Previously in the Darklyverse: Mary attempted to renew her friendships with Veronica Smethley and the other Hufflepuffs on the Hogwarts Express, but caught them gossiping about her instead. The Gryffindors' relationships with Mary grew strained due to her leaving the Order. Mary and Reg got back together.

Revised version uploaded 21 January 2022.

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October 29th, 1977: Mary Macdonald

Mary is alone in the dormitory for all of ten minutes before she gets bored. It's not like she even feels like she fits in with the other Gryffindor seventh years anymore—but there's something to be said for having people around to talk to her and keep her company, even if what they're saying is all superficial. And people only ever say superficial things to Mary nowadays, which is a fat laugh since she likes to think she's become a lot less shallow over the last year—but at least that's better than being met with silence and locked doors, the way she is tonight, when everyone else is off saving the wizarding world and Mary is here, and stuck, and miserable.

She has plans with Ver halfway after the meeting with Dorcas is supposed to start, at least, so at a quarter to eight, she puts her Care of Magical Creatures essay back into her bag and steps out of Gryffindor Tower. Her friendships with the Hufflepuffs are a weird thing these days. Mary knows they talk about her when she's not there—caught them doing so on the Hogwarts Express—but the Gryffindors probably talk about her, too, about how she's weak and fragile and can't handle the slightest hint of danger, so it's not like she has many options of people to talk to who aren't going to turn right around and gossip about her when she leaves.

Well, Reg probably wouldn't speak ill of her behind her back. She feels a surge of affection for—he's not her boyfriend, but he's something, anyway.

That isn't to say that she's over Marlene, or even that she's fully processed or understands how she feels about her, but maybe it's a good thing that she has someone else to put her attention on. Maybe that will be the trick to getting out from underneath her feelings for her best friend.

Ever since they had girls' night last month, Marlene has been friendlier to Mary, waving her over at mealtimes and inviting her to work in the library with Lily and James every night. It's going well, but it's also going not so well, if that makes any sense. She's glad to have her best friend back, certainly, but being with Marlene also means sharing Marlene with Lily, and Mary's jealousy has been spiking off the charts. She tries to bury it, knowing it's not Lily's fault, knowing Mary isn't entitled to Marlene any more than Lily is—but it's hard to quiet the siren in her head that blares red every time Marlene laughs at one of Lily's jokes.

It's funny that Mary is more jealous of Lily than she is of Sirius—Marlene still loves Sirius in a way she's never loved Lily or Mary. Maybe it's because what Marlene and Lily have together is something that Mary sees as attainable—as what Marlene and Mary used to have before it was stolen from her. She knows Marlene will never love Mary like she loves Sirius, and Mary, well, has gotten used to that, at least. At least she can tell the difference between fantasy and reality.

She meets up with Ver in the Entrance Hall, and they set off for a walk around the grounds. They can't really go into each other's common rooms, and they're much too loud for the library, so Mary and Ver's friendship is based largely on walking together through the castle and sitting together by the lake. It's no wonder that most students end up congregating toward their housemates—Mary can tell you all about the last six years of inconvenience trying to make friends with the Hufflepuffs in her year.

"How's everybody?" says Mary, because it's been a while since she last caught up with them all. "How are Greta and Gilderoy?"

"Greta's good. She and Patil broke up last week, but they stayed together way longer than anybody would have predicted when they first started dating last year, so, you know, props. Gilly still won't go out with me, but I think he's over McKinnon by now, at least."

"That's for the best," says Mary, sidestepping a tree stump. "She was never going to give him the time of day."

"I'd ask you how the Gryffindors are," Ver adds slyly, "but you said you've been drifting apart from them ever since the summer, didn't you?

Ver says it very chill and casual, but Mary immediately feels her skin crawl at Ver's words. Yeah, she admitted that to the Hufflepuffs, but she hadn't expected Ver to throw it back in her face like that. "Yeah, that's true," she finally says, "but I just thought our friendship was still strong enough that Marlene and I, at least, would still be close. I guess it's not, though."

"Well, have you told her what's going on with you?" says Ver.

That stops Mary still. "There's not a lot going on with me."

This, of course, is a lie—Mary has been totally consumed lately by her lesbian identity crisis and her decision to let all of her friends leave her behind in the dust of the war with the Death Eaters. That's not nothing—but how is Mary supposed to talk to Marlene about it? She doesn't want to make Marlene feel weirdly guilty for being a part of the Order when Mary isn't, and she definitely isn't anywhere near comfortable admitting to anyone, let alone Marlene, the way she feels about her.

"Sometimes it's not about competing to see who has the biggest secrets to share," says Ver. "Sometimes you just need to put yourself out there and see if people bite back."

"When did you get so wise?" says Mary, half snarkily but half seriously.

"What is going on with you, anyway?" Ver presses.

"Oh, you know," Mary says. She wants to confide in Ver about feeling responsible for Liz and Millie's deaths, but she's categorically avoided owning up to her involvement in their deaths even when Ver and the other Hufflepuffs have pressed her about it, and she doesn't want to dangle it in front of Ver's face when she's not willing to share the Order with her. "I feel like everyone's staring at me all the time," she says instead, tucking her hands inside her robe pockets. "And I feel like everybody's always going to see me as the gossip that I was in fifth year instead of as, you know, a real live breathing person."

"See? You can tell McKinnon that, can't you?"

"Maybe. Yes. Probably," says Mary with a grin.

"Hey, do you feel like McKinnon is one of those people treating you like you're not a—what was it—a real live breathing person?"

Mary shrugs. "Sometimes."

"Do you feel like I treat you like that?"

She's surprised to hear this coming from Ver, who isn't exactly Mary's kindest or most accepting friend in the world. "Maybe? Not when you're talking to me, but—well—I know you lot talk about me when I'm not there. I heard you, you know, on the train, and—other times."

Ver cringes. "You—yeah. You weren't supposed to be there for that."

"Obviously. Look, I know you have questions. You and Elisabeth shared a dorm. Of course you want to know, and if you think I was there… but there are just—some things that I can't talk about."

"But you were there, weren't you?" Mary doesn't answer, but by the look on Ver's face, Ver has all the confirmation that she needs. "Elisabeth was the best of us, you know? I know I'm not—not loyal or hardworking enough to really belong in Hufflepuff, but Elisabeth was. I used to hate her for that, because seeing her was like looking into a mirror and seeing who I wanted to be, but wasn't good enough to be."

"Ver—"

"No, just let me say this," says Ver urgently. "I'm just saying, whatever it was that happened to her, she didn't deserve it. And can you blame me for wanting answers? So, yes, I'm a terrible, awful gossip, and I want to know everybody's business, but—Elisabeth deserves justice, and part of that is letting people know who or what to blame. The same goes for that Millie girl, even if I don't know her."

"I know it doesn't help you when I say I can't tell you," says Mary. "But can you believe me when I say that the reason why I can't say what happened to Liz is, like—something that could be used to hurt more people if word gets out about it?"

"So you're saying you were involved."

"No, I'm saying I—know too much. Enough to know that I can't tell anyone anything, and neither can you, all right? Please, Ver. This is the one time I've ever asked you to keep anything to yourself, and I know you've said a lot about me over the years."

"But that's not fair. This isn't the same as the time I spilled the beans that you had a crush on Davy Gudgeon."

"Right, and I didn't even get pissed at you for sharing that because it didn't matter. Not like this does."

Ver gives Mary a long, considering look, and then her shoulders sort of droop and her back slumps. "All right, Mare. But I'll have you know I don't agree with this."

"I'm not asking you to understand," says Mary. "I'm just asking you to trust me."

Ver sighs. "I trust you," she says, sounding defeated. "And I'll tell the others to knock off spreading rumors."

"Thank you. Like, seriously, Ver, thank you."

Mary's in no rush to get back to Gryffindor Tower. She walks Ver back to the Hufflepuff common room, and when they bump into Reg and Gilderoy outside, the four of them end up all breaking into an empty classroom where they can loudly commiserate over Sprout's latest essay. They plop down on the floor; Ver is hanging off of Gilderoy like usual and keeps touching his elbow and brushing hair out of his eyes, while Reg scoots close up next to Mary and blushes a little when he slowly and carefully nudges her hip with his weak hand.

She shifts closer to him and lays her head on his shoulder, hating herself. The worst part is that there's a significant piece of Mary that feels good about using Reg like this—the piece of her that thinks she's doing the right thing by concentrating her affections on a boy. Like it's the good, proper, moral thing to do. Like she's atoning. But how can dating Reg be atonement when she doesn't love him the way he thinks she does? How can it be moral when she's lying to his face?

It's not like it's even working: she still loves Marlene, wants Marlene, and no amount of time she could spend cuddling up to Reg is going to change that or take Mary's mind off of the girl she really loves. Besides, even if Mary could pray herself straight, she's still going to hell for being a witch as long as she stays in the wizarding world. Even if she shunned this life, she's probably given herself over to it for long enough that she's damned anyway.

Gilderoy gets up to go first, and Ver makes up an excuse to follow him out, leaving Mary and Reg sitting curled up on the ground together, alone in the room. "You seem different this year," Reg tells her after a long moment of silence, and Mary is just starting to formulate a defense for herself in her head when he adds, "It's like you're more mature—like you know who you are and what your priorities are, and you don't need other people to help you cover up your insecurities."

Mary actually snorts at this. "Are you sure about that? Because I feel more lost than ever these days." It's more than she's ever really admitted to him, which makes sense: Reg has always been very stable, but for obvious reasons, she hasn't actually confided in him very much about—anything, ever.

"Because of Liz?" he asks now. "Or because you're feeling unsteady without the Gryffindors with you constantly?"

"But I am still with them constantly," she says, dodging his first question.

"Yeah, but you're—not so sucked into their lives anymore. I'm not going to ask you about Liz—" Mary feels a rush of gratitude mingled with guilt "—and I wouldn't expect you to do what Evans used to do and make yourself an outcast in your own house, but I think you're doing the right thing by creating some distance. You need to take care of yourself, Mare, and you're doing a great job of that."

"But—I still need them," she says very quietly. "If I were strong…"

"Mary, you are strong. You're the strongest person I know."

And Reg is so, so wrong about her, but she doesn't have the heart—or maybe the courage—to correct him.