Bitter, Beloved, Rebellious

Boom.

Cold. Unforgiving. Sharp. The wind bites into his face, nearly tears his skin apart. Exhaustion weighs on his bones. His body screams at him to stop and rest, but he doesn't. He doesn't care. Nothing else matters. Not even him. All that does is the thick mushroom plume of dark smoke rising from the heart of London, where the head office of the Daily Prophet is located. Thunderous explosions echo from within as though storm clouds have descended upon it.

His hands tighten around the broom handle. The knuckles turning white from strain and cold.

Hurry. Faster. He has to get there.

Boom.

His heart is in chaos, a bird beating desperately against the confines of his chest. It's not the cold. Not the adrenaline. It is fear. Pure and terrifying, it threatens to take over. Its toxicity pumps throughout his bloodstream, leaving a bitter and acidic taste in his mouth, close to corroding him. He is gripped with desperation. An impending doom looms over his head. His poor hands tighten even more around the handle as he wills the damn thing to go faster, fighting against the logical thought that this is the fastest it can go. No. It will go faster. It has to.

Boom.

Sirius puts his full weight on the broomstick. He yells at it to speed up, but it can't follow his commands. Fuck. Apparating is faster. He would have, but his emotions had been in disarray the moment he heard the news from Fenwick and saw the expression on Lily's face. He had to move. He had to get there. But apparating, in his state of mind, is suicide. If he forced it and splinched himself then that would be it. That would be the end.

And he will not let it end. Not like this.

The broomstick brings him closer. And closer. His heart is a drum in his chest. Deep within him his soul aches, screaming, desperate to reunite with its mate. The head office is now within his reach. He finds himself pleading. Not once did he ever believe in a higher power, but he can't help turning to the one she loves invoking so much. He thinks a litany of prayers, hoping for a miracle. God. God, please… don't let me be too late.

He arrives. Before the broom lowers him, he jumps off. He runs towards the crowd that has gathered before the steps of the building. He barrels through them like a cannon ball, shoving those who block his way to the ground. He ignores the complaints. They don't know. None of them do. His reason for living is there among the fire and rubble. Meanwhile, he's out here desperately trying to save her.

God. It feels like forever, but finally he reaches the front. He wrecks through the line of aurors blocking the crowd. They try to stop him from going further, but he disarms them and continues on. He ascends the steps and goes through the shattered doors. The foyer is a mess. Dust, rubble, papers, wood, and everything else litter the floor. Sirius suppresses the onslaught of hopelessness threatening to overwhelm him. Focus. He heads for the elevators. It's not working. He swears. Anxiety jumps up his throat. He has to find her, quickly. He turns to the stairs, taking two steps at a time, and reaches the first floor. It's worse in there. He can hear people—injured people and dying people, screaming for a chance to survive. But they're not her. She's not there. She wouldn't be. She'd be where her office is on the third floor.

The time he takes to get there seems to stretch for an eternity. But he does arrive… and it is utter hell. Fires burn in different places. There is shattered glass and wood everywhere. However, unlike the first floor, there are no people—no screams or blood. A cold sensation flashes down his back. Is she even here? God, what if he missed her? A part of the ceiling has collapsed, the rubble nearly blocks his way through. His chest constricts. Shit. What if she's under there? He can't waste time. He needs to find her. When he does… when he reaches her then everything will be okay.

"Mary!" he calls, squeezing past the narrow path created by the rubble. His own voice echo back at him. As soon as he is out of the narrow path he runs. He keeps calling her name, panic lacing his voice as every minute goes without her answering him. He reaches the end of the corridor and rounds the corner. "Mary—"

There.

Time stops. So does his heart. So do his thoughts. That's her. He can recognise her from anywhere. He stares. Everything feels… wrong. Is she…? The thought threatens to wrench a cry from his throat. But he blinks and time moves forward again. He runs towards her. It seems endless; though he covers a great distance she seems to keep stretching beyond his reach. Fear becomes a part of him as if he's never lived without it before. But he does reach her. He reaches her and relief soothes him. But then he sees her. He sees her and he falls to his knees beside her.

Blood. So much blood. It's all coming from her. It soaks her clothes, seems to have soaked through her skin. She is pale, her skin a white sheet wrapped over bones. He whispers her name. She doesn't answer. Panic claws its way into his stomach, pushing something hot and painful at the back of his eyes. He shoves it all back. No. This is not happening now. He moves closer to her and lays her head on his lap. Shit. Her hair is matted with blood.

"M-Mary?" he says, louder this time, slapping her lightly. God, let her be alive. "Mary?"

The wait is torture. If she doesn't respond… if she doesn't then he'll—fuck. He doesn't know what to do if she doesn't. He doesn't know. Without her he's nothing. He needs her. He needs her in his life—to live, but if she doesn't answer him… if she doesn't… then what's the point? But he's not losing hope. Not right now. Not when they have been through so much. This is not the end of them. He won't let it.

"Mary!" he screams.

Her lids flutter. He holds his breath. Is that a trick of his mind—no, there it is! Her lashes are moving against her skin. Relief, tremendous and overpowering, washes over him as she slowly opens her eyes. "S-Sirius?"

Thank God. Thank God. That's her voice. It's faint, scratchy and barely there, but it's her voice. Sirius closes his eyes and sigh. The panic recedes. It's fine. This is fine. It's all right. She opened her eyes and said his name—that's all that matters. He kisses her forehead. "It's me—thank Merlin. It's me."

She grimaces. His chest twinges at the pain on her face. "S-sorry—sorry."

"No. Shhh. Don't—don't apologise." He kisses her forehead again and tries to pull himself together. As he straightens, he manages to slip into a clearer mindset, the space he enters when he's battling as an Order member. She will survive this. She has to. He will save her. Reaching out, he tries to find the source of the bleeding. As he lifts her shirt, a cry escapes his lips. "Go—oh my God... Merlin. I-It's okay, Mary. It's okay."

Gashes. Lacerations. Cuts. They mar her skin like some macabre decoration. Blood seeps out of them in slow rivulets, bathing her skin in thick crimson. What evil did this to her? He swallows hard. He must stop the bleeding. Stop it before it kills her. He reaches for his wand—Merlin, his hand is shaking so much. He tries to concentrate, to think of all the healing spells he has learned, but he sees her injuries and blanks. Damn it.

"I—I s-should have s-stayed h-home," Mary gasps.

"Shut up," he mutters to her. Irritation crawls throughout his body at her interruption—he's trying to bloody save her, for Merlin's sake. Some incantations come to his mind and he sifts through them, trying to find the one that will close her wounds or at least slow the bleeding. "Listen to me for once, Macdonald, and shut up, okay? Save your energy."

He looks at her and she bites her lips, nodding.

He gets to work and mutters incantations, one after another, waiting in between for anything to work. Nothing seems to. Nothing changes after he says the stupid words. Neither she nor his wand does anything, no sign that he is successful. Something is verywrong; yet, he can't stop. He won't. He will not let himself give up. He keeps trying, keeps his voice low so that Mary doesn't hear how fucking scared he is.

"I'm…" Mary mumbles, her words slurring, "I'm—going to die… aren't I?"

"You are not going to die!" he snaps at her, stricken with guilt immediately after. He stops and takes her hand, slick with blood. He squeezes firmly and looks in her eyes—beautifully sapphire despite being bloodshot. When he speaks again his voice is gentler. "You're not, yeah? You—you're not. I'll fix it. I'll—"

"O-okay… okay…"

Fucking hell, why are none of them working!? Is it the explosions? It must be—dark magic must have tainted it to keep wounds open, unhealed. Shit. Panic climbs up his throat. This is beyond him. He can't help her. She needs to go to St. Mungo's or find healers. Holding her close to him, he looks around and sees no one in this floor. He comes to a decision. Gently, he lifts her in his arms. Already he feels the blood soaking through his robes. There is still hope. Still a chance. He needs to hurry. God, please, don't let her die.

He runs back to the stairs and descends. Is it always this long and winding? It seems to take him twice as long to return to the second floor. Halfway down he begins to hear voices—not screams of the dying, but stronger, controlled voices. They must be aurors. There could be healers! He just needs to find one. If he can just find one—just one and Mary will be okay.

"H-help," he croaks as descends a few more steps. "Help me!"

"S-Sirius…" Mary murmurs.

He hears her, but his focus is getting anybody's attention. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

"Sirius…"

"SOMEONE!"

"S-Sirius… listen—listen to… me…"

Mary holds onto his lapel. He looks at her and pales at her ashen complexion. The dark circles under her eyes now stand out, the half-closed lids taking on a purplish hue. For a moment, his breathing stops and he nearly drops her as his whole body weakens. He doesn't know what it is, what it is inside that tells him. He just knows. He just knows and… he doesn't know what to do. They're so close to help… so close… but his knees buckle and he sits on the step, cradling Mary to his chest. "What… what is it?"

She tightens her hold, but it was weak. So weak. Sirius' heart is cracking, the pain trickles in. Her grips were usually a vice—as if she was frightened of him slipping from her reach. "S-Sirius…" she stammers, "f-fight—to live. F-fight to l-live." She swallows hard, the determination on her face a contrast to his faltering expression. Her breaths are laboured. He wishes she doesn't talk anymore. "P-protect… yourself… p-protect our… friends—"

"Your last words have no place here, Macdonald," he insists, desperately, trying to rise from the step. "We're so close—so close to help—"

She shakes her head. The movement jerky. "P-please."

He grits his teeth and nods fervently. "I… God. I w-will. I will."

"I… I lo—love y-you." Her determination crumples. Sirius' heart breaks in half as she sobs and turns her face towards his chest. He pulls her closer. His breath quickens and indescribable pain washes over him and threatens to take over. This is not right. This shouldn't be happening. "S-sorry… s-sorry i-it's… t-the first…" she sniffles. He wants to make it all stop. "S-sorry… i-it's t-the… l-last—"

Sirius kisses her—gently. Gentler than the first time he kissed her. He tastes her blood on his tongue and realises that this is the last time. Someone wonderful and special like her. His own face scrunches and more of the pain crashes against him, eroding the last pieces of his heart away. Without anything else to destroy, his chest twinges in an attempt to break every other part of his body. His lips tremble as he pulls away. As he faces her again he tries to give her a smile, one that she's always used to, but he knows that all he manages is the faltering, fragile kind. When he speaks again his voice is rattling—evidence of how his body shakes like a leaf in the storm. "I love you."

Mary nods and tries to smile. It's bloodied. Painful. Final.

He strokes her face. Her cheeks are wetter than they should be. It's his tears, mixing with her own. "I-I'm also sorry it's the first. B-but it well damn won't be the last. You h-hear me, Mary?"

She chuckles—or starts to until a bout of coughing overtakes her. Blood sputters out of her mouth, staining his hands, mixing with their tears. "Called me… Mary… means I… have to… listen… only you…"

"T-that's right."

"I-I'm… s-scared." He can no longer hear her voice, just a thin whisper now. "I-I'm—I-I'm s-so s-scared… S-Sirius."

God. He doesn't think it'll get worse than this, but her confession destroys what's left of him. Tears now flow freely from his eyes. His world falls apart around him, centred on the woman he now cradles in his arms. He kisses Mary's forehead repeatedly, whimpers escaping his lips. Merlin. God. He's scared. He has never been so fucking frightened in all his life. This panic is so potent it's choking him. The woman he loves—this brave, strong woman who is his heart and soul is scared and damn it all he can't do anything about it. He used to do it—banish all her darkness and demons, bring a little light in her life. But now when it counts, now when it's the most important thing he can do for her—he can't. He can't do anything. It's killing him. She is slipping from his hands and even if her holds her to the point of breaking her it will not be enough to keep her.

"D-don't be…" he whispers against her clammy skin. "Don't be." He barely sees anything through the tears. All he wants is to save her. Keep her alive. Make her happy. Protect her. Treasure her. Love her. Please God. Save her. Please. I'll do anything. But who is listening to his prayers now? "I'm h-here. I'm always—always here. I-I won't leave you. N-never again. I'm always—always by your side." He kisses her forehead again. "Don't be—please. Don't be afraid."

Mary's crying. Sirius presses her forehead hard against his cheek, sobbing as her breaths start to stutter. The rest of her body jerks. She gasps, breaths coming short and fast against his chin. He hears the faint gurgling in her throat as blood fills her lungs. God. He wants to end her suffering. But he can't. He's a coward, even towards her, to the last. He can't even watch. He can only feel her struggle to hold on.

"Mary?" Sirius whispers, squeezing her hand as she deflates against him. "Mary?"

He looks at her, stricken at the blank look on her face. Everything becomes mute and foggy. In the back of his mind he is aware that he's saying something, feels the words tumbling out of his lips. It could have been her name or a demand for her to wake up. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. All he cares about are her eyes, blank without her life in them. Somehow he remembers everything about them. Sapphires. The bluest blue. Alluring and navy in the night, but bright during the day. They shined like gems the first time he asked her out. Tears glitter them the first time they fought. They were dark when she was thoughtful. Their intensity when he tells her first, out of everyone, that he'd decided to join the Order. Because in the hard days to come all he wanted to remember after were her eyes… how they looked into him, for him, only at him.

Her eyes. Those eyes.

Mary.

He won't see them anymore after this.

Reality slams into Sirius with the force of an eternity of killing curses. Whatever words he babbles dies on his lips, leaving them open and trembling. Every memory of her shatters in the face of her blank stare. Wave upon wave of pain washes over him, dragging him in all directions, tearing him apart. He can't do anything. He can't save her. She's not here anymore.

Escaping his lips unbidden is the most guttural, heart wrenching roar—enough to echo throughout the space of the floor. The aurors nearby the stairs stop and rush towards the source. Sirius' cry reaches even the foyer where majority of the aurors and healers and ministry representatives are. They look up, wondering what the sound is, but have no desire to discover. Sirius clutches Mary to him and continues to cry. She is his heart. His soul.

And now she is gone.

There she was. On her way to the kitchens just like Lily said.

Sirius didn't notice the embarrassingly wide smile that stretched his lips. The place held a special place for him now. It was in the kitchens that he really got to know Mary well for the first time—over cupcakes of all stupid things. Every time he discovered something new about her they were always in the kitchens because, somehow, such things were meant to be discovered over food.

He caught up to her, an easy feat considering his long legs. His mind was trained on one thing, one yearning that now pumped like blood all over his body: the desire to hold her hand or hug her—actually, being near her was enough… or not really. Well, he was a confused mess when it came to Mary Macdonald. He wanted to do so many things to her, for her, with her… and it was always a dilemma that he didn't know where to start and that he wanted to do everything at once. It was dumb. Also exhilarating, making his heart beat in a way that made him want to dance.

As he came closer he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out: "Mary!"

She stopped—well, froze really. He took the opportunity to close the distance, stopping just as she pivoted on her feet to face him. "What… did you just call me?"

"Mary!" he grinned, but it fell when he recognised the shock on her face. Sheepishly, he rubbed the back of his neck. Was she offended that he called her by her first name? Wasn't it customary to be on first name basis after dating for a month? "Er… sorry? It just slipped out."

She had the strangest expression on her face—as if she didn't know whether to be shocked or awed. Slowly, she approached him. He suppressed the urge to lean back when she came so close to be within touching distance of him. "Say it again."

He quirked a brow at her. "Pardon?"

He nearly jumped when she reached out and took his robes in her hands. "Say it again."

"Mary…" he drawled.

"Hmmm…" she intoned, nodding. Bewildered, he watched as she bowed her head—seemingly to contemplate what he had said. After a few seconds she looked up at him. This time he jumped when she wrapped her arms around his, a little awestruck by the way her eyes sparkled. "I like it!"

"What?" he asked, feeling a little dumb.

She pressed herself close to him. He swallowed hard. "Coming from you, it's nice."

"Oh…" he nodded. A strange sort of joy filled him and he grinned once more. "Does that mean I'm on a first name basis with you now?"

She began to walk, tugging his arm gently to get him to start walking with her. "Nope."

He frowned. "No?"

"Nope." She shook her head. "It will always be Macdonald for you."

"Why?" he demanded, outrage lacing his tone. "Everyone else calls you Mary!"

"Exactly! Only you call me Macdonald," she laughed, "doesn't that make you feel superior?"

"Well… I do now that you mention it."

"Hmmm. Whenever I hear it I know it's you calling for me." She squeezed his arm. "Macdonald belongs to you and no one else."

He met her gaze and flashed a playful grin. "But I want Mary to belong to me too."

"Can't. Mary belongs to everyone else."

Merlin, that playful smile of hers was enough to kill him on the spot. He stopped and she did too. He took her hands and, smiling, kissed her knuckles. There was that beautiful blush, just dusting gently on the skin of her cheeks "Come on… please?"

She stared at him and he returned her gaze steadily. Somehow, for some reason, he knew that this was one of those moments that was important. A memory he'd remember for the rest of his life. She approached him, squeezing his hands. "Okay, how about this?" she said, smiling—this one was different… secretive, a little more personal. "Only call me Mary when it's important. Then I'll listen to only you."

Then he kissed her. Pure affection drove him—he really, really liked this girl. It was a little frightening, this overwhelming sensation. He had never felt it before. It was as if a wave swept him away, carrying him to Merlin knew where. There's something about her. Just the thought of her made his heart want to explode butterflies and all that sad sap. Without a doubt he wanted to capture her heart in the near future, but for now a kiss was enough. Too bad he was not her first ever kiss, but he'd be damned if he let any other bastard out there be her last.

There was gentleness in the way he kissed her. It was unlike the other first kisses he had with the other girls. It wasn't playful or firm or forceful—it was purely gentle. As if she was made of spun glass that he was scared of shattering. It wasn't his intention; he wanted to be playful and perhaps tease her a little, but as he slowly moved his lips against her own he knew that it was perfect. It was right for her. She was the type of person who deserved kindness and gentleness.

Slowly, he pulled away. The first things he looked at were her eyes. In the dark of the corridor they had darkened to a navy blue. But they still sparkled. They were looking at him—a little hazed, but they were looking at only him. He never thought of the future; it wasn't his nature and in the present all his focus was on the war he wanted to take part in. He smiled and tenderly ran the pad of his thumb across her kiss-swollen lips. Yet… he found himself seeing the future—one filled with a million more moments like this, one that always had her in it. It was a future he didn't mind living in. "I believe we have a deal, Miss Mary Macdonald."

Notes:

1. Title is the three common meanings I see for the name "Mary". Also fits Macdonald in a way, I feel.

2. When it comes to how Mary and Sirius ends, I always think of three scenarios: the primary one is Mary dying; the second scenario is them breaking up during the war and never reuniting; the third is the Mary Macdonald as Mary Elizabeth Cattermole theory. Since death is always my first choice, I always wanted to write a death scene for them. It is a little morbid, I know, but I always sense a hint of tragedy whenever I think about them together. So... here we are?

3. Writing this was hard. I got teary eyed more than once. I've chanted "why do I do this to myself" about a million and one times. The idea came up when I was reading manga of all things. I don't remember what triggered it, just that I had to write these snippets of description and dialogue down before I forgot. Then the next day while I waited for the bus I got the idea of Mary and Sirius saying their first ever "I love you" (because I also see them as the type of couple who doesn't say or show affectionate things, but they know that they are together and that's enough) to each other while Mary was dying. I was imagining it all the way down to their voices and I had to spend the trip all emotional. I'm a wreck when it comes to my babies!

Anyway, sorry for the essay! I just thought I'd share my process with this. I hope you enjoyed reading and that what I had imagined translated decently on the page. Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you!