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Mary's fingers worried at a stray hem on her uniform skirt as she snuck furtive glances at the Slytherin table. A sullen, dark-haired boy sat at the far end, surrounded by chattering classmates, yet he did little to immerse himself in their conversations. Every now and then, someone would nudge him or seemingly address him, but withdrew moments later after receiving what appeared to be terse replies.
"...and so I never did get that kiss from her. An entire summer waste—Mary, have you heard a single word that I've said?" Dorcas asked, sounding exasperated and the tiniest bit hurt.
Mary blinked and tore her gaze away from the brooding figure of Antonin Dolohov. Dorcas' forehead wrinkled, a sign of concern that Mary knew she couldn't brush off easily.
"Sorry," she said quickly. "I was, er, thinking."
"About?" Lily prompted. She leaned forward and gave Mary a knowing smile. "Wait, let me guess—Antonin Dolohov?"
Mary tried to tamp down the blush that arose at the sound of his name. Her friends soon dissolved into giggles, however, so apparently she hadn't been successful.
"No," she said, but the denial sounded weak even to her own ears. Her cheeks still flamed as she stabbed a piece of chicken and cut it with a single, jerky slice of her knife. "It's like I told you on the train, he's nothing to me."
Dorcas frowned. "But if you could just explain what happened…You two were so close last year—"
"That doesn't matter anymore!" Mary snapped, allowing her cutlery to clatter back onto the table.
She had spent the entire summer trying to forget who and what Antonin was. More importantly, she had spent the entire summer trying to forget the way he made her feel.
How was it that the more she tried to forget, the more insistent the memories became? Everywhere she looked, there was some reminder of the past that they had shared: a tapestry that concealed their rendezvouses, a staircase where they allowed themselves to fall into step beside each other, the alcove where they kissed for the first time…
"What if someone sees us?" Mary asked, checking the corridor in each direction yet again.
Antonin cupped her face in his hands, forcing her neck to still. Forcing her to focus on his dark, expressive eyes. "We're the only ones here, Mary. Trust me."
She still did, then.
"We're completely alone," he whispered.
Those words sent a thrill down her spine. Aloneness was a luxury they were not often granted, and it was intoxicating. All Mary wanted to do was lose herself in his gaze. She might have had she not noticed the way his eyes kept flicking down to her lips.
She couldn't deny that she was curious about kissing him, too, so she arched her back slightly and allowed her eyes to flutter shut. That was enough of an invitation for him to close the distance between them.
Mary's breath hitched as he pressed his lips to hers. Every nerve ending felt as though it had been set ablaze. Seconds passed, or maybe it was minutes or even hours. She didn't know—she only knew that she never wanted him to stop.
"Mary…" Lily's voice broke through the memory.
Mary's eyes filled with tears as the haze lifted and reality set back in. She wasn't sure that she could make it through the Sorting Feast without breaking down, and the worried looks on her friends' faces weren't making things any easier.
"I think I need to go lie down," she said.
With that, she leapt up from her seat and hurried through the doors to the Great Hall. In her haste, she didn't see Antonin leave his own table and exit the hall just moments later.
The entrance hall was eerily silent as Mary made her way toward the grand marble staircase, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. She was used to seeing the hall teeming with students, but now, her every footstep echoed.
She wasn't alone, either, she soon realised. Someone else's footsteps echoed faintly behind hers.
Mary whirled around, expecting to see Lily or Dorcas, but the reality was much worse.
"What do you want, Dolohov?" She uttered his name with as much poison as she could muster. Judging by his unimpressed expression, it hadn't been enough.
"It's not safe to wander these halls alone," he said quietly. Mary knew better than to consider this a friendly warning—though his tone betrayed no malice, this was meant as a threat. She had seen firsthand what he and his friends were capable of.
Silence fell as Mary contemplated her response. She wanted nothing more than to tell him that she missed him, that she missed the way things used to be. But how could she, when he had chosen a path that so clearly strayed from hers?
Mary's heartbeat pounded in her ears as she struggled to overcome the noiseless void between them. An awful realisation was dawning, and it was impossible to fight. No matter what she did, no matter what she said, it would never be enough to reach him. He was too far gone.
"You'd best be getting back to the feast," she said at last. "You wouldn't want Mulciber to see you talking to me, would you? It might give him…ideas."
Mary didn't miss the way that his hands curled into fists when she said Mulciber's name, but his face remained an emotionless mask.
"Remember what I said, Macdonald," he muttered before stalking back towards the Great Hall.
Mary swallowed back more tears as she watched him leave, taking a piece of her heart with him as he did so.