Love Thy God (pt. 1)
“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.”
― The Perks of Being a Wallflower
Mary shot up, off of the damp and cold dirt, and franticly turned her head left and right. The movement made her head throb intensely. Mary flipped and moaned into the dirt, tasting it as she bit into the Earth to numb the pain. Her throat burned and crackled even without speaking and Mary longed for God to make it rain. Instead, Mary sat up and saw the destruction she had wrought.
Saint Mary’s Nunnery for Sinners was an alien land. The graveyard out front was the only thing that was not melted down. Even from a distance, Mary could tell that there was nothing to be found. The fire she had spat out had completely melted down all the iron, paintings, walls, and stone. It had also burned all the wood (which had made up a large majority of the nunnery), the vines, the garden, and the surrounding shrubbery. Mary stumbled to lift herself up before walking to the sight. “What—what have I done?” she bemoaned.
Mary was in terrible pain from the abuse on her body from the whips, the boiling water, burning chains, and runes and could only make it halfway before passing out. She had tried her hardest to see what she could as her vision blurred and her body demanded rest. She saw a charred body standing at the foot of what used to be the entrance, a woman most likely although it was impossible to tell. The body had stretched out its arms to her, almost looking like it was calling for help. Mary knew that couldn’t be right because it was a dead body, even if it seemed to be crawling to her.
Before she could look further, her legs gave out and Mary gave into the pain of her ailed body.
Fingers were threading through her hair as she woke up. The familiar tingle of a freshly played scalp beckoned her to open her eyes and Mary did. The sky was blue with no clouds, but it was not completely bare. Obstructing it was an ashen dilapidated face, looking down at her. Its face was dark and bits of it were crusting and falling off onto her. The fingers on her head felt scaled as they braided intricate patterns. Mary gasped at the burnt body. Even dead, Mary recognized it to be Joan.
Mary scooted away as fast as she could, trying to get as much distance between her and this zombie. The zombie shuttered forward and its teeth clacked together. It seemed to be calling her name out, but its tongue just happened to tumble out of its mouth. Mary felt a jolt of adrenaline pass through her as she stood up and bolted back to the woods. She didn’t even feel the pain as she collapsed behind a tree.
Then she began hyperventilating. “Oh my–what—no way–that wouldn’t–bollocks!” Mary screeched as a shriveled hand clutched onto her thigh. Around the corner of the tree, Joan had crawled its way to her and was gasping loudly. “Gerroff!” she shouted and screamed, kicking the persistent zombie.
When her kick landed on its left shoulder, a vomit-inducing crack accompanied the fall of the arm. Still, Joan endured. Mary ended up being chased through the ruins of the nunnery as a deranged corpse followed her. Mary had ran and ran, jumping over still burning fires like Jack from her old nursery rhymes. “Joan stop!” Mary commanded and the zombie hesitated on the spot. It swayed a bit and collapsed to the ground. Its head rolled off with a smack and touched Mary’s bare toes.
Oh right, she was naked. That didn’t seem to matter at the moment, though, as Mary screamed her head off, tearing her throat to pieces. Mary stumbled around the remnants and felt shards of glace pierce her feet. Mary desperately hoped there were no other kooky zombies lurking around her. Mary stumbled out to the tree line and saw a fluffy cat waiting for her.
Mary tried to coo at it but ended up on the ground coughing her lungs up. The adrenaline had taken the time to wear off and the pain was coming back tenfold from extended use. The cat brushed up on her feet, licking the blood off of them. Mary grunted as it gave her a tortuous tickle, and the cat backed off. Mary felt her throat constrict painfully and she sneezed when the cat came up close. She begged God for more water and she automatically felt Him rise in her stomach.
He moved around some and before Mary knew what hit her, she was possessed again. Her body stood up at God's will and walked back to the floor of Saint Marys Nunnery for Sinners. Mary watched as her body was led to another singed body, thankfully not a zombie. God used her fingers to push the body over like a rock. The bug underneath this particular rock was a small wand, about four inches and skinny. God picked it up and waved it. Out from this wand a steam of water lept into her mouth.
Mary drank greedily.
Then God began healing some minor wounds on her body, like the cuts on her feet and the burns from boiling water. The injuries that were older and deeper, however, like the words and other Apostles, failed to close up. Her nails stayed ripped off and the soreness in her legs was still present. God seemed to have given up and walked back out.
When Mary was in control again she was laying on her back, the Apostle aching damply.
“You said You wouldn’t take control?”
You wouldn’t have been able to.
Mary didn’t argue with that. “Whose wand is this?” She asked and taped it as it lay in her hand.
Father Joshuas.
Mary felt a flash of anger. “Hm,” she said and closed her eyes, enjoying the songs of the birds. The sun was making its way directly above her head. Mary shuffled to allow the cat on her lap, bringing unnecessary warmth to Mary. “What happened to Joan?”
God moved her shoulders in a shrug. Magic.
Mary lifted her hands to pet this cat with a hum. The fur felt familiar and the body was similar to Milkshakes, her stuffed animal from Harry. “Oh, Milkshakes!” Mary said, opening her eyes and looking at the kitty in her lap. It had the same exact patterns, gray flakes, and nose that Milkshakes had. Mary vaguely remembered calling out to Milkshakes to be her knight in shining armor, and the meowing at the door. “Did I make Milkshakes a real cat?”
Mary asked no one in particular, never expecting an answer, but a voice did.
“It seems so, my girl.”
Mary turned her head to see Dumbledore, in a bright rainbow-colored robe with cartoon suns, leaning on his tree. He stood powerfully, observing both her and the ruins behind her. Mary looked down and flushed, now feeling ashamed for her bareness. Quickly, Mary looked for something to cover her naked body and pulled a branch of the tree down over her. She covered the gaping apostle on her collarbone with her hair. Dumbledore shook his head, transforming the branch she was holding into a white dress. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mary.”
Ignoring him, Mary slipped the dress over her head. When she was decent she picked herself and the cat up, maneuvering Milkshakes like a baby. “Dumbledore?” Mary asked, coming closer to see if he was real. Mary reached a hand up and felt the fabric of his robes. It was silky smooth between her fingertips and Mary relished in the worldliness of it.
Dumbledore snatched his hand up to her wrist and Mary flinched violently, trying to pull away from him. It only took a strong hiss from Milkshakes for his grip to lessen. “Mary, what have you done?” he asked turning her hand. Mary finally saw what he saw. The tips of her fingers were completely black. Like the night sky in space. Mary could see her small wrinkles and the cracks in her joints. Mary flexed her fingers to make sure they were hers, and the results were positive.
Mary looked up into Dumbledore's saddened eyes and couldn’t come up with an answer.
“Mary,” he said. “Show me. I can help.”
Mary's heart quickened. Dumbledore could not see, he could expel her or throw her into prison. Then, Mary remembered her first meeting with Brother Matthew. He had promised to help her, to heal her soul and instead, she was nearly killed.
“No!” Mary said and bucked out of his grip.
Dumbledore let go and stood where he was, looking at her curiously. “My girl?”
Mary thought back to all the kind nicknames Joan had given her. The names that made her feel special and welcomed. “Get–” Mary raised a shaking finger. “Get away!”
He did not move. Instead, he stood watching her panic.
“Go away! Or I’ll–or I’ll,” Mary lifted the tiny wand. “I’ll kill you! I will!”
Dumbledore cocked his head at the wand. “Is that a squib wand, my girl?”
Mary sent a stinging hex at him. “Leave me!” she shouted when he deflected the hex without moving. Instead, he reached into one of his various pockets and pulled out a potion bottle.
“Mary, what I have here is a calming draught. It is made from powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore, powdered-”
“I know what's in it! I do not want it!” Mary said, even though she did not know, and twisted the wand vigorously, creating a violent display of light. Dumbledore uncorked it with his arms raised.
“Mary, drink this,” he told her and came up closer. “Then you can think.”
“Liar!”
Dumbledore leaped forward and with his hand on the back of her neck, he forced the liquid down her mouth. Mary went weak under his touch and welcomed the cooling feeling of the potion. The potion caused her head to numb and her thoughts to slow. The thumping of her heart calmed as Dumbledore pulled his hand away from her neck.
“What happened, my girl?” Dumbledore placated as he sat on the ground in the growing grass. Mary sat down and leaned into her shoulder.
“A lot… Could you heal this?” Mary raised her black hand and watched Dumbledore's impassive face. Dumbledore took her hand into his and observed it. He twisted it left and right until satisfied. Even then, he continued his silence. Milkshakes had wandered off, chewing lightly on some grass.
Mary flexed her hand again just to see the wrinkles shift. Slowly Dumbledore lifted each finger, looking at each silently. “My girl, look at me.”
Mary turned her head away from Milkshakes to the right and looked into Dumbledore's old twinkling eyes. Mere milliseconds later she felt God rise into her eyes with tears. Her vision blurred quickly as she tried to look through this shield. When she spoke her voice was not her own. It would be impossible to tell if she was anyone else. It felt like God was puppeteering her vocal cords with strings.
“I–I’m sorry!” scraped her voice. “They were going to take it away.”
Dumbledore turned his head. “Take what, my girl?”
Mary felt the tears disappear with God’s retreat. Whatever that meant, He thought she could defend herself now. “My magic,” she whispered, clutching her warm throat which it had almost constantly tried to escape.
“Who?” he asked.
“The Apostles,” she shuttered at the name. Perhaps there was good reason to fear saying Voldemort's name if this feeling accompanied others when they did. “They believe that God wants them to take my magic. Everyones.”
The older of the two nodded and Mary got the faint feeling he knew about them already. “And, I assume that did not go over well with you?” Dumbledore joked, jutting his head to the melted-down hell known as Saint Mary’s Nunnery for Sinners.
Or used to be known as.
Mary did not find it as funny. “I killed them, Dumbledore. At least seventy of them—probably eighty.” she turned to him, suddenly needing him to understand her villainous crime. The nonchalance of his response worsened her guilt and Mary needed him to know. She wanted him to yell at her, curse the ground she walked on in their name. Instead, he pulled his arm around her shoulders, squeezing tight.
“Are you sorry?”
Mary would not lie. Not to him. “For Joan, yes. For the Apostles, I needed to survive. For the others, I want to die to bring them back.”
His beard tickled her nose rather aggressively as he nodded. “Do you plan to kill again?” he asked as if that required a simple answer. Mary leaned against him and had no more tears to use.
“No, I don’t.”
She could feel him smiling on instinct. His shoulders jostled for a moment, like he was crying, or maybe laughing. Then he stopped and caressed the braid Zombie Joan had constructed. “Come, let us get you to Madam Pomfrey.”
Mary stood with him and clutched onto Dumbledore's robes. Picking up the cat, she smiled as she thought about Harry’s hatred for apparition.
Madam Pomfrey was appalled when she saw Mary’s state. She quickly ushered Mary to an empty bed after Dumbledore (floo?)called her. After many prods and spells trying to get an idea of her condition. Dumbledore stood there with her giving her encouraging smiles.
“Albus, she has consumed copious amounts of compulsion potion, weakness potion, and drink of gloom!”
Oh, fuzzy “water”.
Mary turned back numb, not processing anything happening around her.
It was like someone took a remote and pressed pause while pointing it at her. Or someone if someone pushed her head underwater with a snorkel. Mary was aware of her breathing, of her heart thumping, and maybe that was the worst bit. Things were passing by, and she was aware of it, but she cared for none of it.
Mary’s shirt was lifted up over her head and she still didn’t care. Even with Dumbledore observing her back with fascination, she did not care. Maybe that was the best part of this new emotion. That she couldn’t care anymore. It was easier to forget, to put everything in the furthest pit in her mind. It was best not to think at all.
So she did not think, but she felt. Mary felt the reversal potion slide down her throat warmly. Mary felt it when a cold fingernail ran down the scars of the apostle on her back. She tensed as the nail continued its journey. Mary tried to cloud her mind by not caring but it would not work.
“Albus!” Madam Pomfrey scolded, apparently scandalized by this act. Dumbledore remained unaffected, however.
“Mary, my girl, have you done any dark magic over break?”
She didn’t have to think about her answer. It slowly slid out like a slug. “Never.” she denied.
Dumbledore gripped her wrist and lifted it up. Mary’s fingers seemed to crumble and wobble at the same time, black and eerie. Mary sunk deeper into the abyss of her blank heart.
“Do you know what happens after the use of necromancy, my girl?” Dumbledore asked, rubbing his thumb over her strange knuckle.
Mary barely focused.
“This, Mary. Blackened appendages. Now tell me, Mary. You should know by now I won’t judge you.” he said. Dumbledore's eyes bore into hers with such intensity Mary did not know whether or not she could believe him. His gaze had, just for a second, brought her out of her slump.
“Joan,” Mary told him hoarsely. “I—she was a zombie. Braiding my hair. She looked like a burnt piece of toast and she…she chased me.” Dumbledore's eyes never changed. Mary wondered why she could always read into his eyes so deeply.
“I was so scared. Then I told her to stop,” Mary started breathing faster. “And she just collapsed.” she said, gesturing wildly with her hands.
Dumbledore nodded. “Were you in need of comfort there?”
“She was my comfort. And I killed her! I sent a ball of fire at her! I chased her to the chapel in flames, I killed her, Dumbledore!”
He tutted. “I know, Mary. All is safe now, this won’t happen again. I’m here. I have you.” he comforted her, whispering promises Mary would beg him to keep later.
Mary nodded and as her breathing calmed she fell back into her nothingness. Dumbledore stood and unbraided Joan’s braid.
It was the last time for a long time that Mary wore a braid.
Dumbledore left her to rest, with a simple request to Madam Pomfrey to never utter a word about Mary’s new development. Her necromancy. Mary sunk deeper into herself each time she thought about it.
Mary stayed in the hospital wing for five days. Resting and healing. Everything faded, with the exception of her fingers. The words on her palm faded to where it was barely a blemish. She knew it was there though. It even looked darker than before, and Mary had brief moments when she imagined burned skin. The Apostle on her back seemed to hide behind a curtain on her skin. Maybe if Mary scratched hard enough it would bleed out of the symbol. Lastly, Mary’s fingernails grew back with the help of a potion sent from Professor Snape.
Milkshakes always was with her or guarding Mary’s box holding all of the nunnery's evil recipes. Mary had forbidden Dumbledore from opening, telling him she would kill him if he did. The old man just laughed.
Milkshakes was a great distraction. Even now as a cat, she still acted like a stuffed toy. Mary could play with her ears, or lift her paws and make them clap, or chew on the hair of the tail and the cat did not care.
The problem with this was Mary got increasingly ill, and everyone knew the problem was the cat. Mary refused to give her up though, turning into a lion each time Madam Pomfrey suggested taking her away. Mary clawed and roared at the woman, who was becoming increasingly frustrated with her presence, and clutched onto Milkshakes violently.
At the end of the day, Mary got to keep the cat. Even with her snotty nose, blotched face, and red eyes. Apparently, Mary was allergic to this cat, and this cat only. Dumbledore said it was because when magicals turn magic into something else it has the tendency to turn against us if not done right. Since the creation of Milkshakes came from accidental magic, this was her magic trying to latch back into her.
Her current magic observed this as a threat. It's all incredibly over Mary’s head but she tries to understand anyway. It doesn’t matter though, because Mary can cuddle Milkshakes all she wants if she takes a potion also supplied by Professor Snape.
The uncaring came and went in spouts, to Madam Pomfrey's irritation. Mary didn’t know how to completely come out of it, because it was so much easier to bask in it.
Some days, when it was time for her daily potions, it would take Madam Pomfrey multiple tries to catch Mary's attention. Mary would stare straight ahead, blinking like a robot. Madam Pomfrey said that was how Mary spent the majority of her day. Staring and nonresponsive.
Mary ignored her, and the whispers in her head.
On occasion, Dumbledore would come down to entertain her. Sometimes with stories of his youth (and those always had a lesson to be taught), or with muggle stories like The Chronicles of Narnia. One afternoon, he sat at the edge of her bed with an older book resting in his palm. He told her that this was his edition of the popular children’s book; The Beatle and the Bard.
He gave her a lot of options to choose from. Weird names like Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump, The Warlock's Hairy Heart, and The Tale of the Three Brothers. Mary chose the one about the hairy heart and blanched when Dumbledore showed her the gruesome illustrations.
Mary decided she didn’t like the book all that much when she spotted droplets of blood that looked a little too real. “Are.. all other copies like this?” she asked cautiously, aware of the way Dumbledore seemed to praise this fairytale book.
“No, my girl. Mine is quite special.” was all he said as he read on about Babbity Rabbity. They went through each of the stories until, at last, they reached the one she wasn’t too excited about. The Tale of the Three Brothers seemed extremely dull, something to put off until you couldn’t. She felt bad about her first impression of that, however, when Dumbledore told her it was his favorite. He leaned in and whispered it like it was his deepest secret.
It started like this: There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. Then from that moment on it turned into a frightening tragedy. These three brothers came across a river they could not pass without dying and created a bridge to cross. They had cheated Death, and feeling bested, he gave them each a gift of their choice that would be their doom.
The oldest brother, Antioch, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence, and that is what Death gave him. He took a branch from an elder tree on the river's edge. The elderwand. When he went into his enemy’s town and dueled to the death he won and boasted of his wand's power. Showed it to some greedy souls. That night his throat was slit in order to claim this wand. So Death had his soul.
The middle brother, Cadmus, had lost his lover in childbirth and asked Death for something to bring back the dead. So Death gave him a stone from the river. When the brother went on his way he was delighted to see her appear as a ghost. However, she was depressed as she no longer belonged in the mortal world. Cadmus killed himself in order to be with her once more, and Death claimed his soul.
The youngest brother, Ignotus, asked Death for something that would allow him to leave safely. So Death reluctantly sheared off a portion of his own cloak and gave it to him. With this invisibility cloak, Ignotus was able to leave safely. He remained out of Death's grasp until his old age and passed on the cloak to his descendants. So Death had claimed him as an old companion.
But Death had made a fatal mistake. He had created things that would enable whoever collected all of these objects the same powers Death had.
“Death panicked, trying his best to scatter each one of his gifts but they would not listen. They had become completely man-made, and Death had no power over them. So Death called upon his sister, Fate, to ensure that they would never come together.
And Death sat down on the river's bank with Fate and told her of his deeds. ‘When will my master come?’ he asked. She said, ‘Only when I find someone who can serve him dutifully and care about him so deeply that she would cross every boundary for them.’ and so Death parted from her with contentment, knowing nothing could come of his mistake.”
Mary sat up, looking at the paper with veiled horror. Dumbledore pushed his glasses up and, like he always did at the end of each story, showed her the picture. There on the river's edge, there were two figures. One looked similar to the traditional style of Death. A hood and pointy beak and darkened eyes. Then there was Fate. Looking as she did the day she showed herself to Mary.
Mary promptly threw up to the side of the bed. Lifting her head she looked at Dumbledore through her eyebrows. “I—“ her throat closed up. God was practically choking her airways so she wouldn’t speak. Mary shook her head and leaned over again to dry heave when she came to a distressing realization.
God was not the being in her body, it was Fate.
She looked up to Dumbledore with pleading eyes. Mary tried to beg with her eyelashes, telling him to get this thing out. Her headmaster only looked at her with curiosity.
“Get out,” Fate spoke for her. “I am not feeling too good.”
Dumbledore nodded kindly and left her as the sun went down.
Mary tried to not care but found she could not sink into it. Fate was not letting her. “Why’d you lie to me?” she whispered.
Mary could feel Fate moving around in her bones, her stomach quenched, her eyes twitched, and her blood pumped. Mary felt disgusted.
I never lied.
“Liar!” Mary his turn to lay on her back. The sunset painted the infirmary in shades of pink and gold, lighting up the gloomy atmosphere. Mary wished it was raining.
I never claimed to be this God of yours.
“And yet you let me believe that you were.”
Would you have let me in otherwise?
“No!”
There you have it then.
“When will you leave?” Mary let a hand run through her hair. She cringed at the soothing feeling.
Whenever you are ready.
“Get out.”
When I decide you are ready.
“Are you even Fate?”
It is one of my titles.
Mary groaned and stood from the bed, pacing around the infirmary like a madman. Muttering to herself and scratching the hidden mark on her shoulder. “Is that story true?” she asked instead of throwing a fit, ignoring her shoulder pains.
Take its truthfulness like a grain of salt.
Mary nodded. “And the prophecy?”
Which one, Mary? You should know by now I am all prophecies' mothers.
“Mine and Harry’s,” she said.
You would do well to remember it.
“Can I save him?”
Fate was silent.
Mary nodded again, deciding this was all too much. She crawled back into the bed and pulled the cover over her head like that would protect her from Fate.
Fate lulled her to sleep with her chuckles.
The next day Dumbledore sat on her bed. He was tense and yet relaxed. Sad yet happy. Mary assumed he was okay in the least because his eyes were still shining. In Dumbledore’s hands, he held a long box.
“I have your wand here, my girl.”
Mary grinned and just before taking it she stopped, with her hand hovering above it. She could feel the magic electricity transferring between her palm and wand. “How did you get this?”
“I got it from your parents.” he told her, giving her a smile to ease her worries.
“My parents?” Mary asked warily.
“Yes.” he said forwardly and in that moment the two of them shared something inexpressible to Mary. Mary felt tears well up into her eyes and she wordlessly took her wand. It flourished for a moment then died down as it sensed her somberness.
I am sorry.
And then the moment was over, disrupted by the stupid entity possessing her stupid self.
Shut up.
Mary pocketed the wand, turned over with a small thank you, and tried to snuggle into the bed. The sheets stuck to her skin uncomfortably and somehow upset her stomach.
When she turned back around Dumbledore was gone.
That afternoon, Madam Pomfrey alerted Mary that she had some visitors. Mary frowned and sat up, smoothing down the wrinkles in her bedsheets.
“Who?”
“The Weasleys.” Madam Pomfrey told her, holding up an uncapped potion bottle.
Mary swatted the bottle away in distress. “The Weasleys? As in Ron Weasley?”
“Yes, yes. Drink up.” Madam Pomfrey passed the bottle into Mary’s palm and left the room. Mary lifted up her bottle with shaking fingers. Ron really, really did not need to see her like this. What would he do? Probably make fun of her for sure. Or run to Harry and tell him what a courageless snake she was.
Slipping out of bed Mary sprinted around the room, trying to find an exit route.
What distresses you? Fate stirred in her, akin to how a baby yawns when it wakes.
Mary tried climbing out the window and found that it was locked. So were Madam Pomfrey's brewing room and the bathroom. There was no escape.
Mary, tell me.
“Shut up.” Mary hissed and contemplated hiding beneath the bed.
“What?” A strangled voice asked and Mary whipped around to see a bunch of tall redheads. Ron at the forefront held a card in his hands and a small grin. The twins were doing an exaggerated expression of grief. The mother was watching her with a pained expression.
The father lifted an awkward hand in an awkward wave, and the only other girl lifted her hand too. It seemed like she was the happiest to see her, especially when she ran up and hugged her around the middle.
Mary let out a small gasp of shock and wrapped her arms around the girl's shoulders. Quickly Mary scooted back away from them and stood her ground.
“What-“ said one twin.
“No hug for us?” the other twin finished with outstretched arms.
For a split second Mary blinked too hard at the twin and saw a flash of Joan staring back at her. Mary froze and felt her breath speed up. “No more hugs.” she said with authority, even though she was hugging herself. The twins didn’t seem to know what to do with that so they just grinned while their mom admonished them.
While that was happening, Ron walked forward and held out a handwritten card. It had a watercolor painting of some sort of prairie, and on the inside, there was a simple message of “Get well soon!” with the Weasleys' signatures.
“Thanks, Ron.”
“Yeah,” Ron shrugged but blushed. “So how was your summer?”
The girl Weasley (Ginny according to the card) stomped on his foot roughly. “Ow! Oh erm-“
“I’m Ginny!” Ginny said and held out her hand with a smile. Mary lightly shook it and then immediately retracted it.
“Mary.” Mary introduced herself and introduced them to Milkshakes. Ginny was instantly in love, giving the cat generous kisses and pets. Ron gave Mary a look and shrugged.
“How’s Harry?” Ron asked, plopping himself on her bed.
Mary shrugged. “I don’t know, haven’t seen him since the beginning of summer.”
Ron let out a sound of disappointment and told Mary Harry hadn’t said anything.
Soon Mrs. Weasley popped up with an old sewing can full of cookies, and Mary chomped down on the warmth as the talk turned to the Weasley family home.
Mary felt herself calm down as none of them inquired where she had been or why she was in the hospital. Even if they probably already knew with Ron’s question and Ginny’s stomp.
“I’m just happy that another girl will be in the house. It's exhausting staying around- Ow Ron! See what I mean!”
Ron had stomped on her foot rather roughly.
“She doesn’t know yet!” Ron told Ginny and she rolled her eyes.
“Of course, she knows! Dumbledore said that he would talk to her.”
“Well,” said Ron sarcastically. “You would think that since she hasn’t brought it up then she doesn’t know.”
“Or she’s waiting for us because she doesn’t want to be rude!”
“That’s not rude!”
“Could be!”
“Is not!”
“So what?”
“Children!” Mrs. Weasley snapped, and then she amended herself when the other two and father jumped. “Ron, Ginny. Don’t talk about people when they’re right in front of you.”
“Oh, but it’s okay if they’re behind you.” was one of the twin’s input.
Mary watched this interaction with darting eyes and confusion. What in the world were they talking about? Slowly, she understood.
“Oh! Congratulations Mrs. Weasley! What’ll be her name?”
Ron blinked and then said dryly, “Her name is Mary.”
Mary nodded and smiled, briefly wondering if she had an influence over that. “Well, that’s a fine name. Mary Weasley.”
Ron snickered and the twins joined in. “A Mary with red hair?”
“Or a Mary with freckles?”
“Mary with-“
“Boys!” Mrs. Weasley had had enough. “Mary, dear, Dumbledore told us about your situation. Awful thing, isn't it? Rest assured that I’d never leave a child—the shame of it!”
Mrs. Weasley had gone red with anger.
“Oh,” Mary said, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s fine.”
“It is not! Get that ridiculous notion out of your head, no, no. Where was I? Oh yes, your living arrangements. You’ll have to room with Ginny of course–”
“Wait, stay with you?” Mary's head was spinning. “Like, live?”
“Of course, dear.” Mrs. Weasley smiled, with her whole family backing her.
Mary felt Fate swirl in her eye, causing irritation and tears.
Hm.
Shut up.
“I… thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Mary said, shifting away to make sure she wouldn’t receive a hug.
Ginny jumped up and down squeaking, Fred and George joined in, but all Mary felt was a seeping noncaring drift over her.
Hmpf.
Shut up.
Life at the Burrow was different.
Apparently, there was another Weasley who lived with them, a boy named Percy that Mary vaguely remembered Ron complaining about. He stayed up in his room, rarely came out, and was always studying.
The twins were terrifying devils, and it would be more strange to hear silence from their room rather than an occasional bang.
Ron didn’t seem to know how to handle the fact she was now living with him. He much rathered to pretend like nothing had changed and they talked about Harry. A lot. When they weren’t worrying over why the letter flow had stopped, Ron sometimes looked at her like she was about to start growing red hair. Mary thought it was weird too.
The first night with Ginny was awkward. Mary sat on the too-soft bed with apprehension as Ginny looked up at her adoringly from the floor. The Weasleys didn’t have an extra bed just yet for her, so Ginny was forced to sleep in a camping sleeping bag at the foot of the bed.
Mary insisted that Ginny take it but Mrs. Weasley swatted her away and tucked them both in. Mary could feel Ginny looking at her through the darkness uncomfortably. Just as Mary had tuned it out, Ginny spoke up.
“You wanna go flying?”
Mary paused in her mind. Flying?
“It’s dark out.” Mary pointed out, shifting in the bed to look at Ginny, who had sat up so that they were at eye level. Ginny gave her a cheeky grin and shrugged.
“So?”
Mary almost decided that, yes despite her fear of heights, she would love to go flying. She was drawn into Ginny’s enthusiasm the same way she was with Harry’s. It was strange, the way she felt. Unsafe. Mary leaned back and shook her head.
“No I’m okay, go ahead.” Mary said instead and burrowed herself into Ginny’s old bed.
And every night after that went about the same. With the bleak life of chores, the occasional chess game, and the emptiness inside her, Mary welcomed these nighttime conversations.
Sometimes Ginny would ask her personal questions, like what her favorite color was or if she had any siblings. Mary would answer and then ask for Ginny’s. She found out that Ginny’s favorite color was pink but she hated the way it clashed with her hair, and that her favorite animal was a squirrel.
They would talk and laugh for a small while and then Ginny would offer her companionship in flight. Mary always said no to that, not liking the idea. But she also didn’t like being alone.
When the dark closed in and all she had was Fate's notes on her thoughts, it was lonely and terrifying. The darkness reminded her of the basement at Saint Mary’s, sometimes she thought she could get whispers of chants if she listened hard enough.
And then alone with her thoughts (and Fate), she thought about Joan. And Mary, and Noel, and Catherine, and Joshua. And how she killed them. Her nose would quiver when she pondered too long on it.
When the thoughts got too much, she clamped down on her brain and shut off that train of thought. Instead, she wondered what Harry was up to.
Sometimes she would lift her dark fingers up into the air and see nothing but black, a third of her finger gone. What she had done was evil. Necromancy. She was an evil person.
Mary would clutch onto both her wand and the squib wand (a wand that children with magical parents and no magic of their own used. It was filled with other's magic and therefore allowed squibs to use small amounts of magic) in a small fetal position. Her wand's magic would reach out to her and sizzle at the cold heat in Mary.
She thought about “Father” Joshua a lot. This was his wand. He had a wand, yet he wanted to take her magic away? Why? What were his motivations? How’d they know what potions were? Why did they use it on her? Why did it have no effect?
I slowed it. Fate answered one day.
“Shut up.” was Mary’s response.
They should have been mine. Fate continued, twitching Mary’s finger.
Mary stopped protesting. What?
Joshua. Joan. Noel. Catherine. They all should’ve been mine. Fate sounded furious and clouded Mary’s mind with anger. Mary suddenly wanted to go back and burn it all again before the flame died out in her. But that wand took them from me.
How?
I made it. That was enough.
Like the Elder Wand?
Fate, for the first time, is still in Mary. No. I told you not to listen to that.
Then what’s the true story?
One day.
When?
Later.
Now!
Fate didn’t answer at all so Mary tried to sleep.
Mary couldn’t move.
Tied down, burning chains, fuzzy water.
Chants, clearer than ever.
"לקרוע את הטפיל מבשרם הקדוש” Turned into: “Tear the parasite from their sacred flesh!
Then slowly all there was to hear was English.
“Rip it out in the name of God! In the name of Jesus! In the name of Father Joshua!”
Mary felt her magic burn up her throat.
“NO! NO! NO!” Mary screamed, watching a faint glow edge into her vision.
“MAry!” Mary’s eyes darted to the out-of-focus voice. Joan was there again, all charred and burned. “Mary!”
“WAKE UP!”
Mary was able to move again. Four eyes peered down at her, their arms shaking her. “HELP!” Mary shouted, thrashing against the arms. Mary slapped and eventually was able to wrap her fingers around a throat.
“Mary! Stop! It’s us! Fred and George!”
Mary’s eyes widened and her fingers retreated from Fred's coughing form. Twitching, Mary curled around herself in a ball. Breathing stopped and tears dribbled down her face. “I– I’m sorry!”
George patted her back while Fred rubbed his throat. “Breathe, Mary.”
Mary's breathing sounded like a vacuum. Sucking in all the polluted air.
“George, her hands!” Freds shaking voice commanded George's eyes to her fingertips.
George gasped. “Mary, your fingers.”
Mary shoved them under her armpits, still trying to control herself.
“George let's go.” Fred's eyes had turned cold in the darkness. Gone was his ever-present mirth. George looked in between the two.
“Fred,”
“C'mon!” George was dragged out of the room by a huffing Fred.
Hm.
“Fate, they know, oh my God they know.”
Indeed. Not a pleasant reaction.
Mary clawed at her shoulder. “I can’t! I can’t!”
Get ahold of yourself, Mary. Breathe.
“Mary?” Ginny was standing at the door with windswept hair. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Mary panted. “I’m fine.”
“O-kay,” Ginny slowly walked past her to her sleeping bag. Once she had tucked herself in, her eyes peered deeply into Mary’s. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then.” she said and, tired from the workout, quickly fell asleep.
The next morning, instead of the normal happy hellos from the twins, she got suspicious glares.
Mr. Weasley was a lovely man. He worked a lot and had a heart of gold. He was a precious man, and very curious about her muggle life. Mr. Weasley often asked her about things Mary had never thought twice about. Things like shopping buggies, floor mats, piggy banks, and nail clippers.
Mr. Weasley had an impressive collection of muggle objects, with many being cursed or magically modified. Some he had done by himself or some he swiped from work. He worked in a part of the ministry that dealt with muggle objects being contaminated with magic.
He had a matchbox with never-ending amounts of matches, a horn that when you honked it once, it would never stop (without the use of magic of course), baseball hats that flew off your head once put on, and many other things that Mary had a hard time keeping track of.
Mary was most curious about Mr. Weasley's crowning achievement, his car. It was a very nice Ford Angela that Mr. Weasley bought off of some muggle stranger two summers before with his pay raise. He had magically changed the majority of the Ford Angela from its previous state. The car could fly!
Mary thought back to her conversation with Terrence Higgs, how no wizard or witch had even come close to mixing electricity with magic. Gunpowder seemed to have equally devastating effects if tampered with. If this car had blinker lights none of this should have worked.
Mary leaned into the car and looked up, seeing multiple new buttons. “Which one is the light?” Mary asked and Mr. Weasley stepped next to her.
“The light? Why that’s up here, next to the invisibility button. Now the invisibility button should, if used which it can’t be but the whole car, not the inside but outside, which was a tricky amount of arithmancy I tell you—“
Mary pressed the button and was shocked to see light pouring from the ceiling. “No way!”
Me. Weasley paled. “Mary! You could have hit—“
“Light! That's light! Mr. Weasley, there’s light!” Mary said excitedly, briefly letting the weight from her shoulders fall.
“I—well yes, of course there’s light.” Mr. Weasley sputtered.
“Light! Oh my! And you’re certain it works?” Mary asked and leaned out, turning off the light with her.
“Err- well not exactly, I can’t legally fly it.”
Mary frowned. “Why?”
“Well, I wrote a law that says one cannot make cars fly BUT,” he gave her a wink. “Seeing as I wrote it, I made a loophole. But don’t tell Molly! She’d worry herself sick.”
“What’s the loophole?”
“As long as the person doesn’t intend on flying it, it is all perfectly legal!”
“That’s genius, Mr. Weasley! It's just a shame you cannot fly it.” Mary said with disappointment.
“No matter, there is plenty we can test. Would you like to help me with the walkman?”
Mary furrowed her eyebrows at the Ford Anglia. “Yes sir, thank you.”
“How about tonight?” Ginny asked, sitting on the edge of Mary’s bed while swinging her feet. “Please, Mary! It’ll be loads better with you around-“
“I have a fear of heights, remember?” Mary said blandly, pulling out a sheet for her potions homework.
“Yes, yes, but just once!” Ginny protested. “Have you ever actually flown?”
“Once or twice.” Mary grimaced as she thought about Flight Class.
“Okay, but have you flown with a blanket of stars above you? It feels almost like you’re a shooting star, flying across space with the cool wind in your hair. It’s great. You have to come, at least once. Then I can call you mad for not liking it.”
Mary looked up and saw the small flush on Ginny’s freckled face. Ginny had to be telling the truth with that reaction, and it did really sound magnificent. Slowly, Mary placed the paper to the side. “Sure.”
Ginny’s face lit up, and she pulled Mary out of bed jumping up and down. “I knew you would! I just knew! Cmon!”
The pair tiptoed down the stairs, Ginny quietly telling her which ones creaked and when to be extra quiet. With Ginny’s helpful hold on her arm, Mary managed to slip away without causing any problems.
Letting out a breath of relief, Mary breathed in the fresh night air. Looking up, she saw with disbelief that the stars were larger than life itself, brighter than the ones at Hogwarts, and especially brighter than the ones at Surrey.
“This way,” Ginny said, pulling her gently away from her gaze. “I’ll let you choose which broom.”
A small broom shed held about three brooms, all with varying degrees of serious damage. Ginny gestured vaguely telling her to get a move on with it and Mary speedily chose the second best. Mary did so to allow Ginny the best, but Ginny reached in and grabbed the worst.
“Give myself a challenge, aye?” Ginny said with a grin, patting the baby rouge bristles away. “Anyway I go over there, you can see the stars better.”
Mary didn’t doubt that. A nice empty plane far away from the Burrow with an inordinate amount of flowers.
“Technically it’s in the Lovegoods property but Luna lets me so we both should be fine. She might actually join us one day.”
“Luna?”
“A girl I know. Alright, let’s stop here.”
Following Ginny she reached it somewhere in the middle. “Ready?” Mary asked, fiddling with the handle of the broom.
Ginny grinned at her, jumping on the broom. “To be a shooting star?”
“To be a nutter, I suppose.” Mary said and jumped on her broom too.
Ginny’s grin grew wider as she shot up into the air, with Mary following swiftly behind her. The broom immediately tried to jolt Mary somewhere to the left, then to the right before falling into a steady pace. Ginny was laughing loudly, doing loops in the air seamlessly. If that was the worst broom, Mary wished she could take it back.
Mary was staying relatively close to the ground, not too eager to fly more than ten feet above it. “Mary come up! You’re more like an ant, not a star!”
Mary looked up to see Ginny as a spec, hair glowing in the night. Mary shot up a few more feet, then a few more, before looking down and felt all her muscles constrict. She was entirely too high!
I don’t like this.
“Yeah neither do I, Fate.” Mary muttered, pointing the broom down, only to scream in terror. Now she was going down almost vertically. The broom had jostled around!
“Mary?” Ginny called. “Pull up!”
Mary did what she asked and sored up straight, entering into the stars. It was breathtaking.
“Level out!” she heard Ginny yell at her. But the stars were so close, growing and twinkling at her. Mary reached out grasping at the darkness with her fingers. For a moment, Mary closed her hands around something bright, but when Mary opened her hands a dead lightning bug twinkled dimly at her.
Mary gasped, shaking her hand violently.
Waste of life. Fate tutted in her mind.
“Mary!” a hand grabbed the tail end of her broom, yanking her down. “What is wrong with you!”
Ginerva Weasley had come out to play, looking madder than mad. “Brooms can’t be up this high! Especially these! You could have broken the broom and then Fred would have my head!” Mary looked down and saw that her broom was shaking and so was Ginny’s. “That was crazy! I didn’t mean the shooting star thing literally!”
Mary nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“You better be!” Ginny yelled, turning down and landing without Mary.
Mary gulped. Her fingers would not move to push the broom down. It seemed impossible to ask them to.
“Ginny!” Mary called in a voice of panic.
There were five terrible seconds before Ginny answered. “What?”
“I… I can’t get down!”
She heard Ginny grunt and say something under her breath, and Mary suddenly feared that Ginny didn’t like her anymore. The dark night hadn’t bothered her yet, but as she felt her breaths quicken, the dark suffocated her. Mary doubled over in distress, vomiting over her side.
“Mary,” a hand started rubbing her back. “Are you alright?”
Mary gasped in gulps of air but still couldn’t breathe. “I can’t breathe!” Mary pushed out of her throat. “Air! Air!”
Ginny pulled back. “I’m going to get mum!”
“No!” Mary’s voice broke. “Don’t leave me! I’m scared!”
Ginny’s panicked eyes softened. “Okay,” she said softly. “But you have to get down from up here.”
Mary shook her head before gagging again. “Okay, um, can you like, try and breathe slower?”
Yes, breathe.
Hearing Fate's voice didn’t help at all but she tried very hard and managed to slow her heart.
“Good job, now let’s go slowly. And just follow and look at me. Okay?”
Mary nodded.
So together they painstakingly hovered their way to the ground. They took lots of breaks and stops to let Mary calm down before starting again. Ginny had this very soft look on her face the entire time.
When they touched the ground, Fate let out a sigh of “thank you, Jesus.”, making Mary wonder if Jesus was still real.
Ginny put their brooms up, then escorted Mary back into their shared room. The clock on the shared night table read out 12:03. They left at ten-ish. “I’m sorry.”
Ginny sat down on the bed next to her. “Mum said that you had something happen to you over break. She told me not to ask or make it worse, so I’m not going to ask, but I’m sorry if I, y'know, made it worse.”
Mary shook her head. “You didn’t mean to. It's fine. I’ll be fine.”
Will you be?
Shut up.
“Thank you for helping.”
“Yeah.” Ginny nodded, blowing air out of her cheeks.
“It’s just, everything is so scary now,” Mary admitted, turning her face away. Too scared to show weakness. “I’m scared of the dark. I’m like a toddler.”
The two sat in silence.
“I used to be scared of the dark,” Ginny whispered. “Before, when Fred and George were younger, they were mean. They turned Ron’s favorite stuffy into a giant spider once. Ron’s been scared ever since.”
Mary definitely didn’t pocket that information for later.
“And one time, they found out I wanted to fly, and they locked me in the broom shed. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t see. I was scared and by the time Mum found me I definitely needed a night light. Sometimes I still am but you just gotta push through I guess.”
“Very Gryffindor of you.” Mary noted dryly and Ginny blinked like that was the first time she had realized Mary was a Slytherin.
“What’s Slytherin like?” Ginny asked with no judgment, merely looking curious.
“It’s not too bad for most people. I mean Malfoy is a right pain in the arse but it’s nice there. Some people are nice. The common room makes it all worth it, though. The views of the lake from the bottom are stunning. I can’t even begin describing it to you.”
Ginny was nodding, a faraway look on her face. “Sometimes I’m scared I’ll get sorted into Slytherin.”
“What’s so scary about that?”
“Everything! There hasn’t been a Weasley in Slytherin since I don’t know when. You should have heard Mum this year when she read Ron’s letters, she hated you!”
Mary felt the sting of hurt. Mrs. Weasley didn’t like her? “Because I was in Slytherin?”
“Yes! And Ron was going on and on about how you were corrupting Harry—“
“I didn’t corrupt Harry!” Mary said scandalized.
“I know! We know now! But hearing Mum talk about Slytherin like that. What if I got sorted into the snakesand she started treating me like how she treats you.”
“How does Mrs. Weasley treat me?” Mary asked slowly. She didn’t want to know the answer but her lips had moved anyway.
“Oh, you should see her! The second you’re not in the room she starts muttering under her breath about you. It’s maddening”
“What,” Mary gulped exhaustedly. “What does she say?”
Ginny shrugged and moved into a crisscross. “Just stuff.”
Mary wanted to shake Ginny around. “Like what?”
“That you’re dangerous and that you’ve done things. Like dark magic,” Ginny whispered, not looking her in the eye. “Have you done dark magic?”
Mary shook her head before Ginny was even finished. “No, I don’t know why she’s saying that about me.”
Liar. Fate chuckled. Liar, liar, pants on fire! Fate pushed forward an image of Joan burning to death, choking on her own barbecued tongue.
SHUT UP!
“Mary? What’s wrong?”
Mary shook the image from her head. “Nothing… I just thought that your mother liked me.”
“She does!” Ginny said, scooting closer to Mary with a kind grin. “She just worries too much.”
“I’m not going to hurt any of you!”
Ginny nodded empathetically. “I know, we know.”
“Then why-“
“Because she's Mum.” Ginny shrugged.
Mary scoffed. “That doesn’t mean she can just be mean to me.”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
“I’m going to bed. It’s late.” Mary said.
“Me too.” Ginny agreed awkwardly.
Mary turned and crossed her arm under the pillow, trying to lull herself back to sleep. It was then a light appeared, floating in the middle of the room gently. Mary turned back over and saw Ginny give her a tentative smile.
Mary turned over for a third time.
Mary hated breakfast. It has the worst-tasting food and only three or four good foods. Pancakes, waffles, and toast. Eggs are fine too but if you eat them too much they end up tasting like mush.
Now Mary especially hated this breakfast. The food was dry and tasted worse than Saint Mary’s. She had a bad dream so now she is tired. Ginny didn’t talk to her this morning, and the reason for this was sitting next to Mary.
Mrs. Weasley, a woman she had grown to respect over her stay, hates her.
Scratches of metal on plates set Mary on edge as she watched Mrs. Weasley. Mary could hear Mrs. Weasley's teeth chewing, causing Mary to become even more irritated.
Mrs. Weasley's hair was too frizzy this morning, catching the light at odd angles. Mary hated it.
Mrs. Weasley's fingernails were too long. Who needed claws? Mary felt disgusted by this.
Her laughter set off alarms in Mary's mind. Fake, fake, fake. All of it was fake.
Her love was fake, her smiles were fake, her hugs, her conversations. Everything about her was fake.
Everyone is fake.
Joan, with her false comfort. Mary, with her false ideas. Noel, with her false kindness. All of them were fake.
Mrs. Weasley was fake too. False love.
And Mary hated her. It felt like she was looking for reasons to hate Mrs. Weasley. Mary almost felt bad, but she hated Mary. Even after taking her in. Thought she was a danger, she did.
“I hate you,” Mary whispered so quietly that she barely heard it herself. She waited a moment before saying it again in a low whisper. “I hate you.”
The conversations went on around her.
She repeated it, as a whisper. “I hate you.”
Then in conversational tones. “I hate you.”
Mrs. Weasley turned to her with a smile. “I’m sorry, what did you say dear?”
Mary didn’t hesitate this time. “I hate you,” she said louder than need be, as the whole table turned to her. “I do! I hate you too, Mrs. Weasley!”
Mrs. Weasley was stunned and slack-jawed. “Mary, I don’t hate you—“
Mary jumped up. “Liar! Liar! Liar! Fake! Fake! Everyone is fake! First Joan and the rest but you, Mrs. Weasley? I HATE YOU!”
Calm down.
Mary screamed incoherently, seeing her eyesight blurred. Tears, sticky and hot, dropped down her face. Mrs. Weasley looked at her with such pity that Mary felt embarrassed. Turning, Mary fled out of the door into the great wilderness. Vaguely following her memory, Mary ran across the fields into the flower meadow which she had previously flown over with Ginny.
She sat down and sobbed violently, wondering why she cried so much. The world was tough, and her tears wouldn’t fix anything so why does she keep crying?
“Oh hello,” Fate's voice crept up behind her, all melodies and hymns. “Am I interrupting?”
Mary sniffed into her hair by accident. “Who’d you possess this time?”
That’s not me.
Mary stiffened. Then who is it?
One of mine.
“You do have a lot of Nargles.” the voice hummed and sat beside her in the grass. It was a young girl, about her age, with white-blond hair and a hippie-looking dress. She wore many trinkets on her, necklaces overlapping each other, braids infused with other hair, and a beautiful ring with a sigel of some kind.
Mary sniffed again. “Who’re you?”
The girl smiled, she was missing her left canine. “Luna Lovegood!”
Mary let it click in her mind who it was. “Oh! I’m Mary, I forgot this was someone else’s land. I should get going. I'm sorry,“ Mary hiccuped. “once again.”
“No, I quite enjoy a stranger's company. Stay.”
Mary debated it before laying completely down again. “Lovegoods one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?”
Luna hummed while picking some flowers. “I suppose,” she said, intertwining the flowers. “Is Mary a part of the Crying Twenty-one?”
Mary coughed out a laugh. “I suppose.”
“The sky should be lighter, don’t you think?” her voice was airy, not really there.
Mary looked up and saw a normal shade of sky blue. “I dunno.”
“Look then.”
Mary looked, she looked past the clouds and thought about the stars behind them. “No, it should be darker.”
“Why?”
Mary shrugged, wiping away the last of her tears. “It would make the clouds pop more.”
“I think the light blue would be prettier because they go together.”
“Hm,” Mary said. “Honestly, this is a nice blue. Comfortable. I like it plain.”
Luna began singing “Painting the Roses Red”.
Mary looked at her in shock. “That’s a muggle movie.”
Luna mimicked smoking a pipe before bursting out into giggles. By this point, Mary was beginning to think anyone who was or used to be Fates was senile.
Abruptly, Luna stopped giggling and painted a serious expression on her face. “Why do you mourn a world not yet lost?”
“What?” Mary asked, too confused to say anything else.
“Why do you mourn a world not yet lost?” Luna looked straight into her eyes, not moving, with pupils twinkling. Luna's eyes were searching for something. “Why do you mourn when we are not yet lost?”
“That wasn’t why I was crying.”
Luna sat back and the look was gone. “Hm, really?”
“Yes.” Mary insisted, just nearly done with this conversation.
“Then what else?”
“People are very fake, Luna. All of them. Probably you too.”
“Are you?” Luna asked curiously. “Are you fake?”
Mary paused, thinking about her school's house. The facade she wore around the common room. “No,” she lied. “I am not.”
“Why do you mourn when you are not yet lost?”
“I’m not mourning!”
“Why else do we cry?”
“We sometimes cry when we laugh.”
Luna smiled at her. “You will mourn when you laugh.”
Mary furrowed her brows at the strange girl. “You make no sense.”
“To you, I suppose.”
Mary watched Luna add more flowers to the string she had wove. “I guess I’m mourning my friendship with the Weasleys.”
Luna looked up swiftly. “Like Ginny?”
“Yes. Apparently, her mother thinks I am dangerous.”
Pale eyes observed her carefully. “She knows you are dangerous.”
“I AM NOT!” Mary bellowed, causing a group of birds to startle and fly off.
Luna raised an eyebrow.
“Shut up.”
Luna only stayed quiet for three seconds. “So you got angry and left?”
“Yes.” Mary said shortly.
“And you are done with your tantrum and breakdown?”
“Yes.” Mary said even shorter. She really should have left by now and she definitely doesn’t know why she continued to stay.
“Then why are you here?”
Can she read people's minds? Mary thought confusingly.
Fate chuckled at her.
“Yeah, I better go,” Mary said standing up, brushing off the dirt from her bottom. “Nice meeting you, Lovegood.”
Luna hummed, eerily similar to Fate.
Your people are weird.
Hm.
Mary didn’t go back to the burrow, instead, she hid out in the nearby trees, playing in the dirt with no thoughts. Birds chirped from above her and ants scurried across her finger. It was peacefully quiet.
Fate had taken control of her left arm, running it through Mary’s hair. It was a weird feeling and Mary wanted it gone, and yet she said nothing. Fate wouldn’t listen anyway.
Fate was fake too, now that Mary thought about it, probably the fakest of all. Posing as her savior, her God. Lying to her, tormenting her, and then possessing her. Mary was trapped, unable to remove Fate now that she had given permission. She was trapped like how she was chained to a slab. Mary still was not free.
Mary stopped thinking, it wasn’t fun. She would actually much prefer it if she never thought again. If she was numb all the time like this. Having a not-caring that actually worked. Instead, Mary listened to the world around her, the breeze and the still.
The not thinking didn’t work, and neither did the not caring.
“Fate?”
Yes, Mary?
“You’ve lied to me.”
Fate stopped threading through her hair. I have not.
“Mm, pretty sure you did,” Mary shot back. “Yeah, you definitely did.”
Tell me when.
“You answered to God, but you are not Him.”
Oh, I definitely am god, just not your God.
Sniffing, Mary stayed quiet as she drew the apostle into the ground. The dirt left itself in the cracks of her finger. The darkness made it lighter with the brown. “Is my God real?”
Of course, He is real. He is right here.
“Where? Where is he?”
Here. Just here, everywhere.
“You’re being vague on purpose.”
Perhaps, Fate laughed boisterously. Or perhaps you are vague in mind.
Mary huffed and slid her hand across the drawing. The drawing blurred and her palm darkened. “If you are telling me that you’re my God, then you are a liar.”
I am your God, Mary. Just not your God.
“What does that mean!” Mary rubbed the ground harder. “I ask all these questions and you never answer.”
Are you listening?
“Yes!”
Liar.
“What!” Mary asked, scandalized.
You are a liar. You hear but you do not listen, you ask questions you do not understand. You do not understand anything. I am here to help you understand, and until you do, you are stuck with me. So ask your questions, and I will answer. Ask your questions and understand my answer.
Mary heard Fate's voice thunder in the wind, echoing in her ear, vibrating in her thumb. Fate was everywhere, in everything. “That was very repetitive,” Mary said and felt like that was not the right response.
I often am until you learn my lessons.
Mary let herself reflect on their conversation. “You distracted me, you changed the conversation.” Mary realized.
If I am a liar, so are you. We’re all fake. I never changed the topic.
“Shut up.” Mary said but found a smile creeping up on her face. Fate sucks.
“Mary! Mary, thank Merlin!” a feminine voice shouted from behind her, and two strong arms pulled her into someone’s chest. The sweet smell of home-baked goods filled Mary’s squished nose.
“Mvs. Weassley?” Mary’s mouth stumbled as it was squeezed vigorously into her care keeper's body. Mrs. Weasley grabbed her tighter, whispering kind words and apologies.
“I’m so sorry, dear. I should not have said those things about you. That was, oh, very wrong of me indeed. I should have never, I will never—“
Mary began crying again, a foolish activity she should stop doing. She shook her head into Mrs. Weasley's chest, letting a few more tears drop before pulling away from the kind shushing.
“I’m sorry too, Mrs. Weasley. I don’t hate you.”
Mrs. Weasley's eyes were red too. “I know,” she said, pulling Mary away from her nest below the trees. “I’ll make some of your favorites tonight, and you can cook it with me and all will be normal again.”
Mary ignored the stabbing in her chest and followed along with a meek, “yes ma’am.”
When they reached the house, and after the dinner was cooked, the table was busy. The twins were whispering to each other and had barely touched their food, Ron was having a debate with the nerd Weasley, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were animatedly talking.
It was only Ginny and Mary who held their heads down and focused on their food. Sitting directly next to each other, sometimes their elbows would touch and there would be muttered apologies.
“I’m sorry,” Ginny inhaled some food to cover up her embarrassment. “for telling those things to you even though I knew it would hurt you.”
“It’s fine. I’d rather know.” Mary told her and took a bite of her food.
Mary's mashed potatoes promptly exploded up into her face. Smearing the food away from her eyes, Mary looked into the eyes of Fred Weasley. They were glaring harshly into hers, daring her to say something to the distracted parents. Mary sneered at him threateningly and was about to send a handful back his way when she looked down at her plate. Spelled out with her peas was a cruel message and warning.
MURDERER