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Marz was spiraling. That party had been a mistake — a massive mistake. Why did she think it was a good idea to challenge Ginny to a drinking competition? Ginny, of all people. It was because she was already drunk. Her brain was foggy and her lack of common sense always got worse when she drank. She cursed herself in her head.
"I'm okay! I'm okay!" she swatted Sophia's hand away.
"You just threw up, no you're not," Sophia replied flatly. Marz pouted.
Lisa patted her comfortingly on the shoulder while Caliope stood awkwardly nearby, unsure what to say.
"I'm sorry," Marz muttered.
Lisa smiled softly. "It's okay. But you’ve got to stop drinking when you always regret it."
Marz looked away, voice cracking. "I'm so stupid."
"No, you're not," Lisa countered quickly.
"You don’t get it," Marz continued, her words tumbling out, too fast to stop now. "I screw myself over whenever anything good happens. I go out and embarrass myself. I try to help someone but I can't even be honest with him to make him let me in. The thing I hoped for—my mom—she actually came back and wanted me again. And I stayed because it was the right thing to do—but I can’t even help anyone here. You’re getting married and I should be happy for you, but I can’t even look you in the eye. I still wear the ring even though It’s not like that with Puecy anymore and—" Her breath caught. She stood abruptly, grabbing her broom. "I—I need to go."
"Wait, Marz, what?!" Caliope called.
Lisa rushed toward her. "You’re sick, where are you going?"
"Marz—your mom—what happened?" Sophia stammered, frozen.
"I’m sorry—I need to go. I'll come back later," Marz mumbled as she scrambled to open the window, slipping outside into the cold night air.
She flew mindlessly, broomstick cutting through the wind like a blade. She didn’t know where she was going until she landed: the forest. The one she often visited for potion ingredients like dittany. Her back hit a tree as she slumped against the trunk, breath coming in shaky puffs. Her thoughts circled like vultures.
The cold gnawed at her. She hadn’t grabbed a jacket. She tore up a small dittany plant, its pale flowers looking far too pretty for how she felt inside.
Leaves crunched behind her.
Something warm and fuzzy landed on her arm—a jumper.
"Only you would leave the castle without a jacket during the night," a familiar voice teased.
Marz startled, wiping her eyes. "Stevens?"
He smiled at her—softly this time. Not smug, not amused. Just… soft. "Carter," he replied.
She realized she’d been crying, smudged mascara probably streaking her face. Awkwardly, she pulled the jumper on, hugging herself tightly. "You didn’t come to gloat, did you?"
He laughed. "Oh come on, Carter. What do you take me for?"
"That’s literally all you ever do."
"Well, maybe I get tired of being right and amazing all the time. It’s exhausting, you know." He grinned.
Despite herself, she smiled faintly. He settled down next to her beneath the tree.
"So why are you really here?" she asked.
"The party got boring."
"Of course it did."
"What about you, Carter? Why out here?"
"I needed to get away. Running from my problems is kind of my specialty."
"I know," Stevens said softly. "You’ve always been very good at making a mess and not knowing what to do after. At least you're interesting..."
She frowned looking to his sleeve.
Her mind flickered back to earlier that night. His face leaning down close to hers.
"Why won’t you talk to me?" she’d demanded.
"Do you ever tell me anything?" he shot back.
"I was going to tonight!"
He had smirked and stepped closer, voice dropping low, almost teasing: "Are you madly in love with me?"
She’d stumbled back, face burning. "I—I—you can’t just—"
"See, Carter?" he’d chuckled, amused by her fluster.
And that—of course—had led her straight to Ginny and the regrettable drinking competition.
"I don’t get why you’re so insistent about this," Stevens said now, pulling her back to the present.
"I don’t know how you’re not!" she snapped. "You never hide it! What if someone finds out?"
"You know."
"Yeah, but I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t tell anyone. Other people don’t know you like I do."
"And you do?"
"Yes!"
"People already know, Marz. They know who my father is."
"He’s not—"
"He is." His voice was flat. "You can’t change that."
"But what about Mr. Stevens—"
"I wouldn’t think you’d have such traditional views on family."
"You disappeared for a year!" her voice cracked. "And now you’re back and acting like none of it matters. We didn’t even know if you were alive! We never got to say goodbye."
His expression faltered. "I did think about reaching out. But I… couldn’t." He looked at her, voice breaking. "I’m back now, aren’t I?"
Marz stared at him, hurt and angry. "And now you have the mark."
He looked away. "I never should’ve told you about that."
"It doesn’t matter. Just let me help. I’m making progress. I think I found a way to cover it—"
"You can’t cover it, Marz. Nothing will work."
"But—"
"No buts. If you want to help, stay out of it."
"You are my business!" she shot back.
He smirked faintly. "Is that right?"
Marz flushed. "That’s not what I meant!"
"You’re so easy, Marz," he chuckled, but his voice was gentler now.
Her features softened, noticing the faint pink flush on his cheeks, the crinkles by his eyes when he smiled. Strands of his curly brown hair brushed against his face in the moonlight. He looked like something out of a dream.
Oh.
Oh
"I think I am," she whispered.
His teasing faltered. "What?"
"I said you’re not. You never comply."
"Why are you trying to tell me I’m hard?" He smirked at the accidental innuendo.
"I’m ignoring that," she huffed. "But I could help. I could make you potions, cover for you when you’re gone—"
"Why?" His voice was tight. Frustrated.
"Because I don’t want you to get hurt!"
"And you think I do? I want you as far away from this as possible."
"I won’t let you go through this alone, Stevens."
"You’ll hate yourselves because of me."
"It doesn’t matter. It’s you, Stevens."
He shook his head. "I’m not a Stevens anymore."
"You’ll always be Stevens to me." The words hung heavy between them. Neither spoke. The forest was silent except for the wind whistling through the branches.
Finally, Matteo spoke, voice barely audible: "You really are impossible, Carter."
She smiled faintly through her tears. "And you really don’t know how to accept love, do you?"
He laughed, low and bitter. "Maybe not."
The words hung in the air like smoke—heavy, choking, lingering longer than they should.
Marz stared at the ground, her fingers twisting in the hem of his sweater draped around her. The cold bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. The ache in her chest drowned everything else out.
She opened her mouth—say it, just say it—but the words stuck, thick and terrifying. Because if she said it, it would be real. If she said it, she couldn’t take it back. Instead, her voice came small. "I... I don’t know how to stop caring about you."
His breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. "You shouldn't," he said, softer now, like it cost him to admit it. "You'd be better off if you didn’t."
"But I do," she whispered, voice trembling. "I always do."
He turned his head, not quite able to meet her gaze. "Marz…" Her name sounded fragile in his mouth, like a prayer he wasn’t allowed to say.
They sat there beneath the tree, both of them terrified to fall but too far gone to pull back. The distance between them wasn’t physical—it was everything else.
And neither of them moved.
Marz stood up, brushing leaves off her jeans. "I think I need to go."
Stevens raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Where, exactly?"
"Not from here." She hesitated, then said quietly, "From Hogwarts. I need to clear my thoughts. Will you come with me?"
For a moment, he looked like he was about to say no — that trademark smirk threatening to appear — but then he nodded. "Sure. Why not? It's fun to see where your eccentricities go."
That night, Marz moved like a ghost through the corridors, heart pounding in sync with every creak of the old castle. She slipped into her room, careful to keep the door barely ajar, grabbed a worn duffel bag, and tossed in the essentials—a few clothes, her journal, some healing herbs she never left home without. Every movement felt surreal, like she was trying not to wake a sleeping beast.
Stevens appeared moments later, as if conjured by her nerves. “You’re sure about this?” His voice was softer than usual, but the familiar sass flickered in the way he smirked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” Marz shrugged, trying to sound casual. “I need a break from everything here. From all the noise in my head.”
He laughed, dry and amused. “You and me both. Let’s see if the Muggle world can handle your mess.”
They Apparated quietly into the night, the world twisting and snapping around them until the hum of the castle was replaced by the distant buzz of city streets.
Their first stop was the little restaurant Marz had written about in a letter months ago, one of the few places that felt like a thread connecting her past and present—a fragile hope of normalcy.
The sign hung crooked, paint peeling, the bell above the door jangling as they stepped inside. Warmth and the scent of baked apples wrapped around them, the murmur of quiet conversation filling the cozy room.
Marz hesitated by the entrance, eyes scanning the familiar worn tables. “This was the first place I went when I... when I needed to remember what it was like to breathe without magic.”
Stevens scanned the place like a predator sizing up prey. “And what, you’ve been coming here to escape the wizarding world? You’re braver than I thought. It looks..."
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t exactly have a choice. It’s the only place that didn’t feel like a trap.”
They found a corner table, sitting side by side, shoulders almost touching but not quite. The waitress brought over menus, but Marz barely glanced at hers. Instead, she focused on the delicate crackling of the fireplace and the comforting, dull ache of familiarity.
Stevens smirked. “So what’s on the menu for the great escape?”
Marz gave him a light look. “The pear and guava pie. You’ll like it if you gave it a chance.”
He leaned back, arms crossed, mockingly pensive. “Fine, I’ll humor you but if it tastes like your weird dinner requests, I’m blaming you.”
When the pie arrived, steaming and golden, they ate slowly, the silence between them thick but not uncomfortable. Stevens watched Marz more than he spoke, the way her hands trembled just a little, the flicker of pain in her eyes.
“You’re a mess, you know that?” he finally said, voice low, a teasing edge barely masking concern.
She shrugged, biting back a laugh. “You never let me forget it. You're insufferable.”
He grinned, but then his tone softened, just a fraction. “But maybe that’s why we get along.”
Marz looked away, her chest tight. “Maybe.”
The waitress came to their table smiling, "And what can I get for you two?"
"We'll have two slices of pear and guava pie please, whatever you recommend to drink" Marz smiled to Emily. She was the server here who first served her.
The waitress smiled knowingly and winked at Marz. “Coming right up.”
Marz couldn’t help but notice the way the waitress looked at them both with a little spark in her eyes, as if something was… off.
When the waitress returned, she set down two steaming plates of apple pie and two glasses of amber liquid. “On the house,” she said with a grin. “And for the lovely couple—”
Marz nearly choked, and Stevens raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with amusement.
The waitress shrugged. “You two just seem like you fit together.”
Marz’s cheeks flared red as she quickly set her fork down. “We’re not—”
"Marz wishes but she’s yet to successfully win me over," Stevens smiled.
"Hey, I do not!" Marz started.
Emily laughed, "Don't be embarrassed love, he seems like quite the catch," she said looking over Stevens, who of course peacocked at the attention. "I’ll leave you two to it."
Marz glared at Matteo’s laughing form.
After they left the little diner, the afternoon clouds had begun to thicken, the sky falling into that grayish half-light that always made the streets look a little lonelier. But Marz didn’t seem to mind as she led Stevens down a smaller side road, her steps slowing like she was searching for something.
Stevens raised a brow as she came to a stop in front of a tiny brick shop wedged between a barber and a closed-down ice cream parlor. A crooked sign read: "Turner's Used Books." The window display was an odd jumble of old paperbacks, cracked leather-bound novels, and even a few children’s toys scattered across the shelves.
"A bookstore?" Stevens asked, blinking.
Marz offered a small smile. "Yeah. I used to come here a lot when I was younger. When… everything else was kind of a mess."
"Fascinating," he drawled. "You, of all people, hiding out in dusty bookstores. What an unexpected twist. You can read?"
She rolled her eyes and pushed open the door, the little bell above it jingling as they stepped inside. The warmth inside was immediate, wrapping around them like a heavy quilt. The smell of old paper, ink, and faint cinnamon hung in the air. The shelves were tall and crowded, nearly toppling over with the weight of too many books stacked in precarious piles. A sleepy older man behind the register barely glanced up, nodding slightly at Marz in recognition.
"You’re a regular, then?" Stevens teased.
"I used to be. He doesn’t ask questions, and the heating always works in the winter," she replied softly, running her fingers along a shelf of battered novels.
Stevens followed her through the maze of narrow aisles. "So this is where you plotted your world domination as a child."
"More like where I hid from cps and the wizards who monitored unchecked magic," she laughed.
He glanced at her then, noting the slight hesitation in her voice, the way her fingers lingered on the spines as if they were old friends. Marz paused at a shelf in the back where the lighting was dimmer. She pulled out a thin, beat-up paperback with a faded illustration of a girl flying on a broomstick — clearly Muggle, but eerily adjacent to their reality. "I used to read this one all the time," she murmured. "It was silly, but I liked pretending."
Stevens tilted his head, watching her with that unreadable expression he wore when something struck deeper than he’d admit. "Pretending what?"
"That it was me." She laughed faintly, self-deprecating. "Except in my version, she had parents waiting for her when she came back down."
For a second, Stevens didn't reply. His hands stayed stuffed into his pockets, but his gaze softened just slightly — the smug mask slipping at the edges.
"You know," he finally said, voice lighter again, "if you’d told me sooner you were secretly sentimental, I would’ve started carrying tissues."
Marz elbowed him lightly, snorting. "Shut up."
"Seriously though—" he dropped his teasing just enough to sound sincere, "—you’re not half as heartless as you pretend to be."
"Neither are you," she shot back almost instantly.
The silence between them grew heavier for a moment, charged and tense. Stevens broke it by plucking a random book off the shelf and examining the ridiculous romance cover. "Shall I pick something for you? Maybe 'Forbidden Love at Midnight Manor'?" he smirked, holding it up dramatically.
Marz’s cheeks colored faintly as she snatched it from his hands. "Merlin, you’re insufferable."
"And yet, you keep inviting me as a plus one. Fascinating."
Their eyes met for a second too long — that quiet, dangerous space where words got stuck in throats. But neither of them acknowledged it.
Marz turned quickly, placing the book back and starting toward the register. "Come on, we’ve got other places to go."
Stevens followed, still smirking but quieter now, his fingers brushing hers briefly as they squeezed through the narrow aisle. Neither of them commented on it.
Outside, the air felt a little colder, but the space between them had somehow grown warmer.
The next place she took him was quiet. They had left the bustle of the city behind, and now found themselves walking along a street lined with nearly identical suburban homes, the kind with trimmed hedges, little mailboxes, and family cars parked neatly in driveways.
Stevens glanced around, one eyebrow raised. “This is starting to feel very… pedestrian of you, Carter. Not your usual taste in adventure.”
Marz shot him a side glance, tugging her jacket tighter. “Not everything has to be some grand thrill, Stevens.”
They stopped in front of a modest two-story home with pale blue siding and white shutters. The lawn was trimmed neatly, the porch light still on even though no one stood inside waiting for them.
“So,” Stevens asked, hands tucked in his coat pockets, “what’s the story with this one? You going to tell me, or am I supposed to guess? Let’s see... childhood pen pal? Former secret identity? Hostage situation?”
She exhaled through her nose, not looking at him. “This was my home.”
Stevens tilted his head. “Your home?”
“The family who almost adopted me,” she said softly. “The last one.”
For a second, his expression faltered, losing some of its usual smugness. His voice was quieter now. “Ah.”
“They were nice,” she continued, voice thin. “At first. The kind that smiles and tells you you’re ‘just like one of their own’ until something better comes along.” Her throat tightened at the words, but she pushed forward. “When she got pregnant, that was it. I was... not needed anymore. Just a placeholder.”
Stevens glanced at her, his face unreadable. “Real charming people.”
Marz let out a dry laugh. “They were better than most. I thought maybe this one would work. I let myself believe it. That was my mistake. They're the reason I started to scare off any potential adopting families. I didnt think I could handle them leaving again.”
There was a long silence between them. Even Stevens, the master of filling silences with endless sarcasm, stayed uncharacteristically quiet for a beat too long.
Finally, he spoke, voice laced with his usual brand of snark—but softer, edged with something more careful. “You really have a gift for finding the most cheerful destinations for this little field trip, don’t you?”
Marz gave him a weak smile. “Sorry. I didn’t exactly promise this would be fun.”
“I would’ve packed an emotional support flask if I knew.”
She rolled her eyes, but the banter brought a small comfort. Kept her from drifting off to long gone moments. “You’re not making me feel better.”
“That’s not my job, Carter. My job is to make sure you don’t get so dramatic you start writing poetry under moonlight.”
“Shut up.”
But her voice was lighter, almost teasing. She glanced up at the house again, eyes briefly shimmering. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s pathetic I still come by when I’m nearby.”
He shook his head. “It’s not.”
She gave him a surprised look, as if she wasn’t expecting him to say something so simple, so certain.
“You still love people who break you. That’s not pathetic,” he said bluntly. “It’s stupid, sure. But not pathetic.”
Marz swallowed thickly, looking away before her face could betray anything more. “Thanks, I think.”
They stood there a little longer in the cold. No one came out of the house. No one noticed them standing across the street. The life that might have been was already moving on inside.
After a while, Stevens broke the quiet. “Alright, Carter. You’ve had your brooding. What’s next? Graveyards? Abandoned orphanages? Perhaps an emotional collapse in a coffee shop?”
She laughed quietly. “Actually... yes.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake.”
She smiled brightly, laughing at his exasperated face. “Next stop.”
Before they made it to the graveyard, Marz tugged Stevens off the sidewalk and into a small flower shop tucked between a bakery and an old bookstore. The bell jingled overhead as they entered, and the rich scent of fresh blooms filled the space.
“Okay,” Stevens whispered under his breath, raising an eyebrow. “Of all the places you’ve dragged me today… this one might take the cake. You trying to court me?” he raised an eyebrow.
“Shut up,” she muttered. “We need flowers.”
“Oh, for your dad.”
“And my mum,” she added, her voice dipping. “Kind of.”
He sobered instantly. “Right.”
The florist—a middle-aged woman with red glasses and a cheerful smile—perked up behind the counter. “Oh my, what a lovely young couple!”
Marz froze. “Oh—we’re not—”
Stevens cut her off with a smirk. “Married ten years,” he said dryly. “She still can’t resist bringing me flower shopping.” He sighed dreamily, wrapping his arm around her neck.
Marz’s face flushed deep red. “He’s lying—”
The florist laughed. “Oh, you’re both adorable. Young love always is.” She walked around the counter toward the flower arrangements. “Now, what can I get you two?”
Marz shot Stevens a glare that promised murder as soon as they left. He only winked at her in return. “Something simple,” Marz said quickly, trying to move things along. “Lilies and chrysanthemums please.”
“Lovely choice, dear.” The florist busied herself with wrapping the bouquet while Stevens leaned casually against the counter, watching Marz with amusement.
“You know,” he whispered, leaning in close, “for someone who claims to hate me, you sure spend an awful lot of time dragging me into tragically romantic scenarios. Paying your muggle friends to push us together.”
She glared at him. “Keep talking and I’ll throw you into the nearest fountain.”
“Ah, violence. The language of love.”
When the florist returned with the bouquet, Marz quickly paid while Stevens still looked far too entertained by himself.
“Take care, you two!” the woman called cheerfully as they left.
Marz shoved the flowers into his hands once they were outside. “Next time I’ll let you explain we’re both completely dysfunctional and incapable of normal human interaction.”
He grinned, voice warm and teasing. “Nah. I like my version better.”
The taxi pulled away, leaving them at the edge of a small cemetery tucked behind rows of trees. The iron gate creaked faintly in the wind as Marz led the way inside, Stevens trailing a few steps behind. Even Stevens, with his usual witty commentary loaded and ready, stayed silent this time.
The graveyard was quiet. Not the eerie sort of quiet—but the heavy kind, like even the air knew to tread carefully here. The rows of headstones were neatly kept, the grass trimmed, fresh flowers laid on a few of the more recent graves.
Marz moved with practiced familiarity, like she’d walked this path too many times before.
Stevens stayed close but hung back enough to give her space, eyes scanning the names as they passed. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels slightly, his usual nervous tick when he didn’t know what to say.
Finally, she stopped. A simple headstone stood beneath a tree whose branches swayed gently in the wind.
LUCAS CARTER
Beloved Husband, Father
1960 – 1985
Stevens glanced around as they reached the spot, his brows knitting together slightly at the sight of the solitary stone.
Marz knelt down and gently brushed a few fallen leaves from the engraved letters. She stayed quiet for a moment, her throat tight, like words might choke her if she tried to force them out too fast.
“I never actually found out where my mother’s grave was,” she spoke softly, not looking up. "You know the government issues gravestones if there's no family to organize it? It's nice I guess that they still get a grave even if they don't have anyone to mourn. Sometimes I'll get flowers for other graves that I never see visitors for."
Stevens stayed silent behind her, for once not making a single sound.
"Hi,” she whispered softly, her voice catching. “Sorry I’m late. I brought... well, I brought company this time.” She glanced back at him, her smile small and a little sad. “This is... Matteo Stevens.”
At the sound of his name, Stevens blinked, visibly startled. “You—you’re introducing me?”
“Yeah. I mean, you’re here, aren’t you?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing awkwardly at the stones. “Er... pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Carter. Bit awkward circumstances, but... solid reputation you left behind.” He paused. “Your daughter’s alright, you know. Mostly. When she’s not making questionable life choices. Which is rare but makes it more admirable when she thinks.”
Marz gave a breathy laugh, wiping her eyes. “I can imagine my dad now. He’d be telling you to look out for me, or he’d break your legs.”
“That’s very unfair of him, considering how much effort I’ve put into tormenting you.” Stevens smirked, but his voice was softer than usual. “Though... fine. I’ll accept my tragic burden.”
There was a long moment where neither spoke. The wind picked up slightly, tugging at Marz’s hair as she stared at the headstones like they might speak back if she looked long enough.
“I always wondered if they’d be proud of me,” she finally whispered.
“They would,” Stevens said without hesitation. His voice was steady now, more serious than usual. “You survived things most people wouldn’t. You’ve made something out of... all of this.” He motioned vaguely at everything and nothing at once. “That’s not nothing.”
“But it feels like nothing.”
“That’s because you’re an idiot, Carter.”
She let out a weak laugh through her tears. “Thanks.”
Stevens crouched down beside her now, close but not quite touching. “You keep thinking you have to earn some kind of perfect life to make them proud. But you don’t. You already did what they wanted. You lived.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and Marz looked at him, startled to hear emotion sneaking through the cracks of his normally unshakable tone.
“And what about you?” she asked softly. “You don’t believe that about yourself. You put up these arrogant front but you never really listen.”
He met her eyes, that usual arrogance faltering. “I never said I was a good example.”
Their eyes stayed locked for a moment too long, the tension thick between them. Not romantic exactly—not yet—but intimate, heavy with everything unsaid.
Marz swallowed and looked back at the graves. “I miss them.”
“I know.”
“And you.” Her voice dipped quieter. “When you were gone... it felt like losing them all over again.”
The weight of her confession hung heavily in the cold air.
He reached out then, hesitating for a breath before resting his hand lightly over hers. Not squeezing. Just there. Solid. Present.
“I shouldn’t have left like that,” Stevens admitted, voice hoarse. “But I’m here now.”
Her fingers curled slightly under his, but she still couldn’t meet his gaze again. “I don’t know what I’d do if you left again.”
"I don't want you involved with any of this,"
"You can't stop me from being involved though."
Neither spoke after that. They just sat there for a long while, beneath the gray sky, with the cold air biting at their skin and the quiet ache of grief sitting between them.
She turned to face him fully, looking up at him. "You will never have to be alone in this, Stevens. I will never let you have to. I don't care who or what you have to do. I'll be there." She spoke surely, and he looked like he wasn't entirely there. She reached up to put her hand to his cheek, "Always."