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On her way to breakfast, Mary Macdonald glances up only occasionally to navigate the rush of bodies, or to keep from losing her footing on the stairs, before giving her attention to the endless list of dates scribbled hastily on the parchment she has in hand.
She’s dreading the History of Magic test this afternoon. After spending most of the class alternating between struggling to stay conscious during every single one of Binns’ lectures, or passing silly notes back and forth with Lily and Marlene, Mary doesn’t feel overly confident in doing more than scraping by.
She doesn’t have the knack for memorization that Lily does, or the ability to look at a page of text once and recall it without fail at a later date, like Marlene. That, coupled with Professor Binns being the most boring professor in the entire castle, has made every semester in his class a struggle.
Only, Mary’s suddenly not sure why she’s wasted any time being worried over her exams. Or anything at all, for that matter. Not when she’s feeling light as a cloud. The parchment with her notes slips through her fingers, fluttering toward the ground, before being lost completely in the bodies herding toward the Great Hall.
Mary pays it no mind. She smiles at the gentle calm lulling her toward the edge of the stairs. She feels a swell of contentment, putting one foot in front of the other, until she’s close enough to throw herself off.
The impulse to take the final step, sending her tumbling down to the bottom, is so strong that Mary jolts. She’s sweating when she takes one step back, then another. There’s no one else on the stairs. The rush of bodies, mingled laughter and conversation, is gone. And there’s something terrifying about it, something she about the sudden silence that she can’t put her finger on, as her legs give out and she sinks to her knees.
“H-help me…”
Distantly, she’s aware of the sound of laughter, until it’s all she can hear. Crawling on her hands and knees back toward the edge, toward the drop and certain death, the laughter scrapes her raw from the inside. She tries to make out the faces, the ones laughing at her from below, but her vision clouds. Her arms give out, and she falls back against the stairs, the laughter chasing after her as she passes out.
Despite being ordered to remain seated, the entirety of the Great Hall is out of their seats, swarming into the Great Hall to watch Mary Macdonald being levitated to the Hospital Wing.
Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon push their way to the front of the throng; the former gasps, covering her mouth with both hands at the sight of her friend, pale and boneless in sleep, while Marlene seems to wilt, leaning on the redhead for support.
Emma Vanity takes in the scene from the back of the crowd. Her eyes flicker from the unconscious blonde, who passes quickly out of sight, to the members of her house. There’s a lot of whispering and raised brows, but she finds what she’s looking for when she spots Mulciber standing off to the side, failing to smother a grin as he whispers with Avery and Snape.
On instinct, Emma’s hand moves to her wand. Her fingers tighten around the wood as she watches them talk and laugh amongst themselves, with far too much triumph to be a coincidence.
Her instincts also tell her to rush up to them and begin beating the hell out of them, asking questions be damned. But she reigns herself, and the impulse, in.
Instead, she remains at the back of the crowd, content to watch, and wait.
The truth is that Macdonald’s nothing more than Emma’s Potions partner.
Slughorn got it in his head to pair them up at random, and they’d become the only Slytherin and Gryffindor pair of their class.
They work well together, and maybe, on occasion, Emma has to bury a smile at Macdonald’s running commentary on every single thing under the sun, including Emma’s head of house. And maybe any time the blonde smiles, it feels like Emma’s been kicked in the stomach, but in a good way.
Maybe all of that’s true, but it’s no reason to go to war with her own house. To push her books aside, draw her wand in the crowded common room, and press it to Mulciber’s worthless neck, as her housemates look on in stunned silence.
“Vanity-“
“You’re not talking right now,” she interrupts. “I am.”
She digs her wand into his throat to emphasize her point, and he presses into the wall, eyeing her like he has a mind to take her apart with his bare hands.
“Stay away from Macdonald, Mulciber. I know you think you’re big and bad because your father likes to stomp around and make a lot of noise about Muggleborns-“
“Mudbloods,” he spits the words, delighted by the way she growls at the word. “Like Mary Macdonald.”
The force of the curse knocks him back into the wall, and has the entire room up in a panic. Emma lets out one breath, then another, tucking her wand away, while resigning herself to the fact that she’s about to be expelled.
Any minute now, someone will run from the room, or scream the castle down. Bringing Slughorn in to take her away to the Headmaster, who will see another unruly Slytherin to cast out.
Instead, the panic gives way to utter calm as Peyton Parkinson stands in the center of the room, demanding attention simply by way of staring them all down before they can run to fetch an adult.
“This stays between us, as a house. If any of you so much as breathes a word to anyone, they’ll be finding pieces of you all over the castle. Understood?”
There’s no chorus of agreement, following her words. The fact that the room mostly returns to normal, as normal as possible with them having to move around Mulciber’s slumped form, and keeping a careful distance from Emma, is confirmation enough.
In private, Peyton crosses her arms over her chest, too thin, and worn around the edges to intimidate Emma. But the censure in her friend’s gaze leaves her feeling too exposed for her liking, and forces her to duck her head to avoid the intensity of the look.
“Emma, what you did today-“
“I never asked you to protect me, put your neck out for me that way.”
“That’s not what this is about! This is about you attacking Mulciber, of all people, in front of our entire house.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know you, Emma, and you wouldn’t act so recklessly without a reason. So I’m asking, what’s going on with you and Macdonald?”
“Nothing,” Emma answers, giving voice to the awful truth, and hating herself for it. “Absolutely nothing.”
A cluster of Gryffindors station themselves outside the hospital wing between classes and after meals. Madam Pomfrey has to practically chase them away, reminding them about curfews and calling upon the head of their house, should they break it.
It takes Emma three days, three days of watching and weighing her decision, to approach the group. She knows that she looks a fright, having forgone sleep in favor of tossing and turning in bed until sunrise. She knows she looks a little wild and wrecked as she approaches Evans, McKinnon, and Lupin. And she approaches, anyway.
“Has there been any word?”
Evans stares at Emma like she can sear holes through the center of her skull. For her part, McKinnon raises one eyebrow, and Lupin looks at her like she’s a puzzle, lacking in key pieces.
The fact that they are Macdonald’s friends, the friends who watch over her from a distance, and take in Emma like they can see far too much, sends a rush of nerves through her, that she refuses to show.
She waits only a few beats after asking, unwilling to stand there, providing them with the opportunity to accuse or shun, before turning, silently cursing Gryffindors and her own weakness.
But Evans offers her a crumb, saying, “We won’t know anything until she wakes up.”
And it isn’t much of anything, but relief overwhelms Emma anyway, and she doesn’t turn back to say thank you or fuck you for judging me. Just walks away, before they can see more than they have, already.
H-help me…
Mary gasps, sucking in a deep breath as she opens her eyes. The colors and sounds are too bright, and she closes them again, her body shuddering through wave after wave of nausea.
“Clear out! If you please…have a patient to tend…”
When Mary opens her eyes again, Madam Pomfrey is easing her head up enough to get a tonic in her, without her choking.
“For the nausea, my girl.”
The taste is nothing short of rancid, but Mary greedily drinks it, too tired to do more than drink and close her eyes again, her body begging for sleep.
The next time she wakes, Mary sits up in bed, fighting off the dizziness as she scrambles, reaching for her wand, and panicking when all she comes up with is a bed sheet. The laughter echoes throughout the room, raising goosebumps on her arms. She tries to swing her legs over the side of the bed, tries to call out for help, but her voice only comes out a rasp.
“Good heavens, Miss Macdonald, lie back before you injure yourself. That’s a girl.”
Mary tries to get the shaking under control as Madam Pomfrey takes her vitals, but it’s impossible with haunting echo of laughter still ringing in her ears. She considers asking the other woman how she can stand the sound of it, but even weak and confused, Mary knows she’s the only one in the room who can hear it.
She forces herself to lie back, breathing evenly as she answers Madam Pomfrey’s questions to the best of her ability. She draws a blank when asked about what she last remembers, other than getting ready for the day, and then…nothing.
No matter how hard she thinks back, it’s fuzzy and disjointed, and Madam Pomfrey tells her it’s okay, not to strain herself, placing a gentle hand at the center of her back, easing her back into the warmth and safety of the bed.
“Miss Vanity, is there something I can help you with? I won’t have anyone gawking at the poor child.“
Mary had previously been too busy nearing a full blown panic attack to notice the Slytherin Quidditch captain standing just inside the door, observing Mary with dark eyes that see far too much. Her gaze lingers for a few moments more, sweeping over Mary from head to toe, lingering, before she reluctantly addresses the other woman.
“Professor Binns asked me to speak with her about making up the History of Magic test.”
“You have five minutes.”
Madam Pomfrey wanders away to give them privacy, and Mary feels a rush of nerves when she looks back at Emma, who hasn’t moved from her spot near the door.
There’s something about the Slytherin that unsettles Mary. It could be the fact that she’s built so powerfully, tall and lean from years on the Quidditch pitch. She towers over Mary when they’re side by side in class together, and it’s almost comforting, most of the time, to be in the presence of someone so imposing.
At the moment it’s a bit intimidating, with Mary, small and rumpled in a hospital gown. She drags a hand over her tangle of hair, and then drops it into her lap, forcing them to be still and not flutter awkwardly in front of her.
“Binns wants you to know he's giving you two weeks to do the makeup test.”
Having said her peace, she dips her head and begins heading for the door. It's so abrupt, Mary wants to call her back. But she's at a loss, as far as what she would even say if the other girl did come to her bedside, so she lets her go.
“Thank you, Captain," Mary replies, her tone just short of teasing, causing the other girl to glance back once before clearing the door, leaving Mary alone once more.
Classes are nothing short of hell.
After a meeting with the Headmaster, in which he assured her that her safety was an utmost priority, and measures were being taken to address what occurred over a week ago, Mary is thrown back into the routine of meals and classes.
She’s grateful for the distraction, but getting back into things with the entire castle watching her, is nothing short of horrifying. At breakfast, she is flanked by Lily and Marlene, and the others who talk and laugh with her, trying to draw her out of her odd moods and silences.
Before, she could easily be the life of the party. Outgoing and animated, she had friends from each house, and loved making people laugh. Now, she’s wound so tightly, she has to remind herself to smile and chat, and try to drown out the bits of memory slowly coming back.
In Potions, Lily and Marlene reluctantly leave her for their own partners, and Mary joins Emma Vanity at their station. The dark haired girl is already looking over the list of ingredients, studying it with so much intensity, Mary pauses, not wanting to break her concentration.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
Mary wishes she could suck the words back into her mouth, physically drag them back in, as soon as she says it. The joke falls flat, and Emma looks at her, with those bottomless brown eyes, like she’s a few Hippogriffs short of a herd.
“What?”
“I mean, whoever did…what they did to me, I’m, ah, still here. So we’re still partners.”
“Looks like it.”
Mary tries not to wonder if the other girl even noticed her absence, shoving that line of thought firmly out of her mind, and back to focusing on the task at hand. They work in a stilted silence that’s only broken when Mary notices an item on the list that they neglected to get from the supply room, and volunteers to retrieve it.
She’s scanning the shelves and re-checking her list when the door to the supply room shuts with a soft click that makes her heart leap in her chest. Mary abandons her list and turns so she’s face to face with Mulciber, who grins at her startled look.
“Sorry, Macdonald,” he drawls, the grin he’s sporting in direct conflict with his words. “Wouldn’t want to scare you.”
Something very close to terror races along her spine. Her gut clenches, and the laughter, the fucking mad laughter that keeps her up each night, sounds like a grim warning.
“Get away from the door,” she says, with a defiant tilt of her chin meant to power through her fear.
“Or what? Where’s your wand, Mudblood?”
Without thinking, Mary brings up both hands, planting them against his chest and shoving him, hard, so his back collides with the shelf. The force of it sends glass jars rattling, and Mary makes her escape, brushing by him, missing his look of surprise in her hurry to shove the door open and re-enter the safety of the classroom.
Mary’s startled by the sight of Emma, whose hand is up, as if to grip the doorknob and haul open the previously closed door herself. Before Mary can babble something about forgetting to grab what they needed, Emma steps closer, the hand that is raised coming down to rest on Mary’s arm.
“Are you okay, Mary?”
Mary’s skin tingles where Emma’s fingers are touching her. She can feel her heart race for another reason entirely, and has to clear her throat before giving an answer.
“Yeah, I’m…”
Mulciber chooses that moment to make his appearance, slinking out of the supply room with a murderous look that turns into something close to regret when he catches sight of Emma. Intrigued, Mary looks between the two, and is startled by the naked animosity in the look Emma shoots him as she lets go of Mary’s arm and leans toward the Slytherin.
“Walk away, Mulciber,” she orders, only loud enough for the three of them to hear. “Before I make you.”
When he’s on the other side of the room, studiously ignoring them, Emma nudges Mary out of her thoughts, gently leading her back to their table.
The pair manages to stun Slughorn when, at the end of the allotted time, they haven’t produced a drop of the assigned potion. To avoid detention, Mary feigns exhaustion and places the blame entirely on herself, maintaining that Emma did the best she could with such an underwhelming partner.
The truth is that they had half-heartedly worked on the potion, devoting most of their time to talking quietly as they chopped and stirred. About halfway through, they took their eye off it entirely and ended up burning it beyond repair, having been too caught up in their world of quiet words and long glances.
The Professor doesn’t appear entirely convinced, but waves them away, as if unsure what to do with them, quickly moving on to grade the next pair.
To make up for their less than stellar performance in class, Mary and Emma agree to meet in the library after dinner to exchange notes that Mary missed during her absence from class. Emma is already seated at a table in the back, frowning over whatever she’s working on, when Mary arrives.
The dark haired girl slides her potions notes across the table, and Mary takes them with a quiet thank you, studying the tidy, compact handwriting more than the actual words themselves.
Nearly an hour passes before Mary’s finished copying the notes and making up the work she’s missed. She hands them back, and goes about packing up her things, taking longer than entirely necessary when she’s distracted by Emma getting to her feet and stretching. Mary finds herself staring too closely, tracking the other girl’s movements, and blushes, looking away quickly.
“Hey, I, ah… wanted to say thank you for earlier. In class,” Mary clarifies.
“No thanks necessary, Macdonald.”
“Of course it is,” Mary disagrees. “You didn’t have to say anything to Mulciber, but you did. And since then, he’s been acting like he’ll wet himself when he sees me.”
“Well, you are rather terrifying, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes. I suspect I give the first years nightmares.”
Mary draws the process of putting her things into her bag long enough that she catches Emma staring, head cocked as she waits expectantly.
“Would you mind walking me back?”
She doesn’t give Emma the chance to give an answer. In fact, the other girl’s expression doesn’t change until Mary begins rambling.
“I’ve been a bit jumpy, which is understandable. And I know I should just walk back alone, face my fears and all that. But I’m so tired of being afraid of things, shadows, I guess.”
She can feel the words coming out in a rush, and she hates that she can’t seem to just shut her mouth and stop already. When she pauses long enough to take a breath, Emma’s face is perfectly blank.
“Finished?”
“For now. Unless you’d like me to-”
“Please, no.”
“Right. Okay, I’m just going to-“
“Why did you ask like I’d say no?”
Mary thinks the answer should be obvious, but Emma sounds genuinely curious.
“Because I thought you would.”
“Then why-“
“Because fear is winning out over my pride, okay?”
It’s nothing short of a miracle to Mary when Emma pauses to adjust the strap over her shoulder, before holding one hand out for Mary to take like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“Okay.”
“You know,” Lily begins. “Vanity is pretty cute.”
The rest of the Gryffindor table is too caught up in whatever story Potter and Black are telling, complete with the kind of exaggeration that has the table rowdy with laughter, to pay attention to Lily and Mary’s quiet conversation.
Which is a blessing because she’s certain the whole table would notice the way her cheeks have suddenly reddened. Or the way her gaze becomes fixed on the table like it’s the most interesting thing in the room.
“She’s got that strong, silent type thing going on.”
“I haven’t noticed.”
“Really? You haven’t noticed the way she looks in her Quidditch uniform?”
“Nope.”
“Or how built she is. Like she could just pick you up and-“
“Okay, yes! I’ve noticed,” Mary hisses at her friend, before Lily can say more. “Are you done?”
“For now.”
Lily can’t hide her smug look, so Mary tosses a pea at her head in retaliation.
“You following me, Captain?” Mary demands, beginning their nightly ritual.
“Stop calling me that,” the other girl grumbles, as though it was meant to come out closer to a snarl and misses the mark.
“Sorry, can’t. I’d miss the way it sends you into a fit.”
They continue their walk in silence.
Mary leads, winding around the grounds, clutching the form Madam Pomfrey signed, saying that she was allowed to leave the castle as a means of stress relief, as long as she notified her Head of House beforehand and when she returns.
Emma follows, a few paces behind, not really walking with her. Instead, she acts as Mary’s shadow; silent, strolling with her hands jammed into her pockets, easily keeping up with whatever pace Mary sets, with her loose stride.
It’s always Mary who breaks the silences. In the past week, they’ve walked this way a handful of times. And each time, Emma keeps her distance, but is there all the same. Mary never bothered asking why she joined her each evening, without actually joining her, too relieved to have someone nearby, until now.
She whirls abruptly, and Emma stops short, hands tucked into her trouser pockets, waiting. Her dark hair whips around her shoulders and Mary has to physically stop herself before does something to embarrass them both, like closes the distance between them so she can twine her fingers around the strands, just to see how Emma will react.
“You don’t even like taking walks, do you?”
“Not especially.”
“Of course not,” Mary mutters. “You’re used to running laps. Bench pressing Hufflepuffs.”
That gets a smile out of Emma.
“Something like that.”
Then why are you here?
She doesn’t ask, even though the question rests between them. She’s not sure there is a why in all this. All she knows for certain is that the Slytherin asked her friends about her condition. She was there when Mary woke up, and she’s been there ever since, by her side, or never too far that she can’t reach Mary quickly, if need be.
And maybe that’s all that matters.
“I saw them move you to the Hospital Wing that day. And I was, uh, pretty scared.”
Mary’s stride slows until she comes to a complete stop, giving Emma more than enough time to catch up to her, so they’re side by side. Her nose is pink from the cold, cheeks flushed.
If they stay out much longer, her hands will be chapped, but Emma doesn’t say anything about it. She knows Mary hates gloves. The other girl admitted as much, saying it made it harder for her to draw her wand, and that wasn’t a risk she was willing to take after everything.
Now, she looks at Emma like she’s holding her breath. Her eyes are wide, like Emma’s revealed her innermost secret, instead of something as plain as day. And it makes her feel guilty.
Mary, for better or worse, is an open book. She’s the type to throw her arms around her friends after being separated for a class period. To laugh fully, or make her anger known with a dark scowl. Emma, on the other hand, tries her hardest to keep all those things locked down, visible only to a select few, when she can help it.
And she feels like she owes Mary this. Not that Mary would ever demand more than she could give. But, by virtue of being around someone so free with her feelings, Emma’s never been more compelled to try.
“You saw?”
They resume walking, slowly, shoulder to shoulder.
“Mhmm. When I knew it was Mulciber, I considered stunning him and tossing him in the lake.”
Mary sputters in reply, and Emma has to hold back her laughter.
“Throw Snape and Avery in after him, as well.”
“Mermaid food, huh?”
“That was the plan. But then I decided it was best not to. If anything happened to them, it was likely some from my house would retaliate.”
“They’d turn on you?”
“No. Not me.”
“Ah, of course. Why you when they could take it out on me?”
“That’s exactly what would have happened.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
The truth terrifies Emma. The words get twisted up somewhere along the way, and it takes a few tries, with Mary watching with naked curiosity, but she still doesn’t get it right.
“I’m shit at this kind of thing.”
“What thing-”
“Admitting that I care about you,” Emma blurts. “More than care. I…before you woke up, I was a mess. And I wanted to kill Mulciber, but more than that, I just wanted you to be okay. And now you are, and I thought I should tell you, even though it’s terrifying-”
“What’s terrifying about it?”
“Everything! How do I know I’m not the only one feeling this way? And if I am, it’s…fine. That’s fine. But you have to tell me because I’m completely out of my depth and-“
Mary raises one chilled hand to Emma’s cheek, effectively halting what is likely the most embarrassing, fumbled declaration she’s ever made. Emma goes completely silent as Mary draws closer, standing on her tiptoes. In the sudden rush of silence, she flicks her gaze up to Emma’s once before leaning in to press their lips together.
Despite the cold, with the wind howling around them, and snow collecting in their hair, Emma feels a flush start in her cheeks at the gentle press of the other girl’s lips against hers. Mary’s hand moves to Emma’s shoulder, fingers digging in to the fabric of her cloak as she steadies herself, and Emma slides her arm around her waist, so their bodies are aligned.
And it’s nothing short of perfect, feeling the warmth of the smaller girl and the way her lips curve into a smile against Emma’s when Emma draws her close, and closer still, until they’re trembling, laughing, and kissing one another in what feels like the center of the storm.
Epilogue
“Are you wearing any green?”
Mary looks scandalized when she pulls away, only to have Emma duck her head, following after her to capture the other girl’s lips once more. Mary leans into Emma, and the question is nearly forgotten. But the blonde takes a step back, then another to avoid being sidetracked again.
“Of course not! I can’t cheer for another House.”
“Not another house,” Emma clarifies. “Just me.”
“If I am, you have to promise not to get a big head about it.”
“No deal,” Emma replies instantly, her grin mirroring Mary’s.
“Well, I did put on a little something.”
“Show me,” Emma breathes, hands settling around Mary’s waist when she moves close enough to touch.
“If you insist-“
“I do.”
Laughing, Mary grips Emma’s arm with one hand, steadying herself as she lifts one leg, shoving up the ankle of her trouser to reveal a green sock, with a proud smile.
“A sock.”
“Well, what did you think it was? Matching bra and knickers?”
“A girl can dream.”
Still laughing, Mary presses her mouth to Emma’s in a quick, firm kiss for good luck.
“I love you, Captain. Do me proud.”
“I love you, too. Save a dance for me at the after party.”
They reluctantly part ways so Emma can go to her team, and Mary can make her way to the pitch with friends.
And if, close to the end of the game, a Bludger happens to make its way into the stands, nearly taking Mulciber’s head off, no one but the pair can say, in good conscience, that it’s anything other than an unlucky accident.