Chapter One
Chapter 1
“Please don’t let this be a mistake.” Mary prayed in a whisper as she gave her owl, Sapphire, the letter. Written nicely on the outside was the address and recipient of the white letter.
“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Harry James Potter”
Maybe the middle name was too much?
No.
Maybe this whole thing was a mistake.
Well…
No.
Maybe she should have thought about it more, it hadn’t even been two months since Sirius had died.
Died.
Another one of them is gone.
“I can only tell him so much, Mary. I think it would be good-“ he repeated for the hundredth time. Mary just didn’t know that it was going to be the last time.
“Sirius, I can’t.” She heard the static crack on the other side of the phone. “I’m not like you. After all this time I still can’t—“ she stumbled over her words as she wrapped the cord anxiously around her fingers. “He has you. He doesn’t even know me. He doesn’t even know of me! He may not even want to know anything more.” She finished; her eyes closed as her forehead pressed against the wall.
“He deserves it. Things aren't getting any easier for him. And being told over and over again ‘Wow, you look just like your father! Oh, but your eyes! Those are your mother’s eyes!’ may be sufficient for an 11-year-old, but it’s not enough anymore. Look, the pay phone is almost out of time. Blimey, Macdonald, I'm saying it because I love you; get out of your own damn way and reach out to the kid. I'm not enough. He deserves so much more.” Sirius finished as Mary opened her eyes on the other line.
“Sirius, we both know he deserves less than what he’s had to endure and more than we can ever offer.” She replied, evading giving Sirius a definitive answer. “Stay safe, Sirius. You shouldn’t even risk calling me.”
“Well, I just can’t seem to stay away from you, Macdonald. You’ve got me wrapped around your finger.” Sirius shot back, and Mary could swear she could feel his Sirius-Black-Grin through the phone. The line disconnected and Mary hung up the phone. Her gaze slipped to the boxes filled with journals from the 70’s and 80’s.
That was the last time she ever spoke with Sirius. That call had been 3 days before the incident at the ministry.
And every night and day since then, all she could think about was Harry. Sirius had been saying since he got out of Azkaban that she should connect with him. And when she told him she found all of her old diaries, he pleaded with her to share them with Harry.
She wanted to. Really. But there was this sinking guilt. Not the kind of guilt that makes your face redden in embarrassment; the kind that burrows itself into the deepest part of your chest and sits there, just weighing you down. She felt guilty because she had so much time with them. Lily and James.
And then she had so much guilt because she had been hiding the stories, keeping them to herself. She hadn’t done it intentionally, but after some self-reflecting, she couldn’t feign innocence anymore. The stories brought her comfort: every diary entry, every story scribbled in ink, every late-night sentence that she didn’t want to forget to write down. These were the things she immersed herself in, even now, on her darkest days. For even just a blink of a moment, she could pretend that none of the horrendous things were actually happening around her. She could pretend she wasn’t so alone.
That realization is what forced her to wake up on the 1st of September, how ironic, and sit down at her kitchen table to write Harry James Potter a letter. Hopefully the first of many.
Dear Harry,
This may be strange since you don’t know me, but my name is Mary Macdonald. I was a friend of Sirius’. I was a friend of your parents. I don’t entirely know how to start this. Or really, how to write any of this. I guess what I bring to you is an offer. I have stories. I have memories. I guess, in a way, I have pieces of the people that you have loved and lost that aren’t entirely mine to keep. I ask that you don’t feel pressured, but if you were interested in hearing the stories, or just any in particular, I would be more than happy to write back to you.
And even if you aren’t interested in the stories, if you’re willing to, I ask that you just write me back. I’m going to be honest with you Harry, I should probably leave that last bit out. It seems selfish to want to talk to you. To want to know a part of you. I’ve seen you in the papers for years, but I guess reaching out just never felt right. Before everything turned awful and we both lost people that we mutually loved, I was supposed to be a part of your life. And a rotten, bitter part of me holds resentment against the world for that. Sirius said that you are the best parts of both of them. I would greatly like to experience that.
But if you don’t wish to get to know me in such a manner, but still would like to hear stories, I am more than willing to oblige. Any or all stories you want. You deserve to know them too. I'm sorry for your losses.
Deeply,
Mary.
Her curls were wild and erratic and there was a sheer sweat across her entire body as she wrote it. She hurried the letter into the envelope and gave it to her owl quickly, before she had time to chicken out. And now she waits.
-
Dear Miss Macdonald,
Yes, please. Everything you can tell me; I want to know.
Sirius talked fondly of you. He told me once that it wasn’t fair that he got to spend so much time with my parents, and I so little. I think this is why his stories were so few and far between. I mean, it was frequent that he would make small comments. He would tell me I laughed like my father, or that my mannerisms resembled my mother when I was stressed. But I never got many stories. I didn’t get to hear how they grew up; I didn’t get to hear how they fought; I didn’t get to hear how they bonded. I want to know everything.
And I too would greatly like to get to know you. From the few times that Sirius mentioned you in context with my parents, I gathered that you and my mother were close. I'm sorry for your losses, too.
Fondly,
Harry.
And so, it begins.
Mary ran her hands up and down her face before looking at the boxes of diaries. She was in the middle of doing dishes and she needed to go out and get groceries. But she didn’t care. She quickly dried her hands and sat down at her small table in the kitchen. Wasting no time, she quickly pulled out another piece of parchment and a pen.