Chapter Text
“Are you sure this looks ok?”
Emmeline crossed the room, standing behind Mary in the mirror. She wrapped her arms around her waist from behind. “Yes, I’m sure. You look lovely.”
Mary huffed, smoothing her hands over the creases of her dress. It was an emerald green silky dress, reaching down to her calves. It hugged her body just right, enough to make her look presentable but not too formal at the same time. “But what about the red trousers with the white top?”
“You looked lovely in those too.”
“You’re not helping.”
Emmeline chuckled, and gave the spot where Mary’s shoulder and neck meet a kiss. “Not my fault you look lovely in everything.”
Mary tilted her head back, giving her wife space for more kisses. “I wanna stay,” she drawled. “Don’t wanna go anymore.”
Emmeline detangled herself from her, and Mary fought the urge to whine like a little kid. “You’ll regret it if you don’t. You know you will.”
“Go with me.”
“I would if I could, love,” she said, walking over to their king sized bed and sitting at its end. “But I’m loaded with work. I have those harmonies to work on for those tracks and they’re not even nearly done. And the kids…”
“I know, I know,” Mary sighed. She turned back to her reflection, studying her image. Her long, voluminous hair fell in perfect curls down to her waist — it wasn’t black anymore, like it was when she was younger. She had gotten it lightened a couple months back, and now it was a dark golden brown, only a tad bit darker than her skin. She liked it a lot.
Mary hadn’t changed much over the years, to be quite honest. She wasn’t modest enough to admit she hadn’t aged much, and still had the young face she had back when she were eighteen. She could thank her dermatologist and all the lotions and moisturizer and face oils that made her skin care routine, but she knew most of it was simply thanks to her genetics. She just looked like that. An ageless beauty.
“I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”
“I think it’s understandable that you’re nervous.”
“You do?”
“Of course,” Emmeline told. “You haven’t seen those people in forever. I think everyone is quite nervous, frankly. I was nervous for my high school reunion too, last year.”
“But you’ve kept contact with some people. I haven’t talked to anyone pretty much since we graduated.”
“Once you get there, you’ll see. It’ll be like time hasn’t passed. I promise you’ll be f—“
“Mummy, mummy, mummy!”
Milo raced inside the bedroom, a melting popsicle in hand, his tiny fingers tinted blue with its juice. Around his mouth was no different. He ran into Mary’s legs.
“Mummy! I’m blue!”
Mary laughed, crouching to get on eye level with him. “I can see, mister. How did you get the popsicle?”
“Gigi go’ it fow me,” he answered, already sucking on it again and looking even messier.
“It’s almost dinner time, Milo, you can’t be eating popsicles right now.”
“Gigi ate two!”
“Snitch!” Gigi’s shout came from the other room, quickly followed by the increasing sound of her steps. “No popsicle for you anymore!” She pointed a finger at him from the doorway, which was stained with purple juice. In her other hand, she held a popsicle stick.
Milo crossed his arms over his chest and poked out his tongue at his sister, scrunching his entire face. She poked her own out at him.
Mary stood up and looked over at Emmeline, who seemed to be trying to stifle a laugh as she watched their children. Mary couldn’t lie, she was trying just as hard too.
Gigi had been two months old when they had adopted her. The moment Mary and Emmeline had locked eyes with her, they’d known she was theirs. When Mary had brushed her index finger down the baby’s temple, she had reached over with her tiny, tiny finger and hooked it around Mary’s, her huge black eyes shining up at them both.
“It’s her,” Emmeline had whispered, more to herself than to Mary. Her smile had been one Mary had never seen before — to this day, it had been the most beautiful Mary had ever seen. “She’s ours.”
And only two years later, Milo came. He had the roundest, most squishy cheeks Mary had ever seen, and the most magnetic, warm eyes. He giggled and chuckled to every sound and tickle. It was love at first sight.
And now, they were Milo and Gigi; Gigi and Milo. Milo, the electric hurricane with dark hair all over the place that ran around the house with palms splashed with acrylic paint and crayons between his fingers, that Mary was almost certain his giggle could probably be heard from miles and miles away.
And Gigi, the graceful flower, who strutted up and down the hallway, clinking Emmeline’s heels that looked ginormous on her tiny four year-old feet; who looked like the most adorable clown with Mary’s bubblegum pink blush across her cheeks.
Mary and Emmeline had been young when the house had lightened up with them — Mary having been twenty-four; Emmeline, twenty-five. But they hadn’t cared. There hadn’t been “the right moment,” “let’s wait a bit more.” There had been no doubt when Gigi’s chubby finger had wrapped around Mary’s; no ounce of doubt when Milo’s close setted eyes had shone up at them.
There had been no questioning, not even for a second, that they were each other’s.
“You think you’ll manage?” Mary asked Emmeline, who was now shaking her shoulders with silent laughter as the kids had descended into an ugly face competition.
Emmeline smiled up at her, “I’ve taken care of them on my own before, you do know.”
“But high on sugar like this?” Mary arched an eyebrow.
Emmeline glanded back to them and sighed. She looked up at Mary once again, “Wish me luck, then.”
Mary chuckled a laugh and headed to the walk-in closet to fetch a pair of heels and a purse. She grabbed her black Louboutin pumps — a classic, and a small black clutch purse to match.
“Wow, Mummy looks pweety!” Gigi exclaimed as Mary walked back to the room.
She walked over to her daughter and landed a strong kiss atop her head. “You can’t always be the only beauty in the house, sweetheart.”
Gigi giggled, and her cheeks flushed a soft pink. Mary pinched them, just so they would redden a bit more, earning an “Wow, Mummy!” between a chuckle.
Emmeline headed over to Milo and picked him up, tossing her brown hair back to get it away from his sticky hands. With her free arm, she reached for Gigi’s hand, and the four of them walked out of the room.
“Are you sure you’ll be ok?” Mary asked her.
Her wife smiled reassuringly, “Yes, I am. Are you sure you’ll be ok?”
“Not at all.”
Emmeline laughed softly.
“Where is Mummy going?” Gigi asked as they reached the entryway.
“Mummy is meeting some old friends,” Emmeline answered.
Some old friends, keyword being ‘old.’ ‘Ex’ friends could also do. After ten years, it’s what they probably are.
“Well. I’m off, then,” Mary said, hand on the doorknob. Emmeline leaned in and gave her lips a quick kiss, followed by puking noises from the kids.
“Bye, love. Text me if anything.”
Mary nodded.
“Mary. Go.”
She realised she hadn’t moved. “Oh, yeah. Yes. Ok.”
As she stepped out of the house, Emmeline flashed another warm smile at her. The door clicked shut, and from the inside she could hear her wife telling the kids, “Now let’s get you two troublemakers cleaned up, eh?”
Mary descended the large steps that connected her house to the sidewalk. She turned around, and eyed her home. What she had made for herself, and her family.
Mary had turned out fine, so that was at least a relief she could have while going to the reunion — she knew she wasn’t going to embarrass herself in front of her old classmates who had turned out successful and built a good life for themselves. With a content sigh, she felt the tiny gleam of happiness inside her, knowing she would be able to relate to the well-accomplished ones. She knew back then, few people had believed she would have. Around seven — eight, if you count Professor McGonagall.
Back in school, Mary had been the popular girl. She hated the term, to be quite frank. She felt as if she was associated with the mean, superficial, vain girls that paraded around the corridors. That hadn’t been her. But what she had been was well-known, and friendly, and outgoing. She had partied, she had known people, she had kissed a few—or a bunch. Quick enough, whispers echoed through the hallways, with nicknames and made up stories about her that hadn’t been true, not in the slightest.
So Mary knew what most people had thought about how her future would’ve turned out like — unsuccessful; a stupid, futile girl with nothing to offer to the world. A nobody.
But Mary MacDonald wasn’t born to be a nobody. Maybe some people were, but that wasn’t her. That had never been her. That wasn’t in her genes, in her blood. It didn’t fit. Wouldn’t look cute.
And oh, was she someone.
She smiled, looking up at her house. Her manor. Her manor, with its beautiful manicured garden, its stone-paved drive way, its big, elegant windows. And how her family was inside of it, warm and full of love.
It wasn’t about money — it had never been. After all, Mary MacDonald had been raised to be humble, to appreciate the little things, to never show off, to never be vain. And she wasn’t. She had always made sure to not be any of the things people would say about her back in school. But of course, sometimes she liked taking a moment to breathe in what she had built for herself. She liked taking a little second to show off, even if it wasn’t for anyone else; just for her.
This is my life.
She smiled a bit to herself, and made her way to her car. She had thought about taking an Uber, but she figured she wouldn’t be there for too long, really, and wouldn’t be drinking much. Her plan was to show up, catch up with a few people, eat some appetizers and give the excuse of having a headache and head home.
Truly, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to go. Believe her. It was just… that she didn’t want to go.
But it wasn’t because of indifference, of this reunion being a mere inconvenience in her schedule.
The issue was that it was very much not indifferent. Ever since she had received the e-mail with her invitation, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. And that had been a whole month ago.
Mary had known it would eventually come the time that a ten-year high school reunion would arrive, and every year that passed, she dreaded it more and more. Every year that she hadn’t received a call, and every year that she herself hadn’t tried to call. Every year she hadn’t gotten a visit, and every year that she herself hadn’t tried to visit. Every time took a bit and a bit more of her desire to attend such reunion.
Because what if they had all caught up, and had just left her out? What if they were all still friends, except for her?
After all, it had been ten years. Mary didn’t believe it to be possible that any of them weren’t still friends.
She thought about it often. Thought about them often. More than she’d like to.
She thought about Lily, and her red-flame hair and her bright green eyes — the colour of the dress that hugged Mary’s curves right now. If she were honest, she had thought of Lily when she had first seen it in the store. Everything green, or red, or really just bright reminded Mary of Lily. Beautiful, dreamy Lily.
She thought about Marlene, too. Confident, strong, self-assured Marlene. How she had one of the biggest hearts Mary had ever gotten to know, and how it was a secret under lock and key. Mary thought about how nothing and no one could ever get past Marlene, how she never buckled down for anyone, how her chin was always held high, her shoulders straight. There was, obviously, always someone who managed to spread a red flush across her cheeks. Mary had always noticed, but had never said anything. She had hoped they would figure it out soon. They never did.
She thought of Sirius. Her companion, the arm that always linked with hers. His long dark hair, his shiny eyes, his easy laugh. How he and Marlene were so alike. Both fortresses, unable to ever stand lower. And just like her, there had always—always— been that someone who managed to make him blush a beautiful pink. Though different from Marlene, they had figured it out. Sometimes, Mary wondered what would’ve happened if they hadn’t — at least not then. Maybe it would’ve been for the best. She couldn’t know how things were now, but she had always hoped that somehow they were good, and they were happy. But then again, she couldn’t know.
Oh, and sweet, sweet Peter. The one that had always kept her company when the others were too tired to stay up, but she still wanted to keep talking and talking — Mary had always loved to talk, and Peter had always loved to listen. He had been the one who had always given her the shoulder to cry on, who had always managed to flash her just the right smile. Smiley Pete, she would think at those times. Oh, how grateful I am for you.
And Dorcas. The beauty in itself. The one that carried light wherever she went. That carried smiles, and twinkling eyes. The kindest heart, the warmest hand, the softest words. And at the same time, the boldest, the bravest, the smartest. Mary had always wondered how could so many things fit inside one singular person. Multitask. She never blamed Marlene.
She thought of James, always. Oh, that one. Whenever she thought of him, it was like a storm invaded her mind. There were hardly any whole sentences she could form when thinking of James Potter, just random words, and feelings, really — smiles, laughter, bright, bright, rays of sunshine, dimples, mischief, laughter again, comfort, Lily, laughter, laughter, friend. James Potter was equal to the word ‘friendship.’ To the word ‘love.’ God, she missed him.
And of course, Remus. The brilliance of it all. Remus Lupin was all smirks, and sarcasm, and wit. He was intelligence, and irony. But he was also blind kindness, and a friendly hand, and a tall motherfucker who could step on Mary if he barely lifted his toe. He never did, and she appreciated it. Mary had never blamed Sirius, too.
Going to a boarding school for basically a third of your life meant that you had to, one way or another, adapt. And Mary had been fortunate enough to not only adapt, but to find family.
She had found it, but she had lost it.
She had lost it over clocks and watches, over maps and seas. Time had taken them, old and new places. She didn’t know where they had gone, how they had gone, when they had gone. She just knew they had gone.
She started the car, and her iPhone instantly connected to it, blasting Doja Cat from the speakers. Ok, let’s get her in a good mood, then.
She quickly took a picture of herself and posted on her Instagram stories, and within seconds there were over a hundred thousand views. Mary was used to it. She had had to, having over the years grown a platform of over two million followers, sharing beauty tips and fashion ideas.
Of course, with that also came the getting used to the people not thinking it’s an actual job part. It stressed her in the beginning, she couldn’t lie. She had wanted to be seen as successful, as put together.
Now she didn’t really care anymore, frankly. It made good—excellent—money, and it was something she loved doing, and was good at. Talk what they want. She was used to it.
She wondered if any of them followed her, if anyone checked to see how she was doing. It was hard knowing, really, being that with such a big platform she couldn’t quite check who followed her and who didn’t. Though, about a year ago, she had seen Sirius had liked one of her pictures. It had made her smile. She didn’t know if he followed her, though. Maybe he had just been curious one day.
Mary checked the time in the car’s display — 6:24PM. She was late, considering it was rush hour and she didn’t live near Hogwarts. But if she was lucky, she would manage to arrive just fashionably late.
So she drove. She got stuck in traffic for a good twenty-five minutes, but eventually she arrived.
Hogwarts looked like always, at least from the outside. Enormous, old and expensive.
In the parking lot, she took deep breaths, in and out, in and out. She could do this. She knew she could. She was popular Mary, after all. She could find someone to chat with. And if she didn’t, she could certainly look around for McGonagall and stick to her side like a lost puppy. The woman had always been a comforting figure at school, though you had to break through her to know. Underneath arched eyebrows and scolding looks, there was a gentle, loving woman, who cared deeply for her students. And maybe Mary and her friends had just wanted to feel special, but she had always felt like they had been a bit more than just students for the professor. If they had been like a family, McGonagall had been their mother. She just hadn’t known.
She climbed out of her car, and slowly made her way inside the school building. She really, really wasn’t in a rush.
And just like the outside, it all looked the same. A few minor changes here and there, but the same enough. Same old stone walls, same old arched doorways.
Just outside the entrance to the Great Hall, there was a desk covered in ‘HELLO My Name Is’ sticker tags and glasses and pots of Sharpies, and just above, a big banner that read ‘10 YEAR REUNION! Welcome, Class of 2011!’
For some reason, she smiled. Maybe it was the nostalgic air, or simply the feeling of being in a place she had called home for so long after ten years. She grabbed a tag, and wrote in her big cursive handwriting: Mary MacDonald, and a big heart, like she always used to sign her name.
She could be the old Mary for a night.
The hall wasn’t as full as she had expected it to be, or maybe everyone had just decided to be fashionably late.
She recognised some people; Alice Fortescue and Frank Longbottom — of course they were still together. The Prewett twins, Gid and Fab — the Marauders’ biggest competition when it came to their infamous pranks. Some of her old professors, like Slughorn — chemistry, and Hooch — gym.
But none of them.
Would they come? They could just not come. Again, she didn’t know what they had been up to. Maybe they were all scattered around the world; maybe they were all so busy with their lives they couldn’t make it; maybe they had died —Jesus Christ, Mary.
But yeah, maybe they wouldn’t come. She didn’t know how she hadn’t thought of that possibility.
She greeted some people, rubbed a surprising amount of pregnant bellies, kissed cheeks and shook hands, and eventually made her way to the table where they had champagne. Yes, she was driving, but one glass wouldn’t hurt anyone. She had a high tolerance.
And she just… stood there. She spotted McGonagall at some point, but the woman was busy with other alumnis, so Mary made a mental note to check up with her a bit later. She could go talk with Alice and Frank, stick to them like a lost puppy, but they had never been that close anyway — the conversation would die quickly.
That was until,
“Mary?!”
She turned on her heel.
Peter Pettigrew.