Illicit Affairs

Mary Macdonald POV: Part Three

Mary rested her head against her mother’s knees, a few days of knowing who she was, a few days of wondering whether her mother would still love her if she told her. Her father sits across the lounge room, lying back in his seat, and sometimes she wished so deeply that her mother would leave her useless, no good father. 

“So baby, you still haven’t told us how school was,” her mother, Christina, said, as she braided Mary’s hair. “I always wonder what it’s like to go to a magical school, and it’s your job to tell me, mija.”

“It’s ok,” Mary shrugs her shoulders. “I’ve met some of my best friends there, y’know like Marlene, Remus, Sirius, James, and there’s this girl, Dorcas.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of her,” Mary can hear the smile in her mother’s voice, and she loved talking with her mum. She just likes it’s better when her father is still at work, not in the same room as them. “And Lily, too—But I noticed she didn’t come back for Christmas, did she?”

“Nah, she didn’t,” Mary shakes her head, feeling her mum accidentally tug on her a bit. “There was this party—where this professor basically just picks his favourite students.”

“Oh yeah, isn’t that the git you told me about as well?”

“Yeah, ‘course mum, you know everything.”

“Well you know the saying,” she finishes tying the bottom of Mary’s braid. “Mumma knows best—oh, remember my song.”

“No, please mum,” she groans, throwing her head back, as her mum grabs her hands, lifting her up from the ground. She laughs, dancing around the lounge room. Mary rolls her eyes, attempting to hide her grin. “Muuuum,” she says again, as her mum sings the mumma knows best song she made.

“You love my singing,” she boops Mary on the nose, dancing still, and soon enough, Mary joins in. Her father clears his throat, and Christie immediately stops singing, and turns to him. “Yes, love?”

“We are going to church tonight,” he stands up from his chair. “Like every Christmas Eve.”

“Oh,” Mary says, capturing her father and her mother’s attention. “I don’t really want to go to church this year, I mean, I’ve moved on, and it just seems not fitting.”

“We are going to church, Christina,” he repeats, ignoring Mary. And oh Merlin, how she really did hate her father with every fibre inside her body—she always heard of other people, and how they were unable to properly hate their parents, but Mary despised her father. Useless, no good, sexist asshole.

“Love, it’s ok, she should be able to have the choice to go,” her mum grins, her hand resting on Mary’s shoulder. “I remember not wanting to go to church when I was her age, she may eventually want to go back, she may not, that’s her choice.”

“And what if her husband wants to go to church, and she doesn’t know anything about it?” 

“What if I don’t get married to a man?” She says, eruptly, thinking of a few nights ago. Of Darcy. And especially, Lily. Lily, Lily, Lily. 

“What? And I suppose you'd get married to a woman then,” he laughs, the ridiculousness of what she said showing in his tone. But—it didn’t sound so ridiculous to her. She found it reasonable, and even more, she didn’t mind the thought of getting married to a woman. She may get married to a man, but the possibility of her ending up with a woman sounded better, more fitting, more Lily.

“I may,” she crosses her arms over her chest—she thought of Marlene as she didn’t break eye contact with her father, and she knew Marlene McKinnon would never back down. She’d never willingly hide who she is, despite everyone considering who she is, evil, against god, disgusting, immoral. Not normal. 

“You will not,” he finally says, realising that she was being serious, and his evil smirk disappeared from his face. “My daughter will not be a dyke. No, I will not give you away to a woman, and it’s not even legal, either. It won’t happen.”

“I don’t need you to give me away,” she scoffs, as if it was hilarious. And it was. He was horrible, but it was ok, she can be, too. After all, she was his daughter. 

“This is what happens when we let her stay at that school all year!” Her father looks towards her mum, pointing at Mary, but pretending as if she doesn’t exist. “Always knew we shouldn’t have let you stay with those poofs, what’s their names? Sirius, that Remus boy. And Marlene.” 

He said their names as if they were some idiotic gibberish words. She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest, not daring to look away from him—so that is how he wants to play it.

“Rob, please don’t,” Christie stepped towards him, placing his hands on his chest, as she continued walking. “It is completely in her right to choose what she does, and what she believes in.”

“Which will not be a dyke.”

Mary laughed, and Christie looked back at her, for a moment she frowned. She wasn’t glaring, she was asking a question—not a simple one—it was never going to be simple to Mary. How when she would truly never be considered a normal person. No matter who she loved—Darcy or Lily—It would be wrong, and that’s how it was. 

Her mother was her best friend, and that’s how they were. Communicating from across the room. Mary nodded, her shoulders almost sinking into her own body—disappointment, immoral, abnormal—and all her mother did was turn away from her, the corners of her mouth curving up, and…she wasn’t disappointed.

“Rob, you go to church, I’ll stay here with Mary, go.”

“So you’re going to allow her to go against god?!” He rubs his fingers over his beard, glaring at Christie. “I would have never married you if this is how you were going to act. Supporting dykes. We shall put her in therapy! She’s obviously sick!” 

And for a moment, Mary stood there, frozen in time—that moment, he wasn’t talking about her. He was talking about Benjy, who was continuously and brutally bullied and attacked, similar to the way she was by Mulciber—he was talking about Marlene, the one who immediately sent the letter to Mary, when she kissed Dorcas, and got rejected, and absolutely heartbroken—he was talking about Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, who wanted so deeply to love each other, but were too afraid to do so for many years.

She found herself, still, unable to move. 

And he was talking about her, again. 

She realised at that moment. People weren’t able to hate their parents. She wasn’t able to hate her father. 

Because she felt daggers sinking into her skin. Specifically into her heart—she was never going to be good enough for her father. She was wrong. No good. Useless. And at that exact moment, she felt as if she’d never feel so heartbroken ever again.

“Get the fuck out!” Her mum used all of the muscles in her body to push him, and Mary was in the moment again. Her mind was here, again. His body softly hit the door, and his hand balled into fists. “Get out, or I’ll call the police. Go to your fucking church. Just get—out!” 

He looked at her, then at Mary, then back at Christina. He scoffed, before leaving the room. As he did so, Christie dropped into the lounge, sighing in relief as she did so.

“Mum?” Mary asked. “Are you ok, mum?”

“Yeah, I’m ok, hun,” she smiles, wiping her cheek as she notices a tear rolling down. Mary ran over to her, placing her hand over her back. “I had a friend, once. He was like your friend, Remus. But—but he died. He got killed when he was younger. His father caught him with a boy in their house—doing—you know—and he—he’s not here anymore.”

“I—I am so sorry,” she barely managed to get out. And to think, that could happen to her. “I can’t believe—I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not ok,” she shakes her head, dropping her face into her hands. “It’s not ok—he should still be here. But he’s not, and I will do every single thing in my power to protect that from happening to you.”

She hugged her mum, resting her face on her shoulder, “I really love you, mum. I do.”

“Te quiero. Luna y de regreso.“

Mary smiled—she loved when her mum spoke in Spanish. It was nice to listen to. Especially because she knew the majority of her heritage was from Cuba. Her mum’s side. Obviously.

“Now that the dickhead is gone, what would you like to talk about, mija?” She grinned. “Right, Lily. How is Lily doing? I hope she’s doing well?”

“Yeah, I’m sure she’s well,” Mary nodded—but she wasn’t. She continued to think about Lily. Day and night. She remembered the kiss she and Darcy shared. It’s as if it had completely taken over her thoughts—each and every one of them. “Mum?”

“Yes, querida?”

“I think—I think she’s my person,” she said so quietly in case she regretted it in a few moments. Her mother leaned forward…And she did hear it, because she stared at Mary, with a stupid grin on her face. “I really like her. But—but I’m not sure whether or not she likes me. I think—well maybe—maybe she’s so picky with boys because she likes me. But I’m not sure. That may just be silly. Maybe—yeah, it’s probably not it. It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. But it’s just—I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t. I haven’t been able to, and I kissed Darcy, so there’s that, too.”

“You kissed Darcy?!” She asks, dropping her hands into her lap as she finishes watching Mary rant about her dramas. “Ok, when did this happen? Did it happen the night you stayed there? You’re only fifteen, are you allowed to be doing it with people, I’m not sure. I don’t think you should be shagging people when you’re fifteen—you shouldn’t even be able to have a boyfriend—but well, should I be saying girlfriend? No. I’ll say partner. Hold on—“

“Mum! Jesus Christ, this is my moment to be losing the plot, not yours—and no, I didn’t shag anybody,” She sighs, throwing her arms up, and she sees her mum’s shoulders drop, as if a weight had been lifted off of them.

“Ok—ok good, I would’ve rather given you the talk before you did anything, because I’m not sure they teach you sex education at that school, so—y’know—making sure I wasn’t failing as a parent.”

“If anyone's failing as a parent, it is my father, you’re my best friend.”

Her mother smiled at her, stretching her arm around her, and squeezing her shoulder. She grinned. 

“Mum, I have a question.”

“Shoot, mija,” she strokes the top of Mary’s head in which she braided. She can feel the motherly grin through Christie’s words. 

“Well actually I have a few. First, do you care about me having kids? I mean, I always thought you wanted me to do that, I thought you would’ve hated me if I—well—who I am.”

“Mary, I would never hate you. Never in a million years. I just want you to do whatever makes you happy—your father, his idea of your happiness means what makes him happy, what makes his name sound good. I could not give less of a shit if you ruined and brought shame on the family name, as long as you were happy. Marry a woman, have a kid, or don’t, it’s all up to you. Do the thing I was never able to do. Have things that I wasn’t able to have.”

She nods, listening carefully to every single word that her mum spoke. Do the thing I was never able to do. 

“And—this may not be my place, but I have this friend, Benjy, and I—I think he’s like this other boy. I’m pretty sure he’s gay, and he likes Barty—and erm, well—I think he likes him, but he’s too afraid to say anything. I kind of want to do something about it,” Mary says.

“Alright,” her mum hesitates for a moment. 

“Marlene and I talk about it sometimes. We both want to do something.”

“I mean, the moral thing would be leaving it alone, and allowing them to work it out by themselves, but,” she smirks at Mary, winking—there she is, Mary thinks, watching her mum. “You can always say something—y’know, I remember I used to put fake love confession notes in people’s lockers, their bags, anything, so they would finally say something to each other.”

“Mum!”

“I know, I know,” she throws her hand, and then rests her chin on them, leaning over. “But it did the job, didn’t it?”

“Suppose.”

“There’s always the talking option—communication is so important, mi amor, you’ll get nowhere if you don’t communicate with people—these boys will get nowhere if they don’t communicate.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“Always am,” she smiles. “I had two Cuban immigrant parents, I know how to win an argument, and I’ve learnt so much.”

“Oh, how is abuela?” 

Her mum shrugs her shoulders, “I’m not entirely sure if I’m being honest. I haven’t spoken to her in a while, not sure I really want to anyways. But mija, we’re talking about you, and your friends at school—so these two boys—have they ever admitted to liking each other?”

“Well—no, they haven’t, because they do that thing where they insult each other, but really they fancy each other.”

“Hmm, that’s strange.”

“Innit,” she shrugs, jumping up from the couch. She smiles at her arm, crossing her arms over her chest, except this time, she wasn’t doing it in a negative way. “So anyways.”

And they talked for the rest of the night—she spoke about school, and Marlene, and reminiscing about old times; the year before when she and Marlene had a joint quinceanera, and thinking about Lily, and how that beautiful, beautiful bastard made her a dress that she still has in her wardrobe, admiring whenever she gets the chance, because she’s never seen anything so gorgeous.

Except Lily—she was just fucking flawless to Mary. She could hardly believe it. 

After the realisation the other day, she contemplated it, thought about it, dwelled on it, and she couldn’t believe her luck. Falling for somebody—no, even meeting somebody like that—was beyond Mary. Way beyond Mary. Lily was too good for her, Mary would think. 

Too good for the rest of the world.

And of course, her luck—it would be unbelievable if there was a minor setback—major setback—her stupid, bad luck. 

The fact she had never fallen for anybody the way she was now, and it wasn’t a mutual feeling. Of course it wasn’t a mutual feeling, because some people can love properly. Some people’s love can be pure. 

Now she knew how Marlene felt. Maybe she always had. Maybe she hadn’t, until Lily. Except—Dorcas was also a lesbian, Mary knew that after Dorcas had informed her a while back.

The following morning, she woke up early, of course, as she always did—annoying her mum to wake up early to get out of bed. She’d been doing this since she could remember, and it wasn’t that she really cared anymore. About the presents. More so, her mum’s reaction when Mary comes running in.

A wide grin on her face when she shakes her awake, acting as if she wants to sleep in longer. But she doesn’t. Mary wonders every day how her evil father ended up marrying her mother, who had to be one of the most beautiful souls Mary had passed—other than Lily, of course. 

Her body was there, her mind was there, but her heart had belonged in the hands of Lily Evans.

Her every thought, her every breath, they were all for Lily Evans, and Mary decided that no matter what, they would always be for Lily Evans. 

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. Because Mary had never missed anybody this much. Her life had never been revolving around one person. Until this moment—until the moment she was unable to see Lily, and wanted so deeply to see her. How she had never felt so much towards one person.

Christina Macdonald had once told Mary that once we come to the realisation that we love a person, we shall never stop proving our love to them. Make sure that with every breath they take, they know they are loved, cherished and appreciated by us. 

She would hold these words in her heart—but Lily filled so much of Mary's heart, she could barely call it her own