September 29th, 1976: Mary Macdonald
For as long as Mary can remember—well, technically, for the last three years, but no one's counting—she's kept a journal. Before you laugh and assume it's actually a diary, she'll have to prove you wrong, sadly: she doesn't think a narrative record of every bit of gossip she's heard within the Hogwarts walls can count as a diary, exactly, since there's not a word in it about Mary's own experiences (at least, not unless they're intertwined with someone else's). Nobody but Marlene knows about it, and she only does because she caught Mary writing in it last year and Mary's no good at lying—she's a little afraid to think what would happen if anyone else found out about it, since spending too much time with the Hufflepuffs has given her the resources to document a lot more than she ought to know… enough to fill a few hundred pages, anyway.
She hasn't written in it for the last two weeks. She guesses the world will never know about Greta and Davies's juicy late-night scuffle on top of the Astronomy Tower.
"God, how long will it take for you to realize that I don't care?" Mary tells Samantha Spinnet, a Chaser for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and unfortunately Mary's fellow sixth year, for the umpteenth time. Ravenclaws have Herbology after the Gryffindors every Wednesday, and she's run into Mary in the quarter-hour between the two classes to share the latest piece of gossip in which Mary's not interested (not that anyone ever believes her).
Spinnet shrugs, picking up her pace—Mary's hurrying up the stairs to the seventh floor in an effort to get away from her. "Don't blame me; I'm just the messenger," she says, hoisting her bag up her shoulder. "Dana said you're the person to tell for word to get back around to Pol—"
"What is she, your ringleader?" Mary taunts in spite of her better instincts. "Why can't you lot just tell him yourself if it's that important to you? Why is it that important to you?"
"Well, Carol will kill any Ravenclaw who lets it slip to the other houses, let alone Pol, but he still ought to know that Carol isn't over him in case he wants to give it another go with her. We all want them to get back together, if only because Greta is so bloody annoying—"
Mary cuts Spinnet off, reaching the seventh floor landing: "You are so bloody annoying. Just-go back to the greenhouse; go, like, find somebody shallow to do your dirty work."
Spinnet pants, "But Dana said you're—"
"Yeah, yeah, I'll make it happen. Now go!" With one last glance at Mary, Spinnet nods dumbly and tears off for the staircase again—she may be clever, but judging by that exchange, she's not especially bright… oh, who is Mary to judge, when her class rank is twenty-ninth out of thirty-two?
She throws herself past the portrait hole and storms up to the dormitory, shaking her head at Marlene's invitation to join the rest of the girls in the common room. Lily is missing along with the boys, Mary notices—words will be said about her newfound friendship with James, no doubt, but Mary wants nothing to do with words, not anymore.
Tugging idly at her hair—without its twice-a-week fix of Sleekeazy's, it's starting to take on an orange tint—she recalls the Hogsmeade plans she's collected over the past week. To no one's surprise, Greta is going with Patil, Elisabeth with Benjy—and to everyone's surprise, Lily turned James down, but the Marauders have still been divided for the trip by Peter's date with fifth year Siobhan Flynn. Reg is still taking Mary, which is about the only thing she's had to look forward to for the past fortnight; unfortunately, spending time with him means spending time with his Hufflepuff mates, and Mary doesn't exactly have the patience for that just yet.
She sighs: what does it matter, anyway? People die and go missing because of the war every day, and all Mary can think about are Hogsmeade dates and the color of her hair? No wonder Marlene doesn't trust her properly—this is exactly the kind of thing that gives Mary a bad reputation.
Then again, Mary was under the impression that they'd always be best mates, no matter how low either of them would go.
She turns, startled, as the door creaks open behind her; it's Em, wordlessly stepping into the dorm. Mary thinks back to a comment Alice dropped last night and vows not to let Em get away without a proper conversation tonight. "Hey," Mary says, her voice strangled a little as she struggles to hold in her anticipation.
Em raises an eyebrow at Mary's etiquette and crosses to the foot of her bed, where she kneels and starts to rummage through her trunk. "Hello."
"Looking for something?" Mary asks eagerly, hopping off her own bed to join Em.
She flushes a bit as Em gives her an incredulous look, though Mary can't blame her: she's usually not this social with her. "My diary," she says, her tone suspicious.
"I have a diary, too," Mary says immediately—where will she get without trust? "I mean, I haven't written in it for a while, and, like, it's not really a diary… it's more of a record of-of—"
"That's nice," says Em, retrieving a thick, leather-bound book and rising to leave.
"No!" Mary erupts, surprising even herself. Em lingers near the bed, the diary drawn up to her chest. "Don't go yet. I-I was hoping to, like—to get a chance to talk to you."
Growing exasperated, Em repeats, "Talk to me. Right."
"I was! I haven't seen much of you lately, and I thought we should, like, catch up," Mary insists, albeit a bit feebly.
She doesn't appear at all convinced, but Mary is relieved nonetheless when Em sits delicately on the edge of her bed and maintains eye contact. From the looks of it, she's not going to be the first to talk, so Mary thinks fast for something to say: "Er, are you going to Hogsmeade this Saturday?"
"No," says Em shortly. She's usually stoic, but now, she's tapping her foot idly against the bed frame in a clear sign of impatience.
"Oh. I'm—I'm going with Reg," Mary stammers. When did it get so hard to carry a conversation with the witch?
Unimpressed, Em says, "If that's all—"
"Of course that's not all! I just, like, wanted to talk to you as a mate, and you can't be bothered to say more than two words at a time to me!" Mary says, letting loose.
"People change," she says curtly. The tapping of her foot is getting steadily louder.
Mary shakes her head, yellow hair fanning out and blurring her vision. "Not this much."
Em scoffs, "So that's what this is about. Fine, I'll play by your rules—if I'm not allowed to be introverted, I guess it was impossible from you to go from a tomboy to—that." She waves disdainfully in my direction, and Mary glances down at herself: in addition to her train-wreck of a hairstyle, her robes are wrinkled and unwashed, and she remembers that she's still wearing last Sunday's eyeliner.
It doesn't matter, though—none of it matters when something has happened to Em, something is happening to Em, and none of them have bothered to take notice until now. "Don't make this about me. Like, I'm not as thick as you seem to think—"
"I doubt that," she interrupts, winding down. She's easing back into what's become her usual stately self; she's putting up the walls she's been constructing for the past two years. "If you'll excuse me…"
"I miss you, Em," Mary says, her last attempt to keep her here. Em doesn't stop to hear Mary out. "Can you at least tell Maggie to spread the word about Greta and Davies's trophy room row over Pol?" Mary half shouts at her retreating back.
Em's already nodded curtly and stalked out of the dorm by the time it dawns on Mary that she'd never planned to hear Mary out in the first place.
Em stays on Mary's mind all the way until Saturday, when it occurs to her that she hasn't seen Reg since Herbology on Wednesday to confirm today's plans. "Do you think he'll remember where we're meeting?" Mary asks Marlene anxiously as they're getting ready that morning. Em's nowhere to be found, and Lily isn't bothering to dress especially well, leaving just the Mary, Marlene, and Alice here in the dorm.
Marlene's busy helping Alice with her curls, but she halts her wand-work for a moment to glance over her shoulder and meet Mary's eyes. "Sure he will—you're not going looking like that, are you?"
"If you're talking about my hair, I'm not touching it up," Mary says, crossing her arms.
Alice gives Mary a sympathetic look as Marlene leaves her hair half-curled and comes over to Mary's bed. "Your color needs a bit more than a touch-up, but no, I wasn't talking about that. When was the last time you even looked in a mirror? Last week?"
"Says the witch who admires herself every time she walks past one—I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it!" squeals Alice, ducking and laughing as Marlene jokingly points her wand at her. "Please don't ruin my hair; it'll take me ages to fix it on my own, you know that, Marlene!"
"Oh, shut it, Alice, I'll finish up with you later. Mare here is a bigger disaster waiting to happen than you," Marlene says, turning her wand on Mary this time. "You'd better be glad that you haven't seen Cattermole; it's bad enough that he saw how you were dressed in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures…"
Mary says defensively, "I like to think that Reg likes me for who I am, not how I look, thanks."
"Hate to break it to you, but all blokes are the same, and they're always a fair bit more concerned with how girls look than anyone would like," retorts Marlene. "You'll have to change into fresh robes, of course, and that hair… you don't happen to know where you've left your wizard's hat, do you, because that'll be a huge help if you can find it…?"
It's nice to finally see Reg; it hasn't really sunken in until now how much Mary's missed him all week. He's dressed casually for the occasion, making her feel a bit silly in her borrowed dress robes and thick makeup. "Hi, Mary," he says carefully—Reg does everything carefully, it seems.
"Reg! I haven't seen you in, like, a week—how have you been?" Mary pounces on him in an awkward half-hug, "half" in that he doesn't return it. Whoops, she forgot—he's not the biggest fan of public affection.
"All right, I suppose. They sure keep us busy with homework these days, don't they?" He shuffles back as Mary lets him go, and they move up a few steps in Filch's line. "You look nice, but you really didn't have to dress up for me…"
"Oh, this was nothing—all Marlene's doing, anyway," she assures him. "I haven't even touched my hair."
Reg shrugs a bit uncomfortably. "Change is always good," he says neutrally. "So were you thinking of doing anything today? Benjy and Elisabeth are going to The Three Broomsticks around noon, if you'd like to meet them there… they say that we're welcome to join them for butterbeers."
"That sounds great, Reg," Mary says warmly. She scrambles to think what the other Gryffindors are doing—isn't she supposed to be the one who hoards this kind of information? "Alice is going with a few of the Ravenclaws. Lupe, James, and Sirius will probably be in Zonko's all day, and, like, Siobhan Flynn is making Pett go to Madam Puddifoot's for brunch…"
"I'd rather not go to Puddifoot's," says Reg uncomfortably, and Mary grins and agrees with the sentiment. "And Lily and Marlene?"
"Oh, they're going all over," Mary says vaguely. "Where do you want to go first?"
He shrugs, commenting, "I'd like to stop in at Dervish and Banges, unless you'd rather…"
"No, Dervish and Banges is fine," she agrees. They've reached Filch, and she rolls her eyes in Reg's direction as Filch starts to search her for illegal items; he chuckles appreciatively and waits his turn.
The morning goes well, though it's a bit disappointing that, after their stop at Dervish and Banges, the trip seems to revolve around running into other people. After a few hours in Scrivenshaft and Honeydukes, they head up to The Three Broomsticks at half past twelve, purchases in hand. "I asked Benjy to save seats for us in case we see them," Reg tells Mary, pocketing his moneybag and holding the door for her as they step outside.
"All right," Mary says, at a loss for words now that they're alone. What did she ever used to talk to him about? Did she just keep up the steady stream of gossip that she's tempted to dish out now? God, she's worse than she thought…
They walk mostly in silence—comfortable silence, but silence nonetheless—and it's a relief to finally enter The Three Broomsticks and find themselves surrounded by the din of the pub. Benjy sees them first and flags them down, grinning broadly; Elisabeth waves them over as well, though her smile is noticeably softer than his. "Enjoying yourselves?" Benjy asks—he's the first to talk, too, and Mary gets the impression that he's the dominant one in their relationship.
"It's been fun," Mary says despite her doubt, smiling at Reg. "I was looking forward to going to Gladrags, but, like, the sign says it's been closed for a month because of the war…"
"Bloody Vol—well—you know who," says Benjy darkly, wolfing down a swig of butterbeer. "I reckon half the shops will be closed down by the time this thing is over…"
There it is, You-Know-Who—Mary doesn't read the Prophet, but Alice says its editors have stopped calling him by his name, and it looks like the students are starting to follow suit. What was it that Alice said? Something about fear of a name… "It depends on how long the war goes on for," says Elisabeth reasonably, passing butterbeers to Reg and Mary. "Half the shops could close within a couple of years, and it'll be worse if it lasts any longer… we all heard Dumbledore at the entrance feast; it's already affecting business. That explains why they're giving out internships to students, at any rate—did you hear about that mass Ministry layoff last week? They don't have to pay us to do the work of a professional, and they already can't afford all those salaries."
"I've been meaning to ask you about that, Elisabeth—how's your internship going?" asks Reg, accepting his butterbeer with a smile. "I reckon Auror training must be fascinating. And yours, Benjy—you're in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, right?"
Benjy nods but lets Elisabeth talk—he has better manners than Mary assumed. "I'm surprised that they offered Auror internships at all—we're a liability for them, if anything, since we don't have our N.E.W.T.s yet… the training is fairly dangerous for us without strong Defense Against the Dark Arts credentials. It's been fascinating, of course, but I'm still glad that we have the day off to come to Hogsmeade. There are just four of us in the program: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alice, Frank, and me. A few other seventh years got in at first but didn't make the initial cut, and then Marlene…"
She doesn't embellish this point, and for this Mary's grateful on Marlene's behalf. Benjy is quick to change the subject: "Mine's going great, too, but I don't think I'll end up going into sports. It's cool to work on the World Cup, but it's just not important, you know? Quidditch is brilliant, but I feel like it should stay a hobby; when I do get a job, I want to contribute to the Wizarding world, not just fly around it."
As of late, Mary can empathize, at least a little—Witch Weekly just doesn't report anything that matters. "How has Quidditch practice been for your team?" she says, addressing them both.
"Excellent," says Benjy, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "I won't say much—house privacy, you know—but we're going to cream Ravenclaw in November, I can tell you that. Madley's team doesn't stand a chance."
"Isn't Regulus Black the new Slytherin Seeker?" Reg says, sipping his butterbeer.
Mary nods, gulping down her own drink. "Don't mention it in front of, like, anyone else in Gryffindor. Sirius might kill him with a Bludger at the first game, judging by the moods he gets in after practices."
"Your game will be a hell of a lot more interesting than ours," says Benjy; the table shakes a little as he slams down his mug. "You've got two Blacks on opposing teams, Meadowes is Captaining against Gideon Prewett with Fabian on your team—and Potter's temper tends to be short where Regulus Black is concerned, too. It's an explosive combination if I've ever seen one."
"Here's hoping that, like, they all make it out alive," Mary says.
Elisabeth smiles and jokes, "Even the Slytherins?"
Mary's laughter drowns out Reg's human-rights indignation—at least, until Benjy decides that he approves of his girlfriend's burgeoning sense of humor and plants a wet one on her right then and there. Partly just to make things difficult for Reg, Mary chooses now to excuse herself to the ladies' room, where she spends a good deal longer powdering her nose than she should.
They leave shortly after that—the two Hufflepuff prefects finish before them, and Reg says something about wanting to take Mary up to the Shrieking Shack. She complies, if only because it'll finally give them a bit of privacy, and it's not long before they've paid for their butterbeers and walked the short distance, standing in the wind.
"Do you believe what they say, like, about how this place is haunted?" Mary asks—her cheeks are pink and raw from the weather, and the subdued atmosphere of the Shack is starting to get to her. They've been dating for all these weeks, yet they have nothing to say to each other…
"Maybe," Reg murmurs, and there's something foreboding about the way he glances at her. "Mary—"
She kisses him, timing be damned; she doesn't care, suddenly, that she feel like she doesn't know him or that he thinks the fourth date is too early. He doesn't react but doesn't pull away, and his lips are chapped and dry, and it's nothing like Mary wanted but everything she needed, and—
Reg steps back all too soon, rubbing the back of his neck and turning bright red. "That's one way to try to put it off," he says quietly, looking at the ground, the Shack—anywhere but Mary.
"Put what off?" Mary asks, straightening her robes. "Am I making you uncomfortable? Is this, like, too fast?"
"I'll say," he sighs, now scratching his head. "Look—Mary—I think we should… spend some time apart for a while."
She's baffled for a moment, then starts to catch on. "Reg, you're not—you can't be—"
"It isn't about you," he says quickly, tripping over his words. "Well, it is, just not—er—clearly you've having some sort of crisis, and—"
"I'm not having a crisis!" Mary insists.
"A—a change, then, let's call it that—and I just think it's better that you sort everything out before this gets too-too—serious." He's blushing darker, almost apologetically.
Mary crosses her arms and gapes, mortified. "So you're not serious about this—about me."
"No, it's not that, I just—Mary, come back, I didn't mean—Mary!"
But she's already walking away, back down the hill and onto High Street. Marlene's name is the first that comes to her, but no, it's too late for them, not after what she said, not after what they've done. Alice is usually a reliable shoulder to lean on, but she wouldn't understand, and she puts up with enough between Sirius and Marlene already; Em, let's face it, wouldn't even care; Lily doesn't know Mary—does anyone really know Mary? The Hufflepuffs will no doubt take Reg's side, she's never been close with any of the Ravenclaws, and the Slytherins are obviously out of the question…
Which leaves (oh Merlin) just the boys. She doesn't want to interrupt Peter's date, but the other three—Zonko's. The joke shop is crowded enough that few heads turn upon Mary's hysterical arrival, but on the flip side, the boys are out of eyesight. She pushes her way to the back of the room, where she finds them critically eyeing a rack of Dungbombs. Remus and Sirius look fairly disinterested—Remus's family has never been well off, and Sirius must not have much to spare after being disinherited, Mary realizes distantly—but James is toying halfheartedly with one of the bombs and saying to the other two, "They've only just been released… think it'll be too predictable to use these on the Slytherins this early?"
Sirius starts to reply but cuts himself off when he sees her. "Mary? Why aren't you with Cattermole?"
"He dumped me," she says breathily, awkwardly hovering a meter away from them. "I kissed him, and, like… he dumped me."
They exchange glances, obviously dumbfounded. James is the first to react, setting the Dungbomb back on the shelf and resting a careful arm around her shoulders. "Remus, go find Lily and send her up to our dorm, will you?"
"She likes Sirius better," says Remus unsurely, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Mary catches on to James's train of thought, though, and sullenly explains, "Lily's with Marlene."
"Both of you go together, then," decides James, pulling Mary toward the back corner of the store. "Come on, Mary, there's a passageway back here that'll take us up to that statue of Gregory the Smarmy…"
He doesn't say much when they reach his dorm, just sits with her on one of the beds and keeps his arm around her until Lily comes up. She confers briefly with James; "Thanks," she says when she doesn't think Mary's paying attention, and he hugs her close before he goes.
She doesn't sit down. "I've been sleeping up here, you know," says Lily, running her hand over one of the tidier beds. "James is lending me his bed—this one. I've been on Dreamless Sleep Potion since my parents—died—but my supply ran out, and Madam Pomfrey won't give me more… it helps, having James there, but I think I'm moving back to our dormitory tonight. It's time."
"It'll be good to have you back," Mary says. She means that—there's something strange about the dorm at night with one of the beds empty.
"Are you all right?" Lily asks, approaching Mary's bedside.
She shrugs. "I guess. I just feel, like, numb… I thought Reg would be different from the other blokes, but to him, I'm still, like, this shallow, self-absorbed…"
"You'll find someone one day," Lily assures her, though her voice shakes a bit. "I thought it was Severus, you thought it was Cattermole… but things don't always turn out how you think they will."
"Yeah," Mary sighs, "yeah, I guess."
They don't quite know what to say to each other—they've never been too close, and Lily's falling out with Snape hasn't really changed as much as Marlene thinks it has. "It's not fair," Mary mutters, more to herself than to Lily, yanking off her wizard's hat in defeat. "I'm not just, like, this bimbo that everyone thinks I am."
Something about Lily lights up at Mary's words, and she crosses the room to sit beside Mary. "If you really want people to believe that, Mary, there are a few things you can do."
"Like what?"
"Well, for one thing, orange has never been a good color on you," Lily says, laughing. Mary twirls a few strands of her hair between her thumb and forefinger, reluctant to actively do anything about it but still seeing her point. Mary's been looking as wretched as she's been feeling lately… "And you might want to drop the 'like' from your vocabulary, if you want blokes to take you seriously… I mean, we girls take you seriously, but it doesn't—give the best impression."
Mary smiles, albeit a bit reluctantly—the whole thing with Reg has her rather shaken. "I don't think I can do much about, like, my vocabulary in one day, but for the hair, what do you think? Back to blonde or all natural?"
"I'll leave it for you to decide. It's about time both of us start making our own choices, don't you think?" Lily says, stretching.
Mary hasn't realized until right here, right now, how long she's been waiting for someone to say that.
xx
END OF PART TWO