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Mary hummed along to the tune drifting from the turntable on the countertop, stirring the slowly bubbling contents of the pan on the hob. The sun was setting outside, lighting the small kitchen with a soft orange glow. Glancing out the window, Mary frowned. It was getting late. The gold watch on her wrist – a gift from Remus on her birthday nearly four years ago – told her it was nearing nine o’clock.
Marlene had said she would be home before nine, promised even. But if she’d heard it once, she’d heard it a hundred times. If Mary had learnt anything from their ten-year friendship, two year ‘situation’ (as Lily had often referred to the long years it took for them to pull their heads out the sand and get their acts together), and subsequent three-year relationship, it was to take Marlene’s promises with a touch more than a pinch of salt. She didn’t mean it, of course, but after the tenth ‘of course I’ll remember to do the charms essay’ followed inevitably a few days later by ‘we had charms homework? Merlin, Mary, why didn’t you remind me’, Mary had come to understand that what Marlene says, what Marlene means, and what Marlene remembers do not always line up.
This was, however, slightly more important than charms homework. While technically it wasn’t their anniversary until tomorrow, Mary had done everything short of flat out telling her girlfriend she had something nice planned for the evening to ensure she wouldn’t be home late. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she checked the time again. Five past nine. The record on the turntable had spun itself into silence, so Mary busied herself with switching sides in a vain attempt to keep the ever-present darkening thoughts from creeping in. Marlene wasn’t even on a mission, she reminded herself. It was her first time meeting her baby nephew after all, she was likely just excited and lost track of the time. Yes, she told herself, stirring the pot on the stove again. That must be it. She would be back in the next half hour, full of apologies about the time, which Mary would roll her eyes at but ultimately fall for after a crooked smile, warm embrace and inordinate compliments to her cooking. However, she couldn’t help but worry. It wasn’t safe to go out these days, and it wasn’t as if Marlene’s family were particularly quiet about their opposition to you-know-who and the death eaters’ regime.
It wasn’t that Mary didn’t realise the importance of the war, see the need to fight back, and feel the danger of what would come to be if they lost; she just didn’t see why it had to be her friends, her girlfriend, on the front lines. They were barely adults; Marlene wasn’t even twenty-one yet. In the muggle world, the world Mary had grown up in, they would more than likely still be in university. It seemed only yesterday they had been in the girl’s dormitory, reading through the career pamphlets ahead of the OWLs. Marlene had said then that she should be an auror, and Lily had joked that if she was half as reckless as she was on the quidditch pitch, she wouldn’t last a week. They had all laughed then, it had seemed such a distant future.
Smoothing down her curly hair, Mary picked up the still sealed letter she had received earlier that day. She had been meaning to wait until Marlene was home to open it, but decided if she could forgive her lateness, Marlene could let go this small transgression. She settled into her too often occupied corner of the small loveseat, unfolded the parchment and read. It was from Lily, of course, and Mary felt the absence of her best friend more than ever. It had been almost a year since Mary had last seen her, and while they wrote to each other as often as they could, it wasn’t the same. Lily and James were well, she had written, and Harry too. She had attached a picture, of her and the baby, who was no longer a baby after all. He was almost one now, and the shock of dark hair reminded her fondly of James. Smiling, she moved back to the fridge, shifting a muggle takeaway menu over to stick the photo in its place.
Mary turned off the hob shortly after, resolving to cover the pan for now and heat it back up when Marlene finally arrived home. Making herself a cup of tea, she moved back to the sofa with a piece of parchment and a ballpoint pen. It really was so much easier than faffing around with a quill and ink and was one of the first muggle things she had managed to get Marlene to adopt upon leaving Hogwarts and moving in together. She had tried to convince her to get a television too, but after a visit to Mary’s parents’ house had ended with them seriously concerned for Marlene’s wellbeing after she tried to talk back to the people on the screen, she had given that one up. They didn’t work well around so much magic anyway, as Lily had confirmed for her after she’d thrown hers out when it sparked and died after Sirius stuck his wand too close.
Her reply to Lily took a while, and she had to stop mid letter to pick up her wand and mutter a spell to turn on the lights in the rapidly darkening room. Putting the letter aside, she picked up another piece of parchment and began to pen another to Peter. She had been meaning to write all week, and something Lily had mentioned had reminded her. He’d seemed sad lately, visiting her less and less. She supposed the war was taking its toll on everyone, but she hadn’t seen him for almost two weeks now and he was usually her most regular companion in the long days when Marlene was off on a mission usually paired with Sirius or another of their friends. This one took longer, and it her forgotten tea was long cold by the time she finally completed it, laying it next to the other.
Her stomach grumbled slightly, and it was with great difficulty that she averted her eyes from the watch which felt suddenly heavy on her wrist. There was no point checking again and panicking, she reminded herself. Marlene was okay, and she would be home soon. This wasn’t the first time she had been late – just last week she had slipped into bed at two in the morning muffling apologies in Mary’s hair as she wrapped her arms tight around her waist and pressed soft kisses to her forehead – and it would certainly not be the last.
Determined to stay awake until Marlene came home, Mary picked up her book from the side table and flipped it open to the folded page. It was a muggle romance; one she had read many times before. Lily gave it to her in fourth year, telling her she had snuck it from her sister’s room over the summer. The story wasn’t particularly good, and the male lead was frankly quite irritating, but she enjoyed it, nonetheless. When Marlene had asked her in fifth year why she was reading it for the third time, Mary had insisted (not wrongfully) that it was one of the only romance books she could find at Hogwarts. When she had asked again a year later, pulling it out from underneath her back on top of her duvet, Mary had simply pulled the book from her hand, dropped it to the floor and leaned down to kiss her, effectively silencing the question. She had asked once again, not long before they left the school for good, sticking her hand out from behind the bed hangings for a glass of water and accidentally knocking it off instead. Mary had told her to read it and find out. She had never told her why, never told her that despite the annoying love interest, the female lead reminded her inexplicably of Marlene. She thought this so much that when she first read it, she was sure Lily had done it on purpose, but when she asked her years later Lily insisted it was a complete coincidence and that it had nothing to do with whatever feeling she may have suspected Mary was harbouring at the time. After they had got together, officially at least, Mary had resolved to tell Marlene the truth the next time she asked. But she never did ask again, and so Mary had never told her.
A sharp knock startled Mary from her sleep. Groaning slightly, she raised a hand to rub at her stiff neck. Her book fell upside down onto the rug with a quiet thud. Light spilled in through the uncovered window, alerting her sleep fogged brain to the fact that it was morning. It was morning, and Marlene still wasn’t home. A second knock jolted her up, remembering what had woken her in the first place. She must have forgotten her key again, Mary thought, walking quickly towards the front door.
So sure was she that it was Marlene on the other side, blonde hair rumpled, ever-worsening dark circles under her eyes, but brown eyes sparkling and that familiar crooked smile firmly in place, that when she found herself staring at Remus Lupin standing in the dark stairwell outside her flat, she was momentarily speechless. Had she been more awake, more aware, she would have known what was coming then.
‘I’m so sorry, Mary,’ he said, voice hoarse. ‘I came as fast as I could, they only just told me.’
‘Sorry?’ she asked, confused.
He raised his eyes to meet hers, and she saw that they were oddly bloodshot.
‘Remus, what’s happened? Who told you what?’
He didn’t reply.
‘Remus, what is it? You look terrible.’ He really did look terrible, usually shadowed face looking gaunter than normal. ‘Look come inside,’ she said, starting to feel seriously concerned. ‘I can make you a cup of tea.’
He followed her inside, closing the door softly and sitting on the sofa in silence as she bustled around the kitchenette, boiling the kettle and steeping the teabags. She set one mug beside him and sat down beside him in the space usually occupied by Marlene, cupping her drink between her cold hands.
‘What’s happened, Remus?’ she asked gently. ‘I’ve not heard from anyone since yesterday morning, and Marlene’s been out. I was waiting for her to come home, but well you know how she is.’ She paused, searching his face. Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong. She felt her stomach drop. ‘Has something happened to Lily and James?’
Slowly, as if it took him great effort, he dragged his eyes from his tea to look quite into hers, but to a spot just over her shoulder.
‘I’m so sorry, Mary,’ he said, voice just above a whisper. ‘I… I thought someone had told you…’
‘Told me what, Remus?’
His eyes finally met hers, and everything stopped. She could see it in his eyes, that look that she had seen all to often lately in the eyes of her friends. And suddenly, it all made sense. I’m so sorry, Mary.
‘No.’
‘It was an ambush–’
‘No. No, Remus, no–’
‘By the time our people arrived–’
‘No, it’s– no, she’s coming home, Remus–’
‘The whole family, there’s nothing we could do–’
‘NO.’ Her mug slid from her hands and shattered on the ground. He stopped talking. Her hands were shaking. Cautiously, he reached forwards, as if to hold them still. She flinched back. ‘Out,’ she muttered, pointing at the door.
He didn’t move.
‘Out,’ she repeated, slightly louder this time.
‘Mary–’
‘Get out of my flat.’
He stood, shuffling towards the door. Reaching for the handle he turned and opened his mouth, as if to speak.
‘Get. Out.’
Before the door closed, before she could stop herself Mary was shouting after him.
‘This is what I said going to happen! God, all of you and your stupid fucking hero complexes! Didn’t I say it would get you all killed.’ Her voice caught on the last word, and as soon as the door clicked shut, her knees gave out. She didn’t realise she had been standing until she hit the floor. A sharp pain in her left hand, courtesy of the broken mug, caused her to look down. It was then, as she pulled the shard from her palm that she realised it was Marlene’s mug, her favourite one, pulled from the cupboard by accident in her earlier haste. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and it hit her. She was gone.
Never again would she see those shining brown eyes, feel soft blonde hair between her fingers, trace the freckles in the shape of a star of her back. Every look, every touch, every kiss, she had taken for granted, and trying to hold onto them all now felt like cupping water in shaking hands. She knew one day she would forget, forget the feel of her lips, the caress of her slightly quidditch roughened hands, forget that crooked smile she loved so much. But today she would remember. Staring down at the shard of china in her hand, tears blurring her vision, she almost wished that she didn’t.
She didn’t speak to anyone for months, leaving letters no doubt filled with heartfelt condolences to pile up unopened on the counter. She started sending them back after a while, shooing the owls away before they even reached her window. The phone was heavy the day she picked it up, newly installed television humming softly in the background and smoking parchment clutched in her hand.
He picked up on the third ring.
‘Remus,’ she breathed. ‘Remus… something awful has happened.’