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It’s six hours after Mary loses the love of her life that she realizes Lily’s son is still alive. In that time, her entire world as she knew it shattered. There were already so few of them left, but one traitor, who had fought so hard to prove he was not like his family, destroyed it all.
She spends those six hours grieving a love that could never be, the ray of sunshine who captured Lily’s heart, the most loyal boy she ever knew.
(She will never learn that the boy of loyalty destroyed the only good thing she had left.)
Only when McGonagall comes by her flat that she used to share with Dorcas, does she figure out that Hari Potter still lives, and in that moment, she knew she needed to find Dumbledore.
Mary Macdonald disliked Dumbledore since she first heard his pompous speech as a first-year student. However, her mild contempt grew into hatred when he refused to expel Mulciber, Avery, and Crouch when she was viciously attacked in her seventh year. This worsened even more when Dumbledore had no problems letting teenagers fight in a war they were too young to die for.
She didn't know where Hari was, but she had an idea, and if it were correct, Dumbledore would have hell to face.
In a rage, Mary flooed to Dumbledore’s office at Hogwarts, mentally demanding that he be there so she could speak with him.
Merlin must have heard her because he was sitting at his desk, enchanting a quill to write on a piece of parchment, and eating a lemon tart. His chair looked like a throne.
She had never hated him more.
He glanced up, eyes shining with sympathy. “Mary, I’m relieved you're doing alright. I’m deeply sorrowed by what has transpired.”
Mary couldn't help it. She laughed deep, wretched, and heartbroken, which sounded more like a sob towards the end. To his credit, Albus’s expression didn't shift; his face remained passively blank.
Then, with a frightening urgency, Mary stilled. Her eyes narrowed at her mentor as a realization struck her chest, filling her heart with ice.
“That's a good one,” Mary said, voice cold. “I could almost believe that you mean it.”
Dumbledore wisely chose not to say anything.
“Just like I could almost believe you when you said sacrifices had to be made in the face of war. I could almost believe you grieved Marlene, Danny, Dorcas, Gid, Fab, and Emmeline. But you didn't, and you never will. Because having power and getting what you want in the end is more important than being responsible for the murder of literal children!”
“Of course,” Mary continued, “we should’ve known that, shouldn't we? We’ve read biographies about you, and we know how you sacrificed your family and lover just to gain power. Was it worth it? Are you pleased that Lily, Peter, and James have joined Ariana and Grindelwald?”
Dumbledore’s eyebrow twitched at the name of his fallen sister and partner and Mary got a vindictive sort of pleasure from it. It was the most emotion she had ever seen of the old man.
Mary shook her head, refocusing on her objective, “That’s not why I’m here though. Where is Hari?”
The old man’s face remained impassive, his cold eyes looked up at her. And Mary Macdonald, with a heart that thought it couldn’t break anymore, shattered when Albus Dumbledore said, “He is under the protection of Petunia Dursley.”
No.
No.
No no no no no.
Mary knew of Lily’s infamous sister and her grotesque husband. Mary knew that when Lily first brought James home, Petunia’s (then) boyfriend, Vernon, had called James a ‘dirty Arab’ even though James was Indian. She knew all the mistreatment that Hari was no doubt going to suffer.
“Albus,” Mary said, her voice cracking, “You can’t. You know what the Dursleys are like. You’ll be lucky if Hari doesn’t grow up an Obscurus!”
“It’s a sacrifice we must be willing to make. He shall be protected by the blood wards.”
A sacrifice.
A sacrifice.
So many are dead, yet Dumbledore counts them all as sacrifices, as collateral. He’d condemn an infant to a life of abuse so that he could be able to manipulate the boy when the time came. She knew how the bastard worked, she knew that he’d take in strays, children with no knowledge of how love worked, feed them a few slivers of affection and rub their bellies, then send them off to war like lambs to slaughter.
No, he’d done it with Sirius and Remus and Dorcas and Pandora, she’d be damned if she let the same thing happen to Lily’s son.
“Let me take care of him.”
Albus raised an eyebrow, something like pity shining across his face, “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Ms. MacDonald. The blood wards…”
“Fuck the bloody blood wards! I’m a competent enough witch. Let me watch over him! Lily and James would rather have him live without blood wards than be shunned for who he is!”
“There are things too complicated for your understanding, Ms. Macdonald. Hari will remain at the Dursley’s residence until he receives his Hogwarts letter at 11. You cannot raise him.”
Mary narrowed her eyes, “Why? So that you can manipulate him when the time is right? I think not. If you don’t let me raise him, I will fight Albus. I will reveal to the Ministry that you’re having the precious Boy-Who-Lived go off and be abused by an incompetent family of bigots. They’ll sack you before you can even leave your shoddy old chair.”
Dumbledore sighed, “I was afraid you would say that.”
Mary frowned, about to question his words when he stood up, his wand pointed at her face. She tried to move and grab her wand from her back pocket but couldn’t; an invisible force, voiceless magic from Dumbledore, locked her limbs in place.
“What? What are you doing?” Mary gasped as she tried to escape.
“For the record, I did like you, Ms. Macdonald,” Dumbledore said, his voice scarily impassive, “But this is a sacrifice that needs to be made.”
“Dumbledore, what? What? You can’t do this!” Mary stared at her mentor, the figurehead of good, tears shining in her eyes.
I am so sorry, Lily.
“Obliviate.”
…
At the age of 21, Mary Macdonald was involved in a major car accident, causing thin, silvery scars to stretch across her abdomen. The car accident caused major damage to her brain- particularly the hippocampus, causing her to lose a majority of her memories from the last decade.
At the age of 21, Mary Macdonald had no idea where she had been or what had happened from age 11 to waking up in the hospital room.
At age 21, Mary’s mom told her she attended the same schools as her two older brothers- even if she doesn't recollect any of it.
At age 21, Mary unwillingly leaves behind the broken mess she used to call her family. A man who sings the moon song is the only one left. In 1981, Mary Macdonald forgot about a girl she loved with red locks.
At age 21, Mary Macdonald starts her life anew.
Mary didn’t remember much about her life before the accident. She knew the basics: her mother, father, and two older brothers. She knew she must have gone to the same school as her siblings, even if that memory was lost.
She knew that for some reason, she had a red lock of hair stashed in a locket wrapped around her neck that she could not bear to throw away. She didn’t know where the hair came from, or why broomsticks made her think of a girl with short dyed hair whose name escaped her.
She was 26 now, and what she knew, was that here, running the flower shop that she co-owns with her husband; she was happy, even if a feeling of something missing and lost filled her soul sometimes so intensely that she couldn’t breathe.
It was a normal day when he came in. Her daughter, Dahlia, tiny and in a back carrier, cooed softly in her sleep. Mary’s husband, Paul, at their home, preparing their third bedroom for the baby that grew in Mary’s womb.
Mary was fixing a bouquet, a white lily in her hand when the man stepped in. He’s tan with a mop of dark curly hair on his head. Thin, pale, scars wrap across the bridge of his nose and down his right eyebrow. He was leaning on a cane, limping towards the counter, eyes wide on the shop.
“Hi, is-” Whatever the man was going to say was cut off when his eyes landed on her, “M-Mary?”
“That's me,” Mary said, uneased that he already knew her name, “Welcome to ‘In Bloom!’ How can I help you?”
The man’s jaw dropped, and sorrow flashed through amber eyes. His breathing picked up, and a short, hysterical laugh bursts out of his throat.
Instantly, Mary took a step away, her arms wrapped around her belly, Dahlia hidden behind her back. She knew her position; a young woman, alone, weak with two young children.
The man seemed to realize this, quickly straightening his hunched shoulders and looking at her again, an illusion of calm over his face.
“Apologies,” he said, “I just- I can’t believe it's you. I can’t believe you did…”
“Pardon,” Mary interrupted the man, debating whether she should secretly call 999. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Sorry,” the man said again, wiping his hands on his trousers, “Yeah, erm, I’m Remus. We ah- we went to the same school.”
Knowingness comes to Mary’s mind, grief for something she knew she must’ve had before she lost it all. “Right, I would say it's good to see you again but I actually got into a car accident five years ago that took away basically all of my teenage memories.”
Remus’ face fell, tears welling in his eyes before he calmed his expression. Mary shifts uncomfortably, taking Remus’ expression to the infant in the back carrier.
“You- you have a kid,” Remus said, grief rampant in his expression. He sniffed, his eyes widened even further, “And- and you’re pregnant.”
Mary frowned, she shouldn’t be showing yet, barely past the six-week mark. “Yes,” she said hesitantly, a headache blooming behind her eyes. The feeling of knowingness from the stranger was overwhelming, she definitely knew him from before. He felt familiar; he felt like home.
Late nights in the common room, laughing and studying. Candy wrappers littered the floor. Wishing this moment could last forever, wishing there wasn’t a war that had already taken so much from them.
“Mary?” Remus said gently, breaking her out of the flashback.
“Sorry, erm, yeah,” Mary stuttered, “Just hard, I suppose. Looking at people you’re supposed to know.” Remus’ eyebrow twitched and Mary noticed water forming in his eyes.
“Yeah, I imagine that’d be difficult.” It was weird, he had a Welsh accent, but Mary couldn’t remember a single time she’d been to Wales. Granted, her memory was spotty now, so she supposed she could’ve been in Wales for a bit, but it didn’t match up, considering it felt like she’d known this person her whole life.
Dahlia whined in the back carrier, starting to cry. Mary sighed, taking her out. “Sorry,” she said to Remus, “I’ve got to get a baby bottle out of the fridge. You can look around a bit if you want?”
Remus shook his head, looking uncomfortable, “No, it’s alright. I’ll just head out, don’t erm… don’t worry about it. It was- it was nice seeing you again, Mary.”
Mary smiled, “It was nice seeing you as well,” Remus left the shop without another word. Mary sighed, the interaction confusing, but Mary had other things to do, like feeding the fussy baby in her arms.
Later that night, Mary couldn’t fall asleep. She’d been tossing and turning for the better part of an hour, until Scott, her husband, asked her if she was okay.
“Yeah,” She sighed, laying on her back, her hands resting on her stomach, “Just met someone earlier who went to school with me.”
She felt Scott shift beside her, while they’d met almost two years after the car accident, she’d told him all the details of the aftermath. “How did that go?” He asked, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.
She frowned, “I don’t know; it was odd… Like I knew him my whole life, but when I tried to remember, everything just… slipped.”
“Do you know why he’d only see you now? Why he’s the only friend that would see you after all this time?”
Dazzling green eyes, soft curves, a laugh like bells, and a heart of fire.
Fireworks and dyed hair and ripped tights and rebellion.
Long braids and dark lipsticks, silver rings, and a voice that commanded attention.
Caskets filled with bodies too young to be buried, grieving a love that could never be.
“I think… I think there was a falling out of some sort. Remus seemed pretty uncomfortable to see me.”
“Remus,” Scott mused, “‘Bit of an odd name ‘innit?”
“Remus Lupin. Wolfy McWolf,” Mary whispered, feeling a puzzle piece had clicked into place.
“What was that, Love?” Scott asked.
The puzzle piece vanished again. Mary frowned, what… what had she been thinking about? “I don’t remember, something about wolves.”
“Wolves?” Scott asked, a ghost of a laugh in his words.
“Yeah, wolves,” Mary said softly, her mind whirring away. “I’m going to try and sleep, baby’s tiring me out.”
Scott sat up, “Do you want me to make you some camomile, Love?”
Mary smiled, “That’d be lovely, thank you.”
Only three days later Mary realized Remus never mentioned his last name.
…
He returned two months later, this time with a cardboard box in his arms.
Mary was working at the flower shop again, enjoying her first week of the second trimester, which had the nausea slowly abating. Dahlia was with Scott for the day, and Mary didn’t mind the silence. The door chime rang and Mary turned around, “Hello! Welcome- oh! Hello, Remus.”
Remus flinched minutely, then thrusting his hands out, the small box in his arms.
Mary took it, her curiosity peaking, “What is this?”
“It’s a um… it’s a few mementos from our school days. I know a lot of our friends would’ve liked to see you, but they’re elsewhere now. I’m the last one left,” Remus said, an emotion flickered across his face too quickly for Mary to identify.
“Oh! Well that’s alright, my brother moved out of London himself, he’s a photographer in Switzerland now,” Mary said brightly.
Remus winced, “Yeah, erm, anyways, it’s mostly photos in here, a few keepsakes and things as well”
“That’s really sweet of you, Remus. You didn’t need to do all that.” Mary said, then she opened the box and froze. Remus said something in reply, but Mary didn’t hear it over the ringing in her ears.
It was the people; the girls.
The girls that she dreamed about, haunted her memories like ghosts. Whenever she’d close her eyes, she’d see them behind her eyelids: Flashing smiles and frozen stares. There were so many pictures of all of them. They were all smiling, in every single one.
“Wh-what are their names?” Mary asked, voice shaking. It was strange, looking at all these teenagers that she knew had to be well into their twenties by now. Like she’d known them forever. She was supposed to know their favorite colors and ice cream flavors, their wants, dreams, fears, and every single secret told under the blankets. Yet, when she tried to remember, it was blank.
Remus cleared his throat, “That was Peter,” he said, pointing to a larger boy with short blond hair, a faint blush dusting over acne scars. One eyebrow was raised and his lips were posed in a smile.
Sweet Peter. Quiet at first, but quick to retaliate and quip once you knew him. Always sneaking down to the kitchens when someone mentioned they were hungry, returning with their favorite sweet, even though they never mentioned it. Peter loved to gossip with Mary when the others got tired of it.
Sweet Peter.
“And that was James,” Remus continued. A boy with dark skin and jet-black curls. Large, crooked, circular glasses with a matching lopsided smile.
Loveable James. He lit up every room he stepped into. His notes were always filled with silly doodles and drawings. Extremely protective of everyone he knew. Mary always found his belongings strewn across the common room haphazardly. Completly tone-deaf but loved to sing at the top of his lungs.
Loveable James.
“Who’s this one?” Mary asked, staring at another boy with curly black hair that brushed his shoulders. He had a devilish grin, and piercing gray eyes while flipping the camera off with a fingernail painted black.
“That was-” Remus’ voice cracked before he spoke again, “That was Sirus.”
Confident Sirius. Who pierced his ears in the dormitory. Who loved stealing makeup from the girls and spoke in French when flustered. Sirius would stuff newspapers in his combat boots to be taller. Sirius got a record player when he was 15 and played it nonstop.
Confident Sirius.
“And this was Dorcas.”
Righteous Dorcas. Who loved making up words and telling bad jokes. Dorcas was always moving, always laughing, listening to what people had to say. Who protested the dress code and wore exclusively pants for the entirety of their seventh year. Dorcas loved sneaking into the Gryffindor common room at night. Who was competitive at anything and everything, who loved helping out in the gardens after class.
Righteous Dorcas.
“And here was Marlene.”
Spirited Marlene. Her best friend, who hated reading and homework, painted her nails a different color each week. When she laughed it sounded like magic and dimples showed on her face. Who put enough sugar in her tea to kill an elephant. Who always stood up for what she believed was right. Marlene played uno like it was life or death. Who always showed up to school from break with a different color of hair streaks.
Spirited Marlene.
Dorcas and Marlene were so desperately in love. Who hated each other because of Quidditch until their sixth year. Dorcas drew on Marlene’s arms, and Marlene took photos of each drawing. Dorcas and Marlene stood up to homophobes and blood supremacists without a care in the world. Marlene died hoping Dorcas would live. Dorcas was taken down by Voldemort himself because her grief was so powerful.
“I caught them hooking up in the Quidditch closet, that’s how I knew they were finally dating,” Mary said, the words blurting out before she could stop them. Memories raced through her brain faster than she could latch on.
Remus blinked, his eyes wide, “Yeah, they um… yeah. They loved each other.” He showed her the next picture, a girl with red hair and dazzling green eyes, “That was-”
“Lily.”
Beautiful Lily. Who loved ABBA and earrings and walks in the park. Whose Irish accent came out when she cursed. Her hair glowed gold in the sunlight and had soft curves that Mary loved. Lily smelt like flowers and loved reading rom-coms and mysteries. Lily always gave the best advice and comforted home-sick first years. She loved baking and hated mornings. Lily, who was always the best person in the room yet never knew it.
Lily, who Mary had been madly in love with since her fourth year. Lily broke Mary’s heart when she told her she was falling for James Potter. Mary was a bridesmaid at the love of her life’s wedding. Mary and Lily dreamed of living past the war. Lily wanted their kids to be best friends and Mary knew she’d never love another like she did Lily Evans.
Lily and Mary, a love that never existed.
Mary, who never told Lily how she felt before it was too late.
“That was Lily Evans Potter, she married James a year before she turned 21,” Mary whispered, surprising herself again. Remus looked at her with confusion, but he nodded.
She remembered being dressed in black, watching them all get buried in the earth. Marlene died lying next to her family outside her house. Dorcas, who died avenging her. Lily; was laid to rest beside James. All of them were gone.
“They’re dead, aren’t they,” Mary said, not asking a question, but confirming, “I remember that much.”
Remus nodded.
Distantly, Mary realized she was clutching the locket wrapped around her neck. Tears were welling in her eyes.
“Remus, I-” Mary cut off, her voice cracking, “I think you should go.” He nodded and stood up to leave without another word. His figure walked towards the door.
“Moony!” Mary blurted out before she thought better of it. Remus flinched, glancing back at her, “Did Lily ever love me back?”
Remus paused, licking his lips, “I think she wanted to, Mary. I think she really bloody wanted to.”
He left the shop.
Mary stared at the box, mementos of a past life. Shifting around the photos, she saw friendship bracelets, the initials of two M’s, a D, and an L on red and gold thread. Another locket, this one with coiled, brown hair that Mary instantly recognized as her own.
A dam broke, grief and emotion pouring over Mary.
Only then, did she allow herself to weep.
…
That night, she dreamt of an office with a white-bearded man sitting on a throne. It felt like deja vu, she had been here before.
“Where is Hari?”
“It’s a sacrifice we must be willing to make.”
“Let me take care of him.”
“I was afraid you would say that.”
“For the record, I did like you, Ms. Macdonald.”
I’m so sorry. I never wanted this.
“Obliviate.”
…
Remus never came by the shop again. And four years later, on a full moon that lacked the noise of animals, something in Mary’s gut told her he had joined the rest of them.
…
Six years afterward, Dahlia makes a lily flower bloom out of her hand.