Friday, March 31, 1978
Rain pattered against the windows as Peter gazed down at the chess board, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He tried to imagine how his mother would respond to each potential move, but sometimes she surprised him with a move he never would have anticipated. His friends hardly ever beat him at chess, yet his mother won more often than not, a smug smile tugging at her lips every time she watched his king throw down its crown in defeat. Taking a deep breath, Peter sent his castle three squares forward to capture his mother's knight.
"Hmm, I would've moved the bishop…" she said, her eyes darting around the board as she calculated her best course of action. "Although…"
She snapped her fingers and nodded, then made her move. As soon as her queen began to glide forward, Peter's lips turned up into a triumphant smile.
"Did you just let me win?" he asked a minute later after his knight had taken her queen and gone on to checkmate the king. "You never let me win."
"No, I don't," she said, eying her chess pieces with disgust and heaving a sigh. "My ego can't take it. No, I'm just distracted."
She leaned back in her seat and stared out at the rain-soaked garden. Peter put away the chess set, then settled back on the sofa and waited for her to speak. After a moment, she straightened and touched his arm.
"What are you up to, Peter?"
He frowned into her kind, round face. "What do you mean?"
She crossed her arms and peered at him over the top of her glasses. "I mean, what are you going to do after Hogwarts? You were planning to get a job at the Ministry, but I thought you'd want to spend this holiday trying to get everything in order, and I haven't heard you mention a single word about it. And you seem… preoccupied."
"I'm fine," he said, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. "I've been in contact with someone from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. And I'm starting to get nervous for N.E.W.T.s, that's all…"
"Rubbish. You made four batches of scones yesterday."
He grinned. "What do scones have to do with anything?"
"You hate scones. And I can manage maybe one scone a day, two if I'm feeling adventurous. So what do we need all those scones for? You're stress baking, and I'd like to know why." Her blue eyes remained fixed on his until he sighed and gave in.
"Alright. I've been asked to join a secret anti-Death Eater group once I graduate. We all have."
It sounded even more terrifying out loud than it did bouncing around his head. His mother stared down at the chessboard in silence, her eyes fixed on her disgraced king. Peter sighed again and touched her shoulder. When she looked up, the fear in her eyes made him squirm. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry."
"What does being in this group entail?" she asked, her lips pressed tight and her fingers twisting in her lap.
"Well, I don't really know, to be honest," he admitted. "Some sort of reconnaissance missions, I'd imagine. Recruiting other members. And, well, actual fighting." He grimaced as he thought about his unexceptional dueling abilities. Over the last few months he had made definite progress, but that was in an unused classroom at Hogwarts against his friends who were not trying to kill him. Faced with actual Death Eaters, he suspected he would revert to freezing up and overthinking every move.
"Why does it have to be you?" his mother demanded, shattering his train of thought. "Why does Dumbledore want you to join?"
Peter hesitated. He had spent hours mulling over this very question, puzzling over what qualities he had to offer Dumbledore's cause. James and Sirius were obvious choices: James's charisma and leadership skills would be invaluable, and together he and Sirius were practically unstoppable as far as dueling was concerned. Remus lacked their confidence, but when he was concentrating he was accurate and calculating and a bit scary, if Peter was being honest. Lily was right up there with James and Sirius, maybe even better as long as she didn't try to duel in just socks, and Mary was decent and getting better every day, fueled by the quiet rage he had caught brief glimpses of. Compared to the rest of them, Peter was mediocre at best, and the thought both terrified and humiliated him.
"I think at this point he'll take anyone he can get," he said. "He knows my friends and I are sympathetic to the cause, and he knows we do everything together, so he's asked all of us." He pulled at a fraying thread on his sleeve and wondered if Dumbledore had agreed to let him into the Order only to secure everyone else's membership. Would Dumbledore care if he decided not to join? Would his friends? He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
"Hmm." His mother stared out the window again, her expression thoughtful. After a moment she turned back to Peter and took a deep breath. "It's going to be dangerous," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes." There was no point in lying to her. She saw right through him, just as she did when he thought he had a foolproof chess strategy. "But I'll be okay."
"You don't know that," she said, wringing her hands. "You have no idea what's going to happen. I know what they were doing to people back before I canceled my Daily Prophet subscription, and I know it's only gotten worse."
"I have to do it, Mum," he said. His heart pounded as he spoke the words, and a tiny voice inside his head asked, But do you? He pushed it aside, burying it beneath a show of bravado. He couldn't afford to even think such thoughts, because Sirius could sniff out these sorts of doubts and wouldn't hesitate to call him out.
"No, you don't," she said, her tone firm as she tore her gaze away from the sodden front garden. "You tell Dumbledore you aren't going to do it. If your friends want to risk their lives, well, that's their choice, although I don't know how their mothers are okay with it–"
"Mum, we're all of age," Peter said with a touch of impatience. "We don't need our mothers' permission."
"Just because you're of age doesn't mean you're suddenly equipped to make life-altering decisions!" Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Peter, do you realize what you're asking me to do? You want me to give my blessing and tell you I'm fine with not knowing day to day if you're alive or dead? I'm supposed to go about my business, when any moment I could find Albus Dumbledore knocking at my door to pat me on the shoulder and tell me you fought bravely?" She got to her feet, her hands trembling. "No. I can't do it – I won't do it."
"I can't back out now, Mum," Peter said, standing up and reaching for her hand. "I've already said I'll join. And I do believe in the cause, and I can't abandon my friends. They're all I have." His voice broke as he imagined the disappointment on his friends' faces if he told them he couldn't join after all.
"They're not all you have!" she burst out, her face twisting in anger. "You have me! But you really are all I have. Can you imagine what it would be like if I lost you? I know it's selfish of me, but I don't care. Other people can die for the cause. Why does it have to be you?"
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked at him, her eyes pleading. Guilt weighed on Peter until his chest tightened. He thought about his mother crumpling with grief if – when? – he didn't block a spell or he was caught unaware or he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was selfish of him not to join the Order, because he did believe deeply in the cause, and it wasn't fair to expect other people to fight in his place when he was perfectly capable of doing so himself. Yet it was also selfish to put his mother through such hell when his father had left her and Peter had no other siblings – he was literally all she had.
"It's okay, Mum." He pulled her into a hug, letting her sob against his shoulder until her tears abated. When she pulled away, her eyes were red and puffy, and his shirt was damp with tears.
"I won't join," he said, heaving a sigh of resignation. "I'll tell Dumbledore I've changed my mind."
Her eyes widened. "You will?"
He nodded. "You're right. I dunno what I was thinking. I can't risk leaving you all alone – that wouldn't be fair. I'm sorry for upsetting you. I just got caught up in it all."
Her body sagged with relief. "You're such a good kid, Petey. Well, I know you're not a kid anymore, but you know what I mean. I know you feel strongly about this and you want to do something and you will. There are things you can do to help, without going out there and putting yourself at risk. I just… I couldn't lose you. It would break my heart." She wiped her eyes and sniffed, then smiled faintly. "If I lost you, who would I beat at chess?"
"You don't always beat me," he said, smiling despite the colossal weight that had settled on his chest. "Come on. Let's have one of the scones I made. I'll give scones another chance. Maybe they're not as dry and crumbly as I remember."
He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then led the way into the kitchen. As he put scones on a plate for them and sat down at the kitchen table, he wondered how in Merlin's name he was going to follow through on the promise he had just made. Whatever he did, he was going to let someone down.
Saturday, April 1, 1978
The scent of cigarettes and stale liquor overwhelmed Mary's nostrils as she sat down at the kitchen table. Shoving aside an empty gin bottle and an ashtray, she rested her forehead on her arms. A sticky dab of syrup clung to her skin, and the smell of bacon and coffee emanating from her clothes overpowered the less pleasant smells that pervaded the flat. Mary sighed, debating whether to Apparate to Sirius's flat or crawl into bed and meet up with him tomorrow. She missed him more than she wanted to admit, yet this was her last night at home before she returned to Hogwarts. The combination of indecision and exhaustion paralyzed her so that she couldn't even summon the energy to pick her head up from the table.
"That you, Mary?" Melanie's slightly hoarse voice called from the sofa. The television filled the room with soft chatter, yet Mary knew Melanie wasn't watching it. Rather, it filled the silence when neither Mary nor one of Melanie's many boyfriends was around to provide companionship.
"No, it's your other daughter," Mary said, getting up and crossing the room to sit down on the edge of the sofa.
"Don't be sarcastic," Melanie said, stubbing out her cigarette in a second overflowing ashtray on the coffee table and lighting another one. "It's bad for your skin."
Mary laughed and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Right, because chain-smoking and drinking a bottle of gin every other day is going to keep you wrinkle free?"
Melanie laughed, coughing as she choked on her smoke. "No, those things are bloody awful for your skin. That's why I can't afford to be sarcastic on top of it all." She rested her feet on the coffee table, knocking the ashtray to the floor in the process, then studied the mess and sighed. "Bloody hell. Mary, could you do that magic cleaning thing you're so good at?"
Mary pointed her wand at the ash and cigarette butts, Vanishing them and returning the ashtray to the table. The action calmed her, even after a grueling day of waitressing, because cleaning gave her a sense of control over a homelife characterized by complete and utter chaos. Sending that pile of cigarette butts to wherever Vanished things went – she had no idea, but thought Sirius might know – filled her with a sense of tranquility unparalleled by anything else.
"Thanks, love," Melanie said, tapping her cigarette against the newly-emptied ashtray. "Want a drink?"
"I think you drank it all," Mary said, gesturing at the empty gin bottle on the kitchen table.
"Don't be stupid," Melanie said, leaning over the side of the couch and returning with an identical bottle, this one half-full. "If I let the gin run out, that's how you'll know things have really gone to shit, alright?"
"You know, they make liquor that doesn't taste like a pine tree," Mary said, but after a moment she took the gin bottle and took a sip. It burned her throat and tasted just as piney as she remembered, but the alcohol was welcome, and she took another sip before passing it back.
"The pine tree taste is what I like," Melanie said, taking a swig and emitting a deep, satisfied sigh. "There's nothing quite like it."
They sat there in the glow of the television, taking occasional sips from the bottle as Melanie's cigarette filled the air with a smoky haze and the weatherman announced a week of upcoming rain. Mary's eyes were heavy, yet she knew she would be unable to sleep. She really should Apparate to Sirius's – she would sleep better there, and she would be closer to King's Cross in the morning, yet to her surprise she found she was enjoying Melanie's company.
"Do you want to smoke a joint, Mum?" she asked after Summoning a little zippered pouch from her room.
Melanie frowned at her through a cloud of smoke. "Seems like as your mother I should be telling you off for smoking pot."
"Well, you're not exactly the typical mother, are you?" Mary knelt in front of the coffee table and pulled a rolling paper from the packet. Just as cleaning calmed her, so did the methodical steps of rolling a joint. As her fingers prodded, pinched, and pulled, her mind cleared and she felt completely at peace. Peter and Lily had both described achieving similar states of mind, Peter when he baked and Lily when she brewed a potion. What does it say about me that my calm-down hobby is rolling a fucking joint? she wondered as she finished and handed the finished joint to Melanie.
Neither of them spoke as they passed the joint back and forth. With each hit, Mary sensed words bubbling up inside her, clamoring to be let out. Marijuana sometimes had this effect on her, drawing her out and encouraging confidences when she would otherwise keep things to herself. When she took one last hit and ground out the roach into the ashtray, she rested her feet on the coffee table and turned her head to face her mother.
"I'm joining a secret group," she announced. "A secret group formed to fight the Death Eaters, which are the er, evil wizards who keep killing Muggles and don't think I'm worth a toss because my parents aren't wizards."
"Well, technically your father could have been a wizard," Melanie remarked, shrugging her bony shoulders. "Although I doubt it. There was only one thing about him that was even remotely magical, and I have the feeling that's not the sort of thing they teach at your school." She smirked and took a sip of gin.
Mary wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. I'm trying to tell you something important. Do you think you could refrain from making sex jokes about my father?"
Melanie held up a hand. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry. Tell me about this secret group. What's it all about? What sort of things will you have to do to fight against the what-do-you-call-ems?"
"I'm not exactly sure," Mary said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "But I might have to, you know…" She drew her finger across her neck and grimaced.
Melanie's eyes narrowed. "Do wizards kill each other the regular way, then? Or is there a spell for it?"
Mary sighed. "Yes, there's a spell, Mum. That's not really the point."
"Well, you're the one that insisted I smoke a joint. It messes with my brain."
"Because your mind is normally so clear?" Mary asked with a snort of laughter.
"I'm telling you, you'd better stop it with those sarcastic comments or you'll be covered in wrinkles, and Sirius won't like that." She laughed, but then the smile faded from her face. "Do you really think you could kill someone?"
"I dunno," Mary said, unwilling to speak the truth aloud. "I guess I'll find out."
"And Sirius?" Melanie asked. "Is he joining?"
Mary nodded. "He couldn't wait to join. He's been dying for something to channel his energy for ages."
"Could he kill someone?" Melanie asked. Her mascara was smudged under her eye, and even in the dim light from the television, her several inches of gray roots stood out against the rest of her brittle, bleach-blonde hair.
"Yeah," Mary said without even considering her answer. "He wouldn't hesitate to do it, if he had to. But afterwards, I think it would eat him alive. Especially…" Her words trailed off and she shook her head.
"What?" Melanie asked.
"His brother is joining the other side," Mary admitted.
"Shit. That's got to be rough." Melanie frowned. "But I thought his brother was dating Lily."
"No, James isn't actually his brother. They're best friends, and James's parents took in Sirius when he ran away from home." She hesitated, then added, "He calls them mum and dad."
Melanie put a hand over her heart. "That's so bloody sweet."
"I know," Mary said, nodding. "I really like them." She waited, teetering on the edge of confiding the next bit, then decided there was no point in holding back now. "I went over there for dinner the other night."
"You did? You never told me that." Melanie frowned and studied a broken fingernail. "Or wait, did you, and I just don't remember?"
Mary laughed and shook her head, sending curls flying into her face. "No, I didn't. I didn't feel like listening to you tease me about it. But it was nice. Lily came too, and we all played cards, and it was really bloody wholesome."
Melanie lit another cigarette and offered one to Mary. "Well, do you want me to have Sirius over here for dinner?"
Mary started laughing and dropped her unlit cigarette onto the carpet. "Definitely not," she said after straightening with the cigarette clutched between her fingers. "No offense."
Melanie laughed and shook her head. "None taken. I wouldn't know what the fuck to make. And I suppose I've been a bit lax with the cleaning…"
Her eyes traveled around the flat, lingering on the accumulated rubbish and dirty dishes in the sink. Mary had been struggling to keep up with the cleaning ever since she had returned from Hogwarts, but any time she left for Sirius's, she came back and found a new mess to handle. She sighed, resolving to give the place a quick once-over before she left tomorrow.
"Let's be honest, Mum, you've been a bit lax with the cleaning for the past eighteen years."
"Yes, well, it's not as easy when you can't wave a bit of wood and send everything into disappeared land," Melanie said, casting a meaningful glance at Mary's wand.
"Alright, fair." Mary twisted a strand of hair around her finger and thought. "I could have Sirius stop by tomorrow before we go to the train station, if you like. I'll clean up a bit first, but honestly, he won't care either way. I'm the only one that ever cleans his flat." She grinned and rolled her eyes. "He's had house elves to clean up after him his entire life."
Melanie blew out a long stream of smoke and frowned. "What the fuck is a house elf?"
"I've told you about them before. Weird little creatures that rich wizards have to do chores for them. Hogwarts has loads of them."
Melanie considered this as she watched the smoke from her cigarette filling the air around her head. "Well, now he has you in place of a house elf."
Mary wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, don't tell him that. He'll start calling me Twinkletoes or something." She tossed her hair out of her face and leaned back against the cushions of the couch. "Anyway, I'll bring him over to say hi, if you want."
Melanie nodded. "Good. I promise I'll be awake." She cast a dubious glance at the contents of the gin bottle and added, "Give me a good shake if I'm not."
"I'll remember you said that," Mary said with a wry smile.
"Will he be okay? Sirius, I mean? About his brother joining the other side?"
Mary didn't answer right away. She took a drag on her cigarette, remembering how conflicted Sirius had been the last time they had talked about Regulus. The thought of his voice so choked with emotion made her want to risk splinching herself so she could crawl into bed with him and wrap him in a hug.
"He'll manage," she said eventually. "He always does."
"What about you?" Melanie turned to look at her. Most of her face was in shadow, but the light from the television gave her skin a ghostly glow. "Will you be okay?"
A laugh bubbled up from Mary's chest and burst out. A second joined it, and then a third, and then she couldn't stop. There was no joy to it, no mirth; rather, it was the alternative to sobbing. When she got control of herself enough to speak, she shook her head and gave a helpless shrug.
"Sure, Mum. I'm fine. This is all fine." She waved her hand, the gesture meant to convey joining the Order and all the disappearances and murders reported in the Prophet and whatever Harold Minchum happened to be up to.
Melanie tilted her head sideways and looked at her, an expression of mild interest on her face. Then she too dissolved into peals of humorless laughter. When her shoulders stopped shaking, she stubbed out her cigarette and looked at Mary.
"Love, what did I tell you about being sarcastic?"
Then, before Mary realized what was happening, Melanie placed her thin arms around her and pulled her into a hug. Just like the flat, her mother smelled of cigarettes and gin, with a hint of a musky perfume underneath. Mary relaxed into her embrace, wondering how long it had been since her mother had hugged her. When she pulled away, Mary thought she saw unshed tears gathering in her mother's eyes, but the dim lighting and the alcohol and marijuana glaze made it hard to tell.
"As your mum, I'm probably supposed to tell you to be careful," Melanie said, dropping her cigarette into the ashtray without bothering to put it out. A thin stream of smoke curled from it, adding to the haze in the room.
"Well, we've already established that you're not the typical mother," Mary said, grinning. Tears hovered on her eyelashes, quivering before they splashed down onto her cheeks. She ignored them. If she didn't acknowledge them, they weren't there – that was how it worked, wasn't it?
"You'll be alright. You've basically been looking out for yourself for your entire life." She sighed and slumped back against the couch. "I think you can handle some arseholes in funny cloaks waving around little sticks."
Mary laughed again – what else was there to do? She liked Melanie's description of the Death Eaters, and stored it away to remember later when she was feeling unokay about everything.
"Thanks, Mum," she said, pushing her hair out of her face and getting to her feet. She swayed for a moment, steadying herself against the couch. "Do I look pissed enough to splinch myself?"
Melanie frowned at her, then let out a snort of laughter. "I don't think you should be talking to your mother about splinching yourself, although then again, I'm not the typical mother, am I?"
"Mum, that's not what splinching means," Mary said, covering her face with her hands. "It means… Oh, never mind, I'm going to bed. Try not to burn down the flat, if you can help it." She nodded at the ashtray where the half-smoked cigarette still smoked faintly. "And I recommend drinking some water, but, you know, I'm not your mother."
Melanie grinned and ground out the smoking cigarette butt. "Maybe put together we add up to the equivalent of one typical mother," she said, shrugging. "I'll see you and Sirius in the morning. If he wanted to give me another ride on that motorbike of his, I wouldn't be opposed."
"I'm not sure there'll be time. Also, last time you got a bit handsy, so I think I'm opposed, to be honest," Mary said, rolling her eyes.
"Oh, I'd hardly call that handsy," Melanie retorted. "He told me to hold onto his waist, for God's sake. But fine, I'll keep my hands off your precious boyfriend." She raised her eyebrows and peered at Mary through the gloom. "He is your boyfriend, now, isn't he?"
Mary smiled. "Yeah, he is."
Melanie gave a satisfied nod. "Good." She fell silent, and Mary began to head toward her bedroom, but after a moment the sound of Melanie's voice called her back. "Mare? I love you."
Mary gaped at her, struck by a combination of affection, shock, and bemusement. She couldn't remember the last time Melanie had said 'I love you.' It fell into the realm of something typical mothers did, along with hoovering the house, remembering to return letters, and telling their daughters off for smoking pot rather than sharing a joint with them on the living room sofa. Mary wanted to laugh, or cry, or hug Melanie, except they had already met their hugging quota for at least a year. Instead, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the stale, smoke-laden air, and turned back to face her mother.
"I love you too, Mum," she said, smiling to herself as she padded across the stained carpet to her bedroom. The smile lingered and Melanie's words echoed in her head as she changed into pajamas and crawled into bed, and for once she had no trouble falling asleep without Sirius's warm, solid presence.