yelled, I mean, was scared. He was scared. He needed help. He wanted me to help him and I just screamed.” Sirius let out a long breath, and then finally said, “I think he died hating me.”
Mary was silent for a moment, before uncurling herself from the side of the couch and slouching over to rest her head on Sirius’s shoulder. “Do you ever wish,” she whispered into the emptiness, “that you could forget it all?”
Sirius stirred slightly, and Mary felt his gaze shift down to her, “Do you?”
Mary sighed, breathing out through her nose. “It would be easier, wouldn’t it? To just live our lives like we were meant to, you know? Not have to worry about all this shit.”
Mary tried to shut her eyes, rest some more in the comfort of Sirius’s presence, but he seemed to have other ideas.
“Mary don’t fuck around like that,” He snapped, “don’t fucking say shit like that.” His voice was cold and almost unrecognisable, he hadn’t talked to her like that in years. Mary lifted her head from Sirius’s shoulder and pulled away with a frown etched onto her face, hurt painted in her eyes.
“Christ, Black,” she muttered. Mary leaned forward, collected their empty teacups, and made to leave the small sitting area for the equally tiny kitchen. She had just about walked away when she felt Sirius gently grip her wrist.
“Wait,” he all but whispered. “I- I’m in a shit mood and I lashed out. I’m sorry, okay?” His gaze was focused on the wall behind them – unable to meet Mary’s eyes. Not that that was a surprise, exactly. Sirius was the queen of avoiding apologising.
“Sirius it’s fine,” Mary gently pulled her wrist free, “Now come, I’ll help you with what to write Remus – you said he’s staying with a mate in London?”
Sirius nodded in acknowledgment, and Mary smiled reassuringly. Hours past and the pair soon felt themselves fall into their old comfortable conversations. Their years at Hogwarts were well behind them, but in Sirius’s presence she felt like a young girl again. They joked and laughed, both trying their absolute hardest to ignore the world around them. When the chimes from the clock entered single numbers once again, Sirius raised his head from his hands.
“You know,” Sirius said, pushing the unfinished letter away from him, “it’s a pretty low move buggering off and staying with a mate in London when he knows I can’t apparate somewhere I haven’t been.”
“I think it was intentional, Sirius,” Mary shot Sirius a look that somehow encompassed I feel sorry for you and you fucked up.
“Yeah well, too bad I love him too much to just leave him be.” Sirius picked up the pen again and reached for a new piece of paper. Using Mary’s fountain pen, he scribed no more than three phrases onto the parchment before flipping it so Mary could read.
I love you. I’m sorry. Come home please.
Mary rolled her eyes at the conciseness but grinned, nonetheless. “Perfect.”
An hour or so passed, and Mary found herself showing Sirius to the door. He claimed that 12 Grimmauld Place had rotational guard shifts, and that he needed to be there by sunup, but in truth, Mary suspected he just needed to be alone.
The letter, however, was Mary’s to send. Months ago, it was revealed that the Order had a leak. A double agent, who claimed to be loyal to Dumbledore, when they were truly serving the Dark Lord. Because of this, members of The Order’s mail was being tracked by the Ministry of Magic. Mary had promised she would send an owl with it as soon as she could track one down – she didn’t expect it to be too hard, hopefully the letter would be with Remus right after Halloween.
“Well,” Sirius let out a sigh, “Thanks for everything Mary. Come visit on Sunday? Lily and James might turn up to Grimmauld Place.”
Mary grinned, “I’ll see you then.” She made to shut the door, when Sirius turned back abruptly.
“Mar-“ He stopped himself, “Just… be careful, okay?”
With a tight yet earnest smile, Mary nodded. “Have a good Halloween, Sirius.”
“I’ll see you around Macdonald.”
Mary didn’t know then that that would be the last she ever saw of Sirius Black.
(…)
It came slowly, the news of the death of James and Lily.
Mary had been absentmindedly eating her cereal, perched on her singular stool, and humming along to the radio. It early Sunday morning, the day after Halloween, and everything seemed ordinary.
And suddenly the radio cut out. Suddenly Barbara Gaskin’s voice was drowned out by the unmistakable overturn of Alastor’s voice. The Order’s wizarding channel took over, and Mary froze.
Ironically, she doesn’t remember much after that.
She recalls the clattering sound of her silverware dropping on the stone. She vaguely remembers dropping to the ground. And if Mary tried hard enough, she could hear the heaving sobs that echoed through Mary’s home on the first day of November, 1981.
(…)
Mary doesn’t leave her bed for three days. She doesn’t remember how she got there in the first place.
But after the three days, when she finally rises, she knows what she is going to do.
(…)
It took Mary almost no time to research the Obliviatus spell, which was what she had originally planned on using. However, it quickly became apparent that she would need to implant false memories in place of the ones she planned on removing.
This became a trying process that would take her months to truly understand.
(…)
It the type of warm Winter’s day, but chilly by Autumn’s standards, when Mary replaced her parent’s memories. It was easier than she thought it would be, if she was being honest.
She hadn’t seen them in over a month – they were happy just to watch her eat in silence. Mary’s grief was unhealthy, her emotions turned numb and her usual warmth ran cold.
If she’d been more confident, she would have done both her mother and father at the same time, but in truth, she was not nearly as confident as she wanted to be. Still, she completed both enchantments without hesitation.
At first, nothing seemed different; their smiles still soft, and their eyes crinkled with recognition. She was still their daughter, they looked at her with love and welcomeness.
Mary was almost certain the spells had failed, but then her Mother’s eyebrows pinched together, “Dear, I’ve told you many times not to bring sticks into the house. I have half a mind to make you move back in if this is how you treat your house.”
And that was that.
(…)
The thing is it was almost incomprehensible just how simple it was to remove memories from a mind. Not only that, but to remove people – remove friendships, relationships, to change an entire life. There were no limits, none worth sticking to. Somewhere, deep down, Mary knew Sirius would despise her for doing this, for even considering this. But Sirius wasn’t Sirius anymore. Sirius was a traitor, the traitor. Dumbledore’s last radio message rang loud and clear. It was Sunday night, his old voice had seemed to age drastically since they graduated two years prior.
“It is with a heavy heart that I confirm Lily and James Potter’s death. Sirius Black has been arrested and charged with the murder of Peter Pettigrew. Though it is not confirmed, it is suspected that he was the spy. He was the leak in the Order and likely turned James and Lily over to the Dark Lord. It is important to remember that Sirius Bla-.”
Mary had shut it off before she could hear any more. She didn’t know what to think, at the time. It wasn’t until she remembered their conversation about Regulas that she realised maybe Sirius did do this. Maybe he was so driven by his brother’s death, maybe he realised that Regulas needed him more. Maybe he’d tried so hard to regain Regulas he turned his back on the Order in the process. Sirius murdered Pete. He murdered his best friend, and the only way Mary could justify that was if he did it for love.
Somehow, she convinced herself it was Sirius to blame. Though she didn’t acknowledge it, subconsciously she knew the mystery behind it. The inconsistencies. Subconsciously, she knew that something else happened, something went wrong that night. But she chose the easy way out. She trusted Dumbledore, and she just couldn’t.
But she couldn’t. She couldn’t go after it, she couldn’t help him, not when she was mourning three more of her best friends. Not now, when she had to live in a world that was unloved by Lily Evans. Live through days that did have James grinning at each sunrise, and untouched by Peter’s sarcastic humour. Mary simply couldn’t do it.
She knew she was being selfish. She knew that somewhere out there, there was a baby with James’s laugh and Lily’s eyes, being raised by the sister that Lily used to use Mary’s shoulder as a pillow to cry over. Mary was being selfish, but she had given enough. She was alive, but she gave away her happiness.
And though Lily and James would hate her for it, she knew she wouldn’t be able to face their son. She couldn’t look at him the same anymore, not when she held an unjust and cruel judgement against him. Because how dare he live, when Lily and James didn’t. How dare he, a baby – who hasn’t done anything yet, survive, but Lily, who loved everything and everyone in her care, and James, who was love incarnated, didn’t.
Mary didn’t trust herself to be a part of that child’s life.
So yes, she was selfish, and uncaring, and cruel. But she was willing to pay that price for happiness, and goddammit she was finding happiness again. No matter the cost.
Which is how Mary found herself packing all her memories into her Hogwarts’ trunk. Funny, how they all fit in one case. Her polaroids of the summer of ’79, that have since faded but still display her dark puffy hair, and Lily’s vibrant red. The tall stack letters exchanged over the course of the years that doubled after each holiday, and that would never grow more. Next went her Gryffindor tie and scarf, her vest, her robes. Her schoolbooks got donated back to the school, maybe someone would read the name Mary Macdonald on the inside of a transfiguration book and wonder who she was. Too bad she wouldn’t be able to answer their questions.
The trunk slowly began to fill. The last few things sat at the top; A golden locket, the shape of a heart that displayed a photo of her, Marlene, and Lily. A forgotten letter, from Sirius to Remus containing only eight words, that Mary never posted but didn’t have the heart to burn. And lastly, a framed photo, taken by Dorcas not even a year prior. It was all of them at the Potter’s estate, scattered across the lawn in springtime, unaware just how much could change in a couple of months. Marlene with her head in Dorcas’s lap, smiling softly at Dorcas, who was grinning at the camera with her fingers tangled in Marlene’s half-braided hair. Mary kneeled right next to Dorcas, giving the camera a squinting smile, an arm thrown across Dorcas’s shoulders. Behind them, Lily sat sprawled on the grass, an unopened book in her lap and an unfinished laugh escaping her mouth as she craned her neck to look at her husband. James was leaning against the property’s wooden fence in complete tranquillity, his eyelids fluttered shut and his head tilted to the sky. He was unaware of Sirius and Peter’s attempts to levitate his glasses off his face, and so, the photo depicted James Potter, his glasses floating an inch above his nose, Peter Pettigrew, his face the perfect depiction of concentration with a wand in his hand, and Sirius Black, cackling at his best friend while keeping a firm arm around his boyfriend. Remus Lupin was the only one of the boys who had noticed Dorcas whip out her camera, so he stood flushed against Sirius, with his head tilted to rest on Sirius’s shoulder, and soft smile playing on his lips as he stared into the lens.
Mary shut the case with determined finality. She waved her wand and muttered a simply locking charm onto the case’s clasps.
Looking around, Mary eyed her belongings – all packed into their respective boxes. She was moving back to the city with her parents – away from the recognising eyes of her past life. And lastly, with a sense of bravery she has been dependent on for her whole life, she whispered the irreversible incantation, her sleek wand pointed at herself.
And just like that, in mere moments, Mary felt her memories slink away from her. She forgot the colour of her best friends’ eyes. Their favourite songs became echoes of forgotten laughter. Their inside jokes – the moments that no one else understood but them, left her mind just as they left James’ and Lily’s months prior. For a fraction of a second she felt an inescapable emptiness, hollow and missing her very identity. And just like that it was gone. She was Mary still. Her parents’ child. Her favourite song was Dancing Queen, but she didn’t really remember why. She always had a book on her nightstand, but she couldn’t quite recall the man who’d recommended them to her.
She was Mary Macdonald – brown hair, brown eyes, a mole under he left eye. Laugh lines creased into the skin on her face – faint remnants of a happy childhood and laughs she would never remember again.
She frowned at herself, confused. There was a stick in her hand. Why?
She spun the stick in her fingers, shocked at her ability to twirl it with unpractised expertise. She cocked her head at her reflection, even more perplexed at the singer tear that flowed down her face. She wiped it away delicately and turned to glance at her bedroom.
She raised her eyebrows in shock at the trunk sitting on her bed, she had no recollection of ever owning one like it. She tried to open it, but it was jammed close – the clasps likely too rusted to open. Mary would have spent more time pondering the strangeness of this, if her parents had not arrived at that very moment.
And yes, that’s right.
Mary was moving back in with her parents.
She smiled to herself, of course.
Her mother walked into the bedroom, and helped Mary up. “Come now, Mary. We can pack everything into the car together.”
Mary nodded, finding it hard to speak. For some reason her throat felt constricted, like a sob was stuck halfway. Only Mary couldn’t think of anything to be sad over.
She was nearly out the door, when her mother yanked the stick out of her grasp.
“Mary, what are you doing with this?” Her mother questioned incredulously, “You’ve got more important things to do than pick at nature.”
With that, Mary’s mother tossed the stick into the lit fireplace, and Mary watched unmoving.
Helpless and confused as to why it hurt so much to see it burn.