April 13th, 1982: Reginald Cattermole

It's almost midnight when the letter arrives. At first, Reg thinks it's damn lucky that he's awake to see it at all—but of course he's awake. Mary was supposed to come back home from her long weekend with Lily tonight, and he's been getting increasingly worried over the past several hours as time stretched on and she still didn't show—didn't even send a letter to say she'd been delayed. Normally, Reg is in bed by now, but tonight isn't normal: how can he sleep when his wife said she'd be home and isn't?

Of course, if he's being honest with himself, this isn't the first time that Mary's inexplicably not returned home when she should have without giving him a convincing reason for her absence. It happened more than once near the end of last year, maybe around November, and he's sure by now that it's because of whatever vigilante business her friends have all pulled her back into. She doesn't go missing for entire nights anymore, just a few hours here or there—but it's got him second-guessing her intentions every time she claims to be going out with Ver or shopping in Diagon Alley or visiting her mum.

Even this time—Reg highly doubts that Mary and Lily were "just traveling" all weekend like Mary said they would. It's fishy enough that Lily seems to have disappeared off the face of Wizarding Britain, but for her to take Mary with her—

Mary never gave Reg an exact time that she'd be home, but she ought to have been home well before midnight, wouldn't you think? He gets so worried that he even writes to Mary's boss asking if she's heard anything about Mary's return to work being delayed—only for her to write Reg back that, in fact, Mary requested days ago not just the long weekend she told Reg, but a full three weeks off from work.

So when Reg hears the owl pecking at the window, he's sure it's from Mary, informing him that she's been held up by something or other and won't be able to make it back tonight. Like every time she disappears for mysterious reasons, there's a voice in the back of his head telling him that whatever she's fallen into is dangerous, that she could be in trouble, but he manages to silence it: she's never gotten herself hurt or arrested or kidnapped before, has she?

But the letter isn't from Mary. It's from St. Mungo's, where Mary's been admitted for creature-induced injuries of an unknown nature.

Reg's heart sinks. For a second, he hates himself for ever having allowed himself to be pissed at her for disappearing on him—for allowing his frustration with her antics to overtake his concern for her well-being. Then, he remembers that, whatever's happened to her, she's brought it on herself, and his anger doubles. How can she be so reckless with her life when people need her, when Reg—?

Mary's unconscious when Reg finally makes it to her bedside in the hospital. "She asked us to Stupefy her when she first arrived," says Healer Salman, all high cheekbones and flyaway grey hair. "We had to deal with her arm before we could give her much pain relief if we didn't want to lose valuable time, especially since we don't know exactly what kind of creature we're dealing with."

"She works with magical creatures all the time for her job," says Reg, feeling very haggard and pale, "but she would have been off duty when this happened. She said she was traveling with a friend of hers."

It strikes Reg suddenly that Lily ought to be here accompanying her to the hospital. Why did Mary come alone? Or, if Lily really were with her, why isn't she here in the hospital now? "Was anybody with her when she arrived?"

"She came in alone," says Salman. "Before we Stunned her, she asked us to contact you and a Mr. Remus Lupin."

Remus? Why Remus? Reg has a fleeting, ridiculous thought that maybe Mary's cheating on him with Remus, but he dismisses it almost immediately; Mary wouldn't do that to him. Remus is probably just—the Gryffindor who's in deepest with Mary in whatever nonsense she's been getting up to during her "time away."

There's nothing to do but sit and wait for the Healers to Ennervate Mary, so he does so, obsessively staring at his watch and away from where Salman and Arbutus are working on Mary's arm. He feels deeply anxious, and not just because he's worried about her, as much as he wishes he could say that's all it is—but because her behavior has escalated to the point that he knows he's going to have to confront her about it. Reg may be a firm believer in burying his head in the sand to avoid conflict, but when his wife starts showing up at St. Mungo's in the middle of the night with mangled limbs, he thinks it's safe to say that it's reached a breaking point.

He doesn't doze off, not even when the clock strikes two in the morning—there's too much buzzing around in his brain for that. Finally, finally, Salman steps back. "We can wake her now," she tells Reg, mopping sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her robes, "but she'll be in pain until the potion we'll give her has time to take effect. You should be prepared."

And Reg isn't prepared for any of this, but he nods. He even takes her hand (the good one, not the mangled one), knowing that, if it were him, he'd want something to squeeze.

Sure enough, Mary cries out sharply when she first wakes. "You're all right," says Salman in a soothing voice. "I'm Healer Salman, and this is my colleague, Healer Arbutus. We're going to give you something for the pain, all right? It should kick in within about a minute, but you'll have to drink the whole thing."

"Okay." Mary's voice is quiet and shaky. She squeezes Reg's hand hard enough to hurt, but her grip lessens quickly after she drinks.

Salman crouches down to Mary's level. "Mrs. Cattermole, do you know where you are?"

"St. Mungo's. I checked myself in."

"And you still won't tell us what bit you?" Salman's voice is stern but still, somehow, gentle.

Mary looks down. "I can't do that. I'm sorry. I know that makes your job a lot harder."

Salman sighs. "Well, we did what we could, but working off the limited information we had—we managed to reconstruct your arm, but I'm afraid we can't guarantee that you've retained any motor function from the elbow down. Can you try to form a fist for me?"

Mary nods and furrows her eyebrows. Nothing happens.

"Let's try something else—go ahead and lift your arm?"

Mary does so, but something's wrong: her forearm and hand seem to be dangling beneath her elbow, as if she's got no control over their movement at all. She bites her lip, looking like she's on the verge of tears, and Reg doesn't think it's from the phantom pain that might remain now that she's drunk Salman's potion.

"Can you give us some privacy, please?" asks Reg quietly.

God, does he not want to have the conversation he's about to have—but he knows he has to as Salman and Arbutus obligingly leave the room. "Reg—"

"Mary, what in god's name were you and Lily doing at this time of night?"

"We split up," says Mary shortly. "I, uh—I got hurt at work. I'm doing a column on—on—"

"No, you didn't," barks Reg. As uncomfortable as he feels, it's like he can't hold in the truth about how he feels any longer—like he's reached his breaking point. "Your boss said you weren't back to work yet—that you requested three full weeks' vacation. Where have you been, and why didn't you tell me?"

"I can't tell you that," says Mary plainly. "I just—can't, Reg."

"That's not good enough. You're my wife. I'm supposed to know where you are at night! You're not supposed to get yourself injured by—by—by dragons or something, off on your own, without even having planned to tell me what you were doing!"

"It wasn't a dragon."

"Well, then, what was it?"

Mary balks. "I told you and Salman already that I can't tell you. I don't expect you to understand."

"Good, because I don't, Mare. I really, really don't."

She's rescued by a knock on the door that turns out to be Remus, looking haggard. "I got an owl at work," he says simply. "Mary—"

They exchange a meaningful look. "I asked them to let you know where I was when they admitted me," she says quietly. "I thought—I thought you all should know what's happened."

"What's happened?" scowls Reg. "You won't tell us what's happened!"

But he's kidding himself—of course Remus knows what Mary's been up to. It's not that she won't tell anyone: it's that she won't tell Reg or the Healers.

"You should rest," says Remus, talking over Reg as if he hadn't heard him. "I left a note at home for Alice—she'll let the others know."

"Right," Mary mumbles. "Tell Alice I'll… continue what I started as soon as I get out of here, okay?"

Reg balks. "You're not coming home?"

"I should go," says Remus pointedly.

Yeah, you do that, Lupin, thinks Reg, but he doesn't voice this. Getting into a fight with Mary is bad enough—he doesn't need to be antagonized by all Mary's Gryffindor friends, too, not when they're not really the ones Reg is upset with.

Because he is upset with her. Of course he is. The Healers may have been able to reconstruct the bones in her arm, but it seems to be damaged beyond function—and if Mary really is mixed up in vigilantism, then whatever she was doing could have injured a lot more of her than just her arm. At this point, Reg can even accept it if his wife's a criminal—the things he's overheard have shaken his confidence in the system that much—but what he can't accept is the possibility of her dying on him and leaving him alone.

"I know what your friends have gotten you into," Reg says, his voice shaking, as Remus leaves them alone and closes the door behind him, "and I can't lose you because of it. I can't, Mare."

Mary looks uneasy. "I don't know what you think you know, but nobody's 'gotten me into' anyth—"

"Yes, they have. I know they have because I know you, and I know the signs when you've been sucked into… into…" He clears his throat and tries again. "It's like sixth year all over again, and we didn't talk about it then—I thought it would be safe because you seemed to drift away from them after—but we should have. We really should have. If there was the slightest chance that I could have dissuaded you from this—"

"Reg…"

"I love you, Mary Macdonald Cattermole." It's not just his voice that's shaking now. "I love you, and I need you to be safe, and you're not safe, not as long as you… and the worst part is, I can't turn it off. I can't go. I can't put my faith in somebody I can trust because I can't forget the way you make me feel. I'll put up with whatever you want me to put up with, but, Mary, I need you to stop being so careless with your life and just—just talk to me. Why won't you talk to me? Do you really think so little of me that you'd…?"

Mary's whole face is twisting fast. "I think the world of you, Reg. I do. There are just… things I can't tell you because you wouldn't understand."

"Then make me understand. I just—I can't live like…"

Mary hesitates, and for a second, Reg believes, really believes, that she's going to tell him—that she's going to admit that she's a vigilante and that her life is in danger. Instead, she turns away. "I'll be home in a couple of weeks," she says dully. "As soon as I can. I promise."

And he can't get another word out of her on the subject.