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They drop dead, one by one. Like crossing items off a list.
First Dorcas. Then Marlene. Lily. James. Peter. Sirius’ betrayal.
It is only her and Remus left, though they have not spoken since the memorials. They couldn't even look each other in the eye, then.
Mary feels relief that Voldemort is gone, of course. But she thinks of all the funerals she's been to in the last few years, even to people she hadn't known all that well. Why did it have to end like that? With all those deaths?
She shuts her eyes, feeling the biting wind hit her face. New Year's Eve, 1981, two months since Lily, James and Peter’s murders, and Sirius’ betrayal. She is sitting outside a party, at her friend Lizzie’s, to welcome in the new year. 1982.
“Bloody hell, Mary, come back in, you'll freeze!” a man's voice comes from behind. She turns, the man hands her a flute of champagne, which she gladly accepts. What's his name again? Louis? David? She had gone to primary school with him, before Hogwarts, as she did with Lizzie.
“Countdown's soon,” he reminds her, winking. She grips the drink and walks back inside with him, to the living room.
The party is filled with people she went to primary school with, the people she knew before she found out she was a witch. The ones she had forgotten about when she went to Hogwarts, in hopes of fitting in with the wizarding world. So much good that had done her. All she was left with was a sour taste when it came to magic and dead friends.
Mary looks around at the party-goers. They are happy, drunk, and completely oblivious to anything she has gone through in the last few years. She doesn't blame them, how could she? But still, there is a funny feeling in her chest seeing friends wrap their arms round each other, sharing a good time.
If her own friends weren't dead, she'd be celebrating the new year with them. She would not be at this party, and all would be well in the world, because they'd be alive, and she wouldn't hate the fact that she survived. James would be bouncing Harry on his hip, Lily would be making sure Peter wasn't too drunk, Sirius would be dancing with a grumpy Remus and Marlene would be kissing Dorcas’ cheeks. It would be perfect.
Lizzie, as if sensing Mary's sadness, comes round and pulls an arm over her shoulder. Mary softens, she really should have written to Lizzie more when she left for Hogwarts.
“Alright, Macdonald?” she asks. Mary nods, trying to smile.
“10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3...2…1! Happy New Year!” the crowd cheers while Lizzie hugs her. She hugs back, but less enthusiastically. Someone sets off mini confetti cannons. Mary downs her champagne quickly.
She goes off in search of more alcohol.
——
Mary puts her wand away, in the bottom of her drawer at her new apartment. She vows to rarely use magic and live as though she were just a regular muggle. Her home is not connected to the Floo network, and when she sends letters it's by post, not by owl.
Magic is too painful.
She enrols in a part-time language teaching program, to be certified to teach German. Damn Hogwarts for leaving her essentially education-less unless she wanted to live amongst wizards. As if her whole existence as a witch wasn't tainted by being Muggle-born, and therefore would've made getting a wizard's job ten times harder.
She swears she is done with the wizarding world after the nasty hand it's dealt her thus far.
No one in her family seems to mind that she doesn't use magic anymore, if anything they seem relieved. She tries not to let this bother her, even though it was what she wanted.
She goes on a few dates with Daniel from the party—turns out his name wasn't Louis or David. He's nice—and a muggle. He's finishing up a degree from UCL in English literature, with plans to pursue a PhD.
He makes her happy.
April 12, 1982. One year since Dorcas died.
July 4, 1982. One year since Marlene.
October 31, 1982. One year since Lily, James and Peter. Since Sirius’ betrayal and sentencing to Azkaban.
She and Daniel marry in August of 1984, a year before Daniel gets his doctorate. Mary invites Remus, who shows up looking hollow, but carrying a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses.
“It's not much,” he says sheepishly.
“It's perfect,” she insists, and it's true. “How are you, Remus?”
He shrugs. There are more scars on his face and he limps. Are his transformations getting worse?
“Just as you'd expect,”
“But are you taking care of yourself?” she presses.
“As well as I can. Really, Mary, I’m fine,”
Fine. Not good. Or great.
The look on his face is basically begging her to not question him anymore.
She obliges.
She and Daniel move into a nice home on the outskirts of London, and both take teaching positions at a local school. Mary in German, Daniel in Literature. He does not know she is a witch, and she decides she will never tell him if she can help it.
She is a muggle now, thank you very much.
Over the next few years, she sees Remus twice, and speaks to him on the telephone only a handful of times. He knows not to contact her the wizard way. Their conversations are brief, and anytime she physically sees him, he looks shabbier and sicker. And each time, he doesn’t mention it. And each time, she doesn’t ask.
She wonders if she ought to. But she knows different people deal with things differently. Hadn’t she run away from her old life?
In March of 1986 she gives birth to her and Daniel’s daughter, Anna.
Mary prays Anna is a muggle, so she won’t have to lose another person she loves to magic.
Her life is quiet. Peaceful, not filled with volatile war and Dark lords on a blood supremacist trip. She works. She takes care of her daughter. She loves Daniel with all her heart. She honours her friends each year on their death anniversaries privately in her room. Daniel never seems to notice.
She has not performed magic since 1981. And Mary does not miss it. She does not even think she can apparate anymore.
In August of 1993, twelve years after the deaths of their friends, Remus Lupin shows up on her doorstep. Mary is home alone, not having any classes to teach or cover today. Daniel is at work, Anna at school.
They have not seen, or spoken to each other since 1986.
He looks just as shabby as the previous times, but his eyes are alive.
“I’ve got a teaching position at Hogwarts. Defence Against the Dark Arts professor,” he begins.
“That’s…that’s great, Remus,”
“Did you know Snape’s a professor too? Potions,”
“Slimy git,” she replies. Remus smiles. But she can tell he’s not here to gossip about horrid, awful Snape.
“Sirius has escaped from Azkaban,” he says.
Her eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. “What?”
“I know,” he nods grimly.
“Are you okay?” It’s a loaded question.
“I think so. Dumbledore wants me close, in case Sirius tries to contact me,”
“Oh,” is all she says. Trust Dumbledore to have ulterior motives to everything.
––––
Remus calls her that November. She has no clue how he got a phone to work near Hogwarts, and she doesn’t ask.
“I saw him,” Remus says urgently.
“Sirius?”
“No,” he replies impatiently, “Harry.”
She sucks in a breath. It’s embarrassing to admit that she barely gave Harry a second thought all these years.
“He’s just like James,” Remus continues, furtively. “But a great load of Lily in him too. It’s scary.”
“How is he?”
“As okay as someone like him could be. Would you…ever want to meet him?”
The line goes quiet while Mary thinks. How painful would it be to see her best friend and her husband’s face reflected back to her? She doesn’t think she could stomach it.
“I don’t know.” Mary says.
“Okay,” Remus replies, understanding fully. Damn him, she thinks.
–––
He calls again, in June of 1994.
“It wasn’t Sirius,” he begins, out of breath.
“What?”
“It wasn’t Sirius who betrayed Lily and James. It was Peter,” Remus continues.
“Peter is dead, Remus,” she says. Had he gone mad?
“He’s not dead,” Remus practically spits. His voice shakes with anger. “Sirius and Peter switched being Secret Keepers at the last second, maybe they thought they’d outsmart Voldemort or something…”
Mary flinches at Voldemort’s name.
“And then Peter, damned, fucking Peter went to Voldemort’s side, knew that boy never had a spine to him…framed Sirius and now he’s run back to his little master, that rat.” He’s practically shouting now.
“Voldemort is still alive?” Mary asks very quietly.
“Yes, I’m ‘fraid so,”
She quickly puts the phone back in its receiver, hanging up without even asking Remus how he was feeling.
Sirius, back. Sirius, innocent. Peter, guilty.
Voldemort, still alive.
No. No, she will not do this again. She will not go through war again.
–––
Mary hears news of mysterious disappearances. This was how it started, all those years ago.
–––
June 18, 1996. Remus comes over, unannounced.
He looks just like he did October 31, 1981.
“Who died?” she asks when she opens the door.
“Sirius,” his voice is raw, eyes red and staring into the distance.
Another friend, dead. Like another name to be crossed off the list.
She invites him in, and he sits down heavily on her couch. She knows every emotion possible is running through his head. First, he thought the boy he loved betrayed their best friends. Then it turned out he was innocent. And now he was dead. So much lost time.
She does not ask if he is okay, because she knows the answer, he is not.
Mary makes him a cup of tea, and sits beside him. He grips her hand.
“I don’t suppose you want to join the Order again?” Remus asks.
“I…Remus, I can’t,” she says. Her head swims at the thought. He nods, understanding all too well.
––––
March 15, 1997. Anna’s eleventh birthday. It passes in a quiet flurry. Anna has invited a few school friends over for dinner and cake.
No Hogwarts letter arrives, much to Mary’s shameful relief.
June, 1997. Remus calls and says Dumbledore is dead. His voice is hollow. Weathered out.
She wonders if maybe the war will go better now that Dumbledore is dead.
Then Remus’ voice brightens, slightly. He had gotten married, in a rushed ceremony. To Andromeda’s daughter, Nymphadora.
“Congratulations, Remus,” Mary said quietly. She promised that once the war was over (even though from Remus’ voice it sounded bad) he and Nymphadora would be invited over for dinner.
Unknowingly, that would be the last time Mary Macdonald would ever speak to Remus Lupin.
–––
It is May 2nd, 1998. Mary is at home, washing dishes in the sink when she sees an owl circling outside, before tapping its beak on the window glass. A letter is attached to its foot.
She goes cold and drops her pan, opening the window.
The writing on the envelope is green, addressed to her from Minerva McGonagall. God, she hasn’t thought about McGonagall, her old head of house, since…
Well, a very long time.
Her hands shake as she tears open the envelope.
Mary begins to read.
Mary,
I hope you are well. To say the last few years have been trying would be an understatement. But, the war is won. Voldemort is dead for good.
I know you have distanced yourself from our world, and I cannot say I blame you.
Unfortunately, I bear awful news. Remus Lupin died last night, in the final battle. I understand you two kept in contact over the years, so I figured you should know. His wife, Nymphadora, has also passed. They are survived by their infant son, Teddy.
The memorials for all those we have lost, including the Lupins, will be held next Tuesday on the Hogwarts grounds. I am sure he would have wanted you to be there.
Peter Pettigrew is also dead. Confirmed. As is Severus Snape.
Best,
Professor Minerva McGonagall
She puts the letter down, tears falling from her eyes. Why is it so difficult to breathe?
Remus has a son.
Remus is dead. So is his wife.
Peter is dead, though she doesn’t care about him. He deserved his end. She hoped however he died, it was painful.
Snape is also dead. Though she also does not care much about him.
–––
Mary brings her wand with her to Hogwarts, taking it out of the same drawer she put it in years ago. It feels odd in her hands again; she has not felt the rush of magic in years. She doesn’t know why she brings it with her. Maybe to prove something.
Apparating after not doing it in so long leaves her breathless and sick. She lands just outside of Hogsmeade village, and begins walking up to the castle, feeling breathless and dizzy.
The once great castle of Hogwarts stands broken, rubble laying around it.
The memorials take place down by the Black Lake. There are chairs set up, filled with students, adults, anyone really. Mary recognizes Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Slughorn and Madam Pomfrey, the Weasleys, but not many others.
She takes a seat at the back, far out of everyone else’s way.
Over fifty people died in the Battle of Hogwarts, children among them. She thinks of Anna. If Anna were a witch, a student at Hogwarts, would she be among the dead?
A boy with messy black hair and glasses walks to the front.
Mary nearly topples out of her seat.
Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, the boy who defeated Voldemort, once and for all.
The spitting image of James and Lily, just like Remus said.
As Harry talks, Mary scans the rest of the crowd. An elderly woman sits near the front, holding a baby whose hair colour changes nearly every second.
That must be Andromeda. Mary had only met her once, and war and time had aged Andromeda. The baby must be Remus and Nymphadora’s. Once Harry finishes speaking, the crowd stands up, raising their wands to the sky, ends lighting up in memoriam.
Mary follows suit.
“Lumos,” she whispers.
It is the first time she has performed magic in sixteen years. It feels like returning home.
It’s a lovely moment, and Mary almost lets herself cry, something she has not allowed herself to do for a while.
People begin to break off into smaller groups, chatting, or going back to the castle for food.
Professor McGonagall stops her before she can get too far back to the castle. “Mary! How are you?”
She clears her throat. Harry walks up with Professor McGonagall.
“I’m…alright, Professor. I suppose,”
“Good…I don’t think I need to introduce you to Harry Potter, seeing as you two’ve already met,” McGonagall gestures to Harry, who steps forward, sticking his hand out.
Mary takes a good look at him. He looks…fine, smiling calmly as if he didn’t just defeat a Dark wizard a week ago.
“Hello, Harry, I haven’t seen you since you were a baby,” she reaches out to shake his hand.
“You know,” he chuckles, “not many people have told me that.”
“You look just like your father, but––”
“I have my mother’s eyes. I know.” he smiles jovially. “That, I’ve heard many times.”
“I’m sure you have,” Mary smiles back. It really is true though, the resemblance is almost uncanny.
“One day, I’d love if we could talk about them. Seeing as you’re one of the only people left who really knew them,” Harry continues.
Mary stops breathing for a minute. To hear that verbalized…
Except it’s true. She is the only one left. It was about time she faced it.
“I’d love to, Harry,”
And she really means it.
–––
For the next six decades, Mary honours her friends each year. She has monthly chats with Harry, and when he’s old enough to speak, Teddy Lupin as well. She shows them pictures of their parents, group pictures taken while at Hogwarts, and during the Order.
She never fully integrates herself back into the wizarding world, but she becomes comfortable with the idea again. She uses magic occasionally. She finally tells her husband and daughter what she is, and they love her for it.
One night, on New Year’s Eve, when she is ninety-seven years old, Mary Macdonald goes to sleep, never to wake up again.
When she does open her eyes, it’s to a sight she hasn’t seen in over fifty years.
The living room of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter’s home, fire roaring and six young adults sitting on the couches.
Upon looking at her, a red-haired woman jumps up to hug her.
“Mary!” Lily squeals.
Mary has not seen Lily in so long, but Lily Evans-Potter looks the exact same as she did in 1981. The rest turn around.
Marlene. Dorcas. Remus. James. Sirius. No Peter, it seemed. Good.
Marlene, Dorcas, and James, like Lily, look virtually unchanged from the last time she saw them.
Sirius’ face is slightly more weathered, his teeth a bit cracked. Remus also looks older.
This is the afterlife, Mary realizes.
“Oi, is that you Macdonald? Look at you, you’re old!” Sirius exclaims, kissing her on both cheeks.
“You looked much worse when you got out of Azkaban,” Remus tuts. “Sorry, Mary, you still look gorgeous.”
“Why, thank you, Remus.”
“Watch it, Moony!”
She can’t quite believe it.
“Shut up, Black. Oh, I’ve missed you!” Marlene says, she and Dorcas coming to give Mary hugs.
This is heaven. It has to be. She was not one to believe in an afterlife, but…
“Right, all of you are awful,” Lily says, “I’m glad one of us got to grow old, live a little.”
Mary smiles painfully, tears pricking her eyes.
“You’re just in time, Mary,” James says, pouring champagne into a glass. “The new year’s coming in soon, we were wondering when you’d show up.”
“We didn’t want you here too fast, of course,” Dorcas says hurriedly. Mary nods, throat thick. She takes the glass from James, staring around the room bewilderedly.
This is what she had always wanted.
They sit and chat for a bit, her friends asking about the rest of her life. She tells them about Daniel, and Anna, and assures Lily and James that Harry is alright. He has his friends, wife, children and grandchildren to keep him plenty company. She says the same to Remus about Teddy.
Then Sirius puts on a record, making Remus stand up to dance. The rest of them follow suit, while Mary sits on the couch and watches. Marlene kisses Dorcas’ cheek, while James twirls Lily around. Mary claps to the beat, forcing her friends to stay in-time.
She feels so incredibly at peace here, glad that this is what dying is, after a life torn by war and death and loss.
“Come on, you lot! Midnight’s in a few seconds! You too, Mary, someone help grandma stand!” James cheers, throwing an arm around Lily’s shoulder.
“James!” Mary gasps in fake shock.
He shrugs. Remus play slaps him over the head.
They raise their glasses, welcoming in the new year.
Together, at last.