Mary McDonald was often the first one to arrive to the first lesson after lunch. It was because, she told people, she liked to eat with Hayley, who was always running around to find something or other she had lost and therefore had to eat quickly.

As such, no one really noticed how little she ate.

So it wasn't a rare occurrence to find her by herself in sixth period Defence Against the Dark Arts on Mondays, or near Potions of Tuesday – in fact, there were several students who took advantage of this regularity on her timetable when she would be lone to ask her something that they would not normally be comfortable saying in front of a crowd.

So, as Mary McDonald loitered near Herbology on Wednesday, she was thinking pleasantly about whether she would be asked out this lunch time, and if so who by?

She hoped that cute Ravenclaw (Griffiths? Was that his name?) who always blushed when she spoke, or, to contrast, maybe Sirius, who she had never seen blush and could hardly be counted as cute. Okay, so the chance was slim of Sirius Black hunting her out to ask her o Hogsmeade because he didn't like to ask in front of others – but there was a first time for everything.

She smiled at the thought, putting a hand to her hair just to check if it still was styled right (in case...).

She missed the footsteps behind her until it was too late.

"Well, well," the voice drawled, and she whipped around to face it.

"Mary. Mary McDonald." Mulciber sneered her name, giving snide looks to those flanking him – Avery, who she knew (and wished she didn't) and a boy she didn't know (and wished that to continue).

"Mulciber." She took a step backwards – into the wall of the greenhouses; Mucliber's mile deepened.

"Mary McDonald the Mudblood." He hissed, his blue eyes widening violently.

"Mudblood." Avery growled, spitting on the floor.

Mary lifted her head, despite the heat in her cheeks. She'd be damned if she showed any weakness in front of them – if she refused to play their games maybe they'd go away, that was what Lily always said.

But then Mulciber took a quick step forward – far too close to be comfortable for her, and she whimpered involuntarily. Her skin itched to run away from him, her stomach sucked in so that there would be added space.

"Mudblood." Mulciber hissed, and his face got ever closer to hers as his hand reached into his robes.

Quick as she culd, Mary thrust her own hand into her pocket, searching for the wooden handle of her wand and if she just got to it in time she might stand a chance...

Then, like a death sentence, Avery's wand was pressed into her throat hard enough to hurt and she froze.

Mulciber pressed ever closer – over the ounding of her heart she thought he heard the third member of the paty laughing, and a sob rose i her stomach tht she had to swallow down.

Perhaps it was because he sensed her controlling her fear, but Mulciber finally cancelled the space between them, his legs flush with hers and his breaths coming hot and fast on her face that she turned away; his hand found her hip and gripped on too tight.

"Mudblood," he growled, low and guttural, "you're going to scream, one way or another."

Again, the others laughed.

Maybe this was it, Mary thought limply; maybe this was how it would end – to the sound of cruel laughter, and her racing frightened heart, and his panting.

It was that thought that finally snapped Mary from her stupor.

If she was going to die, it sure as hell wouldn't be to some bastard breathing.

Her fist, neatly folded, clipped Avery on the face – and in the time when he reeled away from her and Mulciber was realising what she'd done she pulled her knee up to smack him in the softest part of his stomach.

He doubled over, backing away from her and wheezing, and she skittered out of the way just as the third boy lunged.

There was no time to reach for a wand – Mary ran.

But, a five foot four girl could not keep two six foot boys at bay for long – Mary went barely give steps before Avery grabbed her, throwing her in the other's direction who pushed her to her knees, just as Mulciber was rising and wiping spittle from his jaw.

"You'll pay for that, Mudblood." And he brought out his wand.

Mary didn't close her eyes – and as such, she was the first to see James Potter come around the corner.

"Hey!" He shouted, and with a flick of his wand Mulciber was send flying in one direction and Avery in the other. The third was still grappling for control of his own weapon, and Mary was on her feet and moving.

"Get behind me." James ordered, throwing another hex and she obeyed without thinking.

Avery looked to be stunned, and Mulciber had odd looking warts suddenly sprouting on his face – but he was still active, and the boy looked unharmed, and James had lost the advantage of surprise. He was good, definitely, but they fought dirty.

"Potter! Mulciber! Hunter!" Sprout bellowed, even as Mary tried to find her wand so as to be of assistance to her saviour; the squat witch dashed around the corner, purple with fury. In relief, Mary dropped the wand she had so recently located.

Warily, James and the other two he fought lowered their weapons, glaring at each other with enough vehemence Mary was half surprised (or, she would have been, if adrenaline and fear hadn't blotted out all other emotion) that they didn't strike each other down that way alone.

If looks could kill, as Muggles said.

But, of course, none of those fighting were Muggles – all three Purebloods, one on her side and two against. And Mary, the only Muggleborn, instead of using magic had resorted to throwing her meagre weight around.

Maybe she shouldn't be allowed ma...

"Mare!" Lily gasped, as she wrapped her friend in an embrace.

Mary burst into tears – loud, embarrassing, girl tears that didn't quite manage to cover Sprout's words.

"It's ok, it's ok." Lily soothed, as Marlene rubbed circles into her back.

"What for the love of Merlin do you think you're doing?" Sprout shrieked.

"Nothing," Mulciber muttered, cowed by his Professor's anger.

"Practising," James said, who, while he would gladly strike up a fight, was opposed to snitching.

Sprout stared from one to the other in disbelief, and he wasn't the only one: most of the class had congregated around them.

"Practising," she repeated. "And I suppose that's why she's in such a state?" She gestured to Mary still on the ground though her tears were thankfully under check.

James didn't look at her – his face was like stone.

"Mulciber was attacking Mary." A voice blurted from the front of the crowd.

Mary, pushing her long dark hair out of her eyes, turned to look at the new voice. It belonged to an average looking boy she only vaguely recognised, wearing Hufflepuff robes and blushing vividly.

From the look on his face, James didn't know who he was, either.

Professor Sprout nodded briskly, "Yes, you told me so. You, you and you will be escorted to the Headmaster's offices immediately." She turned to the Slytherins, all of whom were looking at the Hufflepuff boy with absolute fury on their faces. They deposited their wand in Professor Sprout's outstretched hand, and moved in front of her round the castle – Avery levitated in front of them all.

Professor Sprout gave them a look, "Go inside and stay quiet. The rest of you: to your lessons." James, Mulciber and Hunter - a good several metres between the two houses – marched stiffly; James' hand touched Mary once on the shoulder, lightly, reassuringly. She watched him out of sight.

It took about five seconds after she had vanished for the entire Slytherin population to start towards the Hufflepuff – luckily, even thought they didn't know who he was, bravery inspired loyalty to many Gryffindors (and Hufflepuffs were loyal to their own, anyway). Sirius, Remus and Peter joined the throngs that suddenly closed ranks around him, wands already out.

"Go inside." Sirius ordered, waving it threateningly.

The four Slytherins remaining, far outnumbered, slouched indoors, with only vague threats and insults to protect their dignity.

"Are you ok?" Lily whispered, smoothing Mary's hair.

Mary nodded without noticing – she was watching the boy.

"He's called Reginald Cattermole," Lily filled her in, following Mary's line of vision to the boy who was taking everyone's sudden attention very awkwardly. As she said it, Reginald Cattermole's surprisingly blue eyes met Mary's.

She looked away first.


It was all over the school by the time James left the Headmaster's office – just in time to get to Transfiguration. He endured the whispers in the corridor; the looks (sly and lingering or shy and admiring). He wanted to know if Mary was ok.

And, anyway, he was so angry that he barely noticed.

It was, in the end, James' word (and the Hufflepuff's, and, he supposed, Sprout's sight of Mary on the ground) against theirs. And Mulciber was smarter than his ugly mug would make you think.

We were just playing around, Headmaster! James heard in his head, an echo of minutes before. We didn't think she'd get upset.

The bastard even had the gall to ask if she was ok.

Still, one of his boils had exploded halfway through his excuse; James felt a twinge (well, fine, more than a twinge) of vindictive pleasure. Take fucking that.

The class had started when he entered, and everyone stared at him more avidly than usual as he swung into the chair Sirius had saved.

"What happened?" Sirius muttered, as McGonagall resumed her talking. James stabbed the nib of his quill through the parchment, and it shattered upon impact with the table below.

"Bastard's getting away with it," he growled, and instantly ripples spread through the class – rumours spreading visibly.

Sirius didn't react other than to breath in deeply nod, and listen to McGonagall with more intensity than required.

Are you ok? He mouthed to Mary – the only member of the lass still watching him.

She nodded, but her face was pale.

The lesson dragged.

Who could blame a girl, especially in those circumstances, for day dreaming?

She had never seen James like that – no longer smiling and laughing and mocking, no teasing at all; he had been all stone, so furious that his eyes changed colour. Protecting her.

She sneaked a glance at him.

He wasn't listening, either – his eyes were on the parchment, on which his quill trailed figures she couldn't see. Maybe he was thinking about it, too.

Mary missed the command that caused everyone else in the class to start talking, shuffling about; absorbed as she was in the detailed analysis of James Potter. And by the time she sat up and took notice Sirius had dragged his chair around the other side of James' desk and they had set up the practical; Hayley hovered over Mary's.

"Mare?" She asked hesitantly.

Mary looked at Hayley – her mouse brown hair pulled into a low knot at her neck; her soft brown eyes; her half-hearted question. She looked over at James, content in his pairing. Adam was with Marlene. Lily was talking to two Ravenclaw girls.

"Why don't you go with Lily?" Mary suggested. She rose to her feet, smoothing her robes over her front.

Her heart beat steadily, drowning out all other noise. On silent, ghostly wings, Mary glided to the other side of the room.

"Can I be partners with you?" She asked, and to herself her voice was thin.

A note about Mary McDonald: she wasn't beautiful. Oh, she was unusually pretty – with her tanned skin, her dark hair and her hooded eyes; but she was too simple to be called beautiful. Nevertheless, she struck and imposing figure to most males - especially those with little experience with the opposite sex.

Reginald Cattermole looked positively terrified.

He stuttered something that could have been a yes – it was hard to tell – and his current partner – a boy she did know, but would never admit to knowing because she was very drunk and would prefer to forget the entire incident – scuttled off sharpish.

Reginald frowned at his work, gripping his wand tightly. He had nice hands, Mary decided.

James Potter had nice hands, too.

"Thank you." Mary said, her voice dipping low. Reginald's chin trembled.

"No, seriously," Mary stretched out her own little hand, taking the pad of his thumb gently, "Thank you so much." This time, Reginald looked at her.

"You're welcome." He replied, so assured that Mary started for a second. She had expected derogatory self-judgements, perhaps an outright denial.

"Who are you?" James Potter asked, dropping onto the desk beside Reginald's. His eyes – hazel, unlike Reginald's – scoured the smaller boy not completely pleasantly.

Reginald blushed, his face vanishing into fearful admiration; his voice to a stutter.

"Reginald Cattermole." Mary told James, as though she had always known. Her eyes, though, stayed on Reginald – the boy was still red, still shy...he couldn't be...

"Well, thank you." James grinned, clapping him on the shoulder.

Reginald went a deeper colour, "It was nothing, really."

He was definitely gay.

Mary smiled, "Perhaps you could buy Reg a present, James - to show your appreciation."

Reginald glanced at her.

Oh yes, Mary thought at him, I know.


"That was a good thing you did." Lily's voice – and, trust him, he hated that he knew who it was – startled James in his lonely corner.

He looked up at her, "What? You're still talking to me?" He mocked. He could feel Snape watching them – Snape, who she was still seeing; Snape, who was a Death Eater; Snape, who should rot in hell.

"No." Lily snapped, her gentle mood shattered. She marched in the other direction, launching into a rant that Hayley was obviously barely listening to. She sent a smirk in James' direction, and he replied by holding up seven fingers – the scheduled time for their Quidditch practice. Hayley nodded; like she had a choice.

"Why are we still here?" James groaned, tilting back on two legs and burying his face in Sirius' arm. The other boy looked down at him, but said nothing – he had no chance, because, at that very second, the bell trilled.

James looked up, grinning.

He was on his feet in a second, swinging his bag around his lean body and leading the stampede of eager students out of the door.

As he loitered on the other side of the doorway, waiting for his friends, he looked for Mary.

She was talking to Lily (just his luck) and, as he made his way over, she asked, "What do we have next?"

"I have Potions," Lily was saying, "And you have Divination." Of course, Lily would know all her friends timetables. And Lily would manage to smile at Mary in a way that was apologetic and sympathetic as she began to move in the other direction but still refrained from being overbearing. And Lily would bite her lips when Mary glanced away, drawing his attention to them and making his heart pound because she was so Lily and she was too goddam perfect.

Her smile fell from her face as James stepped up to them. His heart flinched involuntarily.

"What do you want Potter?" She near growled.

James ignored her, "I'm going in the Divination direction Mary, can I walk with you?" He knew enough about girls to know that they didn't like people inferring that they couldn't look after themselves – even if they couldn't.

Mary beamed, "That would be lovely James." She linked her small arm through his, and he took the files from her hands. Her picture perfect smile widened, but he missed it because in that split second he dared a glance at Lily, and found her eyes upon his.

He squashed down the part of himself that wanted to analyse that look, and allowed himself to be pulled in the other direction by Mary.

The little girl talked on about something or other, and James ambled along by her side until they reached the corner where James would have to set her go and they both stopped walking. James wasn't glad to be rid of her, but neither was he sorry. Mary MacDonald was one of those girls he could just be with and never really notice. Right now, he needed a girl that he didn't notice.

"Thank you for walking me to class," Mary smiled.

"Actually, class is up those steps." James pointed out, gesturing to the tower and the mile of steps leading to the top. Mary blinked in surprise. Maybe he should have let that one slide.

"So, I'll see you around." James passed her the books, turned on his heel and walked away.

"Bye." She called after him.


Lily was mad.

She had been mad all day, and she could well go on being mad well into the night.

How fucking dare McNair? And Avery! And Hunter – who she barely even recognised! What even the fuck?

Poor, sweet Mary, who was so small and pretty and dainty; and probably couldn't hurt a fly even if she wanted to!

The memory of her friend on the floor, weeping, made Lily's hands clench angrily, and her footsteps increased in pace – stamping down the marble corridor.

"Potter!" She shouted, her voice whipping through the air to greet the boy turning the corner in front of her.

For a moment, as he recognised her voice and her anger in surprise, his poker face slipped slightly. His eyes lit up, just a little.

"Evans," he replied, his deep voice cool and calm – as opposed to hers (burning and passionate) as it could have been.

They drew to each other, standing closer than she would under any other circumstances.

"What were you doing with Mary?" Lily snapped, jabbing him in the chest with her index finger.

"Walking her to class," James replied without missing a beat.

Rage licked the lining of Lily's stomach, "Keep away from her," she warned.

Again, that little slip of the mask – amusement this time. Damn fucking amusement which was so bloody out of place and what the fuck did he find funny about this?

"I don't follow," he lied to her face.

"You're using her to get to me!" Lily hissed, jabbing again. "You're angry at me and you're using her!"

James rolled his eyes – fuck him, "Don't be stupid Evans."

"You're going to break her heart!" Lily insisted. "And you don't even care. She's just some skirt to chase; some way of getting back at me."

"Not everything's about you, Evans!" James told her, biting onto the temptation of releasing his feelings that she so temptingly offered up.

Lily scoffed, "Please. Why else would you help her?"

James seemed to be finding it hard to talk – his mouth opened and closed in mute fury several times; his hazel eyes alternately narrowed and grew very wide.

"Why wouldn't I help her?" He asked finally, but almost immediately changed his question.

"Can I not do anything right with you, Evans?" His voice sounded funny. Like he'd been trying for blasé, but missed the target – like he had given up.

And she couldn't answer – because he was walking away already, and the anger had suddenly left her; because she didn't have anything to say.

The sad truth of the matter was that no, James would never be able to do anything right by her. All his wrongs were standing in the way. With James Potter, there could be no new beginning.


Hey! So, this is chapter 3, hope you enjoyed it - it's a dark one, for sure, but I think (I hope) this is about as dark as it gets for a while (crossed fingers because I hate writing angst).

Review please, because a)it's encouraging to any writer and b)feedback is really helpful. Seriously, anything (positive or negative) stick it in a review! Pretty please..