NOT YOUR PREY.

“Someone’s tetchy,” Rabastan said in a stage whisper. “Perhaps it’s time for someone to change your nappy.” There was a restrained hostility to her voice that he fucking relished. People had been casting him and those who traveled in his circles as the villain for so long that he’d come to enjoy the role, hamming it up when he was bored, when he could tell it pushed people’s buttons, when he felt like being reckless and dangerous and bad. It was easier this way, keep everything all nice and divided. Good is good and bad is bad, and boy did Rabastan enjoy it. “Now, here’s where I think you’re bluffing. Ageless deity or not, you seem to have some understanding of who I am, given, well, everything about the way you’re looking at me. Or perhaps you’re just constipated, in which case, I can recommend a great potion at Mulpepper’s that will clean that right up.”

He took a long swig from his drink, eyes scanning the room for someone, anyone, more interesting than this dolt of a girl, but it seemed like he was stuck here. There were worse fates to be had, though. Rabastan had become an expert in needling at people until they snapped - it was his preferred method of communication and never disappointed in terms of entertainment. “So, tell me. What have you heard about me and my family that’s made you so reticent to talk to me? Or have I specifically done something to offend you? If it’s the latter, then I most certainly don’t remember it and was almost definitely drunk when it happened. Might I offer you this chocolate tart as an apology?”

He held out the pastry to her, but when she wasn’t quick enough to accept his offering, he popped it into his mouth, eating the whole thing in one bite. Chewing obnoxiously and speaking through a mouthful of dessert, he said, “I’m quite a repentant fellow, you see. Tell me I’ve done something wrong, and I’ll throw money at the problem until it goes away.” Well. That was…one way he handled problems. She didn’t need to know all of the other ways he’d learned how to make things disappear. “Hate me all you want, you can’t claim to be a good, just, morally correct person if you judge me solely based on my family and my reputation. if you don’t spend the time excavating the reality of who I am rather than making predisposed assumptions based on things I cannot control. Isn’t that what you lot are so mad about to begin with?”

Mary narrows her eyes as he continues to speak, his words coming in such quick succession and trains of thought switching so rapidly that she almost struggled to keep up. The fact that he has a point is both surprising and irritating. Perhaps he is right, perhaps she doesn’t have any right to pass judgement on him based solely on the Lestrange that hangs from his name. Her experiences with those bearing this surname had been nothing but negative, her one notable encounter with Bellatrix still fresh in her mind, the woman’s venomous threats sending shivers racing up and down Mary’s spine even as she recalled them distantly.

“Just... rumours, I suppose. That your family has some views I don’t exactly agree with, that’s all.” Mary shrugs, thinking better of recounting her encounter with Bellatrix to this man, she didn’t know enough about either of them to judge their relationship, and Bellatrix had made it abundantly clear what would happen to her were she to share what she’d learned from the woman with anyone. “Maybe you’re right,” She says, what little alcohol she had buzzing through her system affording her the confidence to at least humour the man, rather than run for the hills. Mary was no master strategist, she didn’t think of herself as manipulative, but she figured any information she could beckon out of a Lestrange would be worth something to the Order. “I can’t judge anyone without knowing them.”

“Tell me, then.” She says, leaning back against the drinks table, raising a brow expectantly. “If I’ve misjudged you, then who is Rabastan Lestrange?”

“Sometimes Mare,” James says with a shallow laugh, “I feel like the oldest teenager on the planet.” It was odd to think about sometimes, that he had somehow managed to achieve so much before he had even turned 20: a wife, a house, a baby, and yet he still felt so lost and confused on a regular basis. “I feel like I’d give a lot to be able to just go back to Hogwarts for a few weeks. Play a few pranks, pretend to pay attention in class…make me feel like a…well, like a kid again.” Winking joyfully at Mary and her compliment, James leans against the closest surface, wishing he still had his wooden spoon to wave about. “Cheers, MacDonald. My mami would be proud. She taught me almost everything she knew.”

For some other people, admitting they had planned a stupidly romantic date for their wife might be a cause of some embarrassment, but James was far beyond such things. There was no pretending that he wasn’t utterly besotted with Lily, and had been for several years, and if taking her out and adopting a kitten together was enough to make her smile as of late, James was all too willing to give it a try. Merlin knew they needed it. “Hell, I’d hope so. Given she married me and all. I mean I know I’m a sunning specimen, but she’d have to have appreciated my personality too, right?” he laughs, shifting forward as the oven timer chimes.

“Ready for this?”

Mary laughs, “Who’d have thought we’d be wanting to go back there after only a couple of years?” It sometimes felt like it had been a lifetime since they’d graduated Hogwarts; so much had happened in such a short amount of time, Mary sometimes felt as if she was an entirely different person to who she had been back then, and she was fairly certain that most of her former peers were, too. Maybe it was the war, the dangerous catalyst for change -- but Mary sometimes thought it was more than that, that maybe these changes were destined to happen as they matured, that the war had only accelerated them down the paths they were destined for, that growing apart from some people and closer to others was an inevitable part of growing up.

Or, she hoped it was.

“I’m sure she’d be very proud.” She says softly. She knows how close James had been with his mother; how difficult it must have been to lose her, a pain Mary could only imagine and hoped she wouldn’t have to experience for a long time. “Very ready.” She grins, “And I’ll provide a thorough critique once I’m done, for your reference.”

“Oh, okay” - Pandora was taken aback by the answer, which was nothing like the usual accusations of rudeness and nosiness she usually got when trying to interview an unwilling witness. 

Now, why would someone be so averse to being presented as a victim of poisoning? It wasn’t an accusation, it was hardly derogatory… Pandora started making up theories just as the more reasonable part of her brain told her to leave it - which she did, because she was in a hospital and this had been a long day and even she had limits. 

“That’s fine,” she said instead, “ I understand if you don’t want to share anything. However, if you’d like, I could interview you as an anonymous source leave your name out. Would that be okay with you?” 

“Anonymous?” She repeats slowly. Mary understood the importance of the media -- of getting the story out for the public to see, to understand what had happened, but she also understood the dangers of misrepresenting information. Of rumours. Rumours had been circulating about her since her fifth year at Hogwarts, her peers shooting her strange looks and whispering about that girl behind her back, trying to figure out what had happened despite Mary wishing they wouldn’t.

“I don’t know.” She says, “I don’t think anybody would particularly care what I have to say about it. I barely remember what happened, one minute everyone was fine, and the next... they weren’t.” Of course, there was a fair amount of panic and confusion between those two events. “I’m sure the Ministry will release a full statement on what happened.”

He had some trouble meeting Mary’s eyes. Possibly it was because he kept thinking about Sirius, the way Fabian had left him, and now Mary too was in a hospital bed. The pair of them were supposed to be his responsibility and while Fabian knew that didn’t include keeping them out of danger - in fact, the opposite, he was supposed to send them into danger - it still felt like a failure. 

At the same time, some of the strain in his posture faded away at the sound of her voice. In the last month Fabian did feel he’d grown closer to Mary, the few times they’d started tailing Macnair together. She was alright, at least. Terrible as it made him feel, some part of him had already started looking for advantages they could find in the day’s work, something about everything that had gone wrong that they could use. That would at least make it less of a waste, less of a disaster.  It was difficult to find much - but Mary being alright was one for the advantage column slowly building in his mind. Top of the list even. 

He didn’t argue with her, just nodded in return. It would be difficult to stop feeling it was all his fault, when more and more of the decision making was being put into his hands, but that wasn’t Mary’s problem. Even if he was trusting her with more now, he still kept some things to himself. “Bastards,” he swore, not able to help himself. Poison now too. As if all the Unforgivables weren’t enough. “Do you know if there’ve been any casualties?” It was, he realised a second too late, a thoughtless question to ask someone suffering from it, but the bitter feeling growing inside of him was wondering, “Or was the point just to cause pain and spread fear?” It wasn’t a question he really needed answered. It would be like the Death Eaters to do that. 

As he took the seat beside Mary’s bed, his mind was torn away from fuming further only by the realisation that he had to explain what had happened. “Sirius - I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he started slowly, feeling uncomfortable guilt building back up, even dread of what Mary would think of him after she heard this. It occurred to Fabian now that he’d always felt he had her respect - he didn’t want to lose that. “He’s been injured. Death Eater. Got him alone.” His voice remained steady, only wavering as he added, “As for me - James punched me. Don’t worry about it - it was deserved.”

“I don’t know.” Mary says softly, eyes drifting down to her hands, the nails of one absently scratching at the skin of the other. A nervous habit, one she’d had since childhood. She hadn’t been informed of any casualties, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Mary highly doubted that she was high up on the hospital staff’s list of people who needed to be in the know about such things. Besides, a rather cynical part of her imagines that the Ministry itself would be quite eager to keep any deaths quiet for the time being -- a poisoning happening right under their noses wasn’t exactly the best look for an organisation claiming to be completely in control of the situation of the budding war. 

“Maybe it was,” She admits, it all felt too convenient, what with the miraculous discovery of an antidote right under their noses, capable of saving everyone. “Pretty lucky to find an antidote, you’d think if they wanted everyone dead, they’d use something a little more uncommon.” She shrugs, “But I don’t think they needed anyone to die... they managed to pull off an attack on the Ministry. I mean, assuming this was them, and not some disgruntled employee.” She chuckles lightly, though there isn’t any real humour behind her words, more of an attempt to lighten the situation. Take the focus away from what had happened. “But that’s big. Once it gets out... people will be scared.” Hell, Mary was.

“Oh,” Mary’s heart plummets. She can tell by Fabian’s face that he’s not giving her the full extent of what happened, but that simply begged the question -- how wrong had things gone? How could things have gone so wrong, at Hogwarts of all places? Somewhere they’d all called a haven less than three years ago. Then again, until tonight, Mary hadn’t imagine that anything terrible could be allowed to happen at the Ministry, either.

“How bad is he?” She asks quietly, locking her eyes onto Fabian. Pretty bad, her mind supplies, if James was upset enough to physically attack Fabian. “He... he’ll be fine, though. Right?” She’s imploring him, looking for a good answer. She doesn’t want a no, even if it may be the truth. It’s not something she’s equipped to handle right now, the prospect of losing a friend after so narrowly escaping harm herself. “James did that?” She repeats, still processing the new information. “I’m surprised.”

not your prey, not your kill ; a mary macdonald playlist

“Sounds like a shite boss.” Alice doesn’t feel like holding her tongue today. There’s nothing here worth holding it for - and Mary could probably use someone commiserating with her about just how awful that boss sounds. Alice never had the right amount of patience needed for the sort of job Mary has; politics and the judicial system is far too complex, too full of sidelong sneers and masking what you really think with pretty words for her to ever survive it. It’s not that she’s mean or anything - she just isn’t the sort who can lie about how she really, truly feels about something.

The laugh she gives isn’t very happy. “I mean. Being the bigger person sounds better than the real driving factor for me being here - free food and drink.” Ministry parties always have at least passable food, and it’s one of the few good things about having dragged herself out here tonight. Bright eyes dart about the room for a moment, glancing over all of the people in the room - the amount of them she doesn’t trust versus those she does. It’s a worrying proportion if she thinks about it too long. How many Ministry workers are against them? How many would love to see Alice, Mary, Frank, Fabian - any number of them - dead?

She doesn’t want to think of how many aurors might, too.

“Punch sounds great.” She nods, turning back towards the table. Carrow is gone - probably slipped away when Alice turned to talk to Mary - but Alice doesn’t think much of it. Gaze darts over the punch bowl and the violently vibrant color of the drink. “Hah - yeah, you’re right. Who knows what they made it from.”

Mary chuckles. She’s always admired people who are able to speak their minds freely. For Mary, this particular skill has always been much more difficult, her true thoughts and feelings often getting stuck in her throat while more palatable ones take their place on her tongue. Alice has always struck her as the kind of person who didn’t particularly care what others thought of her, who did things the way she wanted, in a way Mary wished she could, too. It was always refreshing to speak with her. “She is, a little bit.” She says softly, so even Alice could barely hear her words.

“You’re welcome for that one, then. When people ask you why you’re here, you’ll have a decent lie to cover up your desire for free food and drink.” She says, “The free stuff does certainly make being here a little more appealing though, doesn’t it?” She could only guess that these events were more of a nuisance than anything else for aurors, who could be better spending their time working on cases, keeping their cities safe. Or, as safe as they could be, what with everything that was going on. 

“Probably some sort of fruit nobody’s ever heard of, from an exotic faraway place.” Mary says, grabbing a couple of cups and handing one to Alice.

Deep undercover or whatever you were doing. Marlene’s eyes narrowed, her jaw jerking barely an inch to the right, like Mary’s words had personified into the air and physically slapped her. There was a rough tug at the organ in her chest, pulse hitching with a stutter at the undeniable truth in the other’s words, regardless if the brunette knew that or not. There was no way Mary knew about Malcolm, none of them knew, she had been so careful… 

That only begged the next question, though: why say it? Her own barely addressed guilt reared its ugly head once again, deluding itself as a defensive mechanism as it roared in her chest to run, get away, retreat inside herself and isolate before any more ‘hypotheticals’ were raised…. whatever rose colored glasses Marlene still wore for her old friend seemed to irrevocably shatter in that moment, suspicion leaking into the fractures created by her own paranoia. Many facets of the Mary Macdonald she had known not syncing with the one standing before her. 

“There was never anyone else - two years didn’t change anything for me,” she huffed without thinking, and it’s close enough to the truth that it actually sounded genuine, sandwiched around the lie and making it easier to swallow. Marlene tossed her hair over her shoulder and jutted her chin up again, posturing herself so the admission didn’t make her look as small as she felt. She hated that Sirius’ grasp on her had never let up, not after That Night, not after everything she’d gone through, and only reinforced since her return. It was maddening. 

Another deduction of Marlene’s was how pointedly Mary hadn’t addressed the true concern here, her jealousy now validated as Mary sidestepped the real accusation Marlene had underhanded - Sirius and Mary, together at last, now that she had thrown Marlene under the bus and skipped away from her rotting corpse. It’s this thought - in addition to her knowledge of their late-night hangouts on the roof of their apartment building, in addition to the jacket, in addition to every other insecurity eating away at Marlene - that has the blonde’s nails sinking into the crevices of her elbows, barely controlling the urge to claw Mary’s eyes out for even looking at Sirius twice. 

Because it fucking hurt. Mary, Lily, Dorcas, they had spent week after week for the better part of five years listening to Marlene wax poetic about the eldest Black boy, hanging upside down in her bed. Rolling their eyes and huffing their displeasure at Marlene’s lack of shutting up as she mused about the gentility of his eyelashes, the crook of his smile, the way he seemed to copy James’ obsession for ruthlessly tugging at his locks, the flashy & fierce light of silver-bullet eyes. That adoration would never die - even if Marlene had been delivered from her crush, no amount of time in the world would afford her the leniency of A million boys in London and the one she latches on to had to be the same one Marlene’s heart sat curled around since the first time she saw him, instantly captivated by a bad boy with a barking laugh and a penchant for chaos? Marlene stepped forward into Mary’s personal space, not even pretending to smile anymore, the snarl evident on her lips as her volume dropped. 

“You’ve made woefully clear you’re not interested in being in my life anymore, Mary, so let me make a suggestion, for your sake - whatever you think is going on between you and Sirius, enjoy it,” while it lasts, Marlene already reeling for a way to fracture whatever relationship Mary seemed to believe she’d forged with him, to dole out what the brunette had begun. “Because if I find out you’re mouthing off about me again, about shit you obviously don’t understand but desperately need to have an opinion over, I won’t hesitate to ruin you - you used to be my friend, so consider this my last gift to you. You want to talk about what I’ve done? Talk to me about it, and stop using him as a buffer for whatever bridge you’re hoping to burn here,” Marlene warned, not even thinking about what she was saying, words ringing with every drop of malice she wished she could toss out the end of her wand. 

“Don’t get on my bad side - it’s a hard place to survive these days,” lilted words were back and with that, the ire melted off her face. A pouting smirk took it’s place, but no mirth reached her eyes - they remained darkened, something sinister churning within her, begging for release. Annoyingly pretty, but jealousy was never a good look on her, even when she was trying to hide it. 

Jealousy, Mary mused absently, was an insidious emotion. She herself knew it intimately, the filthy green tendrils wrapping themselves around one’s throat -- depositing venom on the tongue and forcing the choice of spitting it out or swallowing it whole. Mary always opted to bury the venom within herself, allowing it to fester deep down and poison her thoughts rather than her words. 

Marlene, it seemed, abided by the opposite approach, each of her words articulated with enough venom to kill. She had always known that Marlene’s words could cut deep, that her former friend had a tongue like a knife and a mind far faster than Mary’s own, but, until now, Marlene’s ire had never been directed at Mary herself, she had merely watched from afar, in awe of the way Marlene could use her words to strike fear or love into someone’s heart depending on what she wanted from them. It was just another faced of Marlene that Mary had always admired, her own words always being caught in her throat, her emotions too deeply buried to ever see the light of day. Now, though, Marlene’s sharp tongue seems to be her curse, her words seeping a sort of anger that Mary had never wanted to be on the receiving end of. 

There was never anyone else. At this, Mary almost falters, understanding what it is to care for someone, deeply and unconditionally. Understanding how it feels to long for years, to look past fights and flaws and distance, only to realise that the affection will always remain unrequited. For Mary, two years had changed many things, two years had given her enough distance to finally let go of Marlene, even if it took the blonde’s return for her to finally realise that’s what had happened. For Marlene, no such thing had happened, her feelings for Sirius clearly still as raw and pure as they had been when they were teenagers. For a moment, she wants to tell Marlene that it’ll be okay, that she knows how she feels. But she doesn’t, for as quickly as the flash of empathy comes, it is gone, replaced again by bitter anger.

If not for the adrenaline thrumming through her veins, she may have found the situation laughable. All it took for Marlene to see her was to let her believe Mary had won the affections of the love of Marlene’s life. The notion of Mary and Sirius is as funny to Mary as it is improbable, but she knows the danger that love poses, that a mixture of pain and anger and jealousy are forming the words that exit Marlene’s lips. She could quell Marlene’s jealousy in a few simple words -- you’ve got nothing to worry about, he’s like a brother, I’d sooner eat another sour pickle ice cream than sleep with Sirius Black -- but part of her is relishing in Marlene’s jealousy, in the attention. Marlene had failed to notice Mary’s clear affection for years, Mary had listened to her drone on and on about Sirius while longing for nothing more than his name to be replaced with hers, and now Marlene was getting a taste of what Mary had felt, hopelessly longing after a boy who loves someone else -- or, at least, who Marlene thinks loves someone else.

She resists the urge to shuffle back as Marlene invades her personal space, keeps her eyes level even as every instinct she has tells her to run. Marlene’s words may be sinister, but she doesn’t believe the blonde will hurt her, at least not physically, though she knows Marlene would certainly be capable if she wanted. “I’ve made it clear?” She says, the words tumbling from her lips before she has the sense to stop them, “You’re the one who disappeared for two years, Marlene. You’re the one who left without a word, like - like our friendship was nothing. You’re the one who came back in the worst possible way and then pretended things were normal. You’re the one...” Who killed Mulciber. Who took away my chance at revenge. Who let him die a martyr, be remembered as a good man -- “You’re the one who ruined everything, Marlene, not me.”

“I’ve never been able to talk to you.” She says, voice audibly shaking though she does her best to keep it steady. “You don’t care about me, or anyone, for that matter. You’re selfish, and it took me too long to realise it. You want to know why you’re not with Sirius?” She asks, pausing before she speaks, searching Marlene’s eyes for something, though she doesn’t know what, remorse, perhaps? Guilt? “It’s not because of me, and it’s not because of Sirius. It’s because of you. Because you left, and because you’ve hurt people, and because you can’t see all the damage you cause.”

Mary shakes her head, breaking eye contact and looking to the ground, still spattered magenta with slowly drying dye. “Whatever, Marlene. I’m willing to take my chances on your bad side, I’m done biting my tongue for your sake.”

Sleep rarely came to Sirius these days, so being injured to the extent that he was certainly didn’t help with that situation.

He dozed, of course, on and off when people weren’t coming into his room at random intervals to either make sure he was okay or scold him for fighting Bellatrix (not that he really admitted that it was Bellatrix who he’d fought save for his closest friends). That still didn’t keep him from tossing and turning as much as his battered body could. The broken hand and ribs were mended, but with the bones still fragile they were wrapped to keep as still as possible; his leg needed much more attention, his kneecap shattered and leg twisted at an unnatural angle when James and Amelia fetched him from Hogwarts. He was pretty sure his foot was at least fractured as well, but he couldn’t feel a thing on that leg so he couldn’t tell. Scratches were all along his chest–the consequence of refusing to tell Bellatrix what she wanted to hear–and his right pinkie was missing from the first knuckle upward, a distinct sense of loss in its place. 

The worst of it, though, was the word TRAITOR carved deep into his right forearm, still angry red hours after the healers had mended the skin and healed him the best they could. He was staring at the word blankly when Mary made her presence known, coming more to himself and watching with furrowed eyebrows as she shakily made her way to the chair at his bedside. Sirius heard about the mass poisoning soon after he woke up earlier that day, and to say he was worried when he discovered Mary was a victim of the poisoning was a vast understatement. “Maybe when we’re both in better shape,” he said, and finding a smile to give her, small as it was. “They’ll never suspect a thing.”

His smile fell when she mentioned James, and he closed his eyes with a nod. “Yeah, we had it out earlier. I didn’t exactly go out and try to get myself killed, Mar. It just… the mission went wrong, that’s all.” His eyes opened again and searched her face. “How are you? I heard about what happened at the ceremony. How the hell did you even make it over here?”

“We’ll disappear into the night and they won’t realise we’re gone until morning.” Mary agrees absently, a light chuckle escaping her lips. It’s not until she’s sat in the chair next to Sirius’ bed that Mary is able to take in the full extent of his injuries, her mind no longer distracted with the sheer effort of keeping herself upright and putting one foot in front of the other in a way which vaguely resembled walking. After what she’d heard from others, she had thought that actually coming here and seeing Sirius, seeing that he was, in fact, alive, would quell her worry. She’d convinced herself that whatever worst-case scenarios were running through her head would be far worse than the real thing.

They’re not.

She tries not to stare, not to let the horror of what she’s seeing reach her eyes, tries to keep her face from twisting into anything resembling pity. She hates pity, and she knows better than anyone, that pity did nothing to help in situations such as these. Of course, the array of injuries littering her friend’s body were enough to strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest, the recently healed gash across his neck the largest and at first most noticeable, though the longer Mary looked, the more she noticed. She’d never been good with blood or injuries, and just the thought of what Sirius must have looked like when James and Amelia had found him is enough to send a wave of nausea through her, accompanied by a remnant shiver down her spine.

“It must have gone pretty wrong, Sirius.” She murmurs, eyes casting down the the floor before she manages to pull them back up, looking her friend in the eye. “I thought it was meant to be routine, simple.” How something that had been made no big deal of could go so horrifically wrong was unclear to Mary... and frightening. She’d heard that the mission was supposed to be simple, easy, even, and yet Sirius had almost died. Was this their lives now? Watching out for danger around every corner? Having to be ready to defend themselves even when surrounded by allies? “What about everyone else? Weren’t they there?” She doesn’t mean to pry, but her first instinct is to try and make sense of the situation, of how something could go so wrong. If she’s able to figure out how things went sideways, this kind of thing can be avoided in the future, or, at least, she can tell herself it will.

She shakes her head, “I feel pretty rotten, honestly. One minute, I was at the Ministry trying to help, and the next... I’m here.” She lets out a shaky breath, “Apparently that Malfoy had an antidote, seems a little convenient, but it probably would have been much worse if he didn’t.” Mary shrugs, “I walked, obviously. I’ve still got legs.” She pauses, chewing her lip before continuing, “And I didn’t like being in that room all by myself, it’s too quiet, figured you could use some company, too, seeing as I don’t think you’re leaving any time soon either.” 

Who: @marymacd​ Where: Ministry of Magic atrium, Rufus Scrimegour’s swearing in ceremony When: February 29th, night

Rabastan didn’t know why he was still here. Perhaps a morbid curiosity to see how the night ended, perhaps a self-destructive desire to cause a scene, perhaps a little bit of both. He was verging on too far gone, the edges of his vision starting to blur, and god help any poor soul who came across his path. He’d tried to slow dance with a house elf, spilled punch on Scrimegour’s aid’s shoes, and toasted to the health and good fortune of Albus Dumbledore loud enough that several people had squawked their disapproval. The Lestrange boy is making a scene again, he’d heard someone mutter from behind him, only to promptly confront them about how rude it was to talk about someone literally behind their back and also to insult the man’s coat because, well, it was ghastly, and how much did he even pay for it, a chicken and his firstborn child?

The night felt like it was winding down, but Rabastan was only getting started. He refilled his glass, took a large swig, and turned to the person next to him: a pretty, affable looking brunette with large eyes, who looked mildly out of place at this whole thing. “Have you lost your chaperone? Do you need me to take you back to the kiddie table? Or wait, don’t tell me…despite your youthful appearance, you’re actually three thousand years old and here to deliver an ancient prophecy, that I, Rabastan Edric Lestrange, will befall an untimely demise if I don’t learn the error of my ways. And what error do you think that might be? My proclivity for pretty things? My rampant alcoholism? Or my abhorrence for fast fashion? I’m inclined to lean, all of the above, but you tell me, O Wise One, what I must repent for.” He gave the girl a wry smile before holding out his glass to her and offering, “Drink?”

Mary was decidedly not enjoying herself. Though she knew that rubbing shoulders and stroking egos was a necessary part of working at the Ministry -- especially if she ever wished to rise out of the station she was in -- it didn’t mean she enjoyed such affairs. The room was too loud and too crowded and though it should have been bustling with joy and life it seemed as though just about everyone here would rather be somewhere else, each of them skirting around the reason why they even needed a new Head Auror with about as much grace as a heard of elephants. 

She’d been hovering around the drinks table for the better part of a half an hour now, nursing a drink for almost all of that time, sipping carefully from it whenever her boredom screamed that she absolutely had to do something lest she go mad. Thankfully, it seemed as though most people here were starting to grow weary, the crowd growing marginally thinner with the passing time as people starter filtering out of the room quicker than they were filtering in. 

She offers the man that approaches the drinks table a polite smile before returning to staring pointedly at nothing in particular, entirely surprised when she realises the man is talking to her. Apparently, not everyone had received the memo that the night was dying down, this man is talking in rapid fire with enough alcohol on his breath to suggest that he won’t be settling down any time soon. Then he introduces himself, Lestrange, and suddenly Mary’s interest is piqued and her nerves set on edge. 

“I don’t need to be escorted to the kiddie table, thank you.” She says, keeping her tone level despite the clear condesention oozing from Rabastan, getting into a fight over a drunken man’s drunken words was hardly worth it, especially not with someone bearing the surname that he did. “Nor am I three thousand years old, so I don’t think I can tell you what you should be repenting for, sorry. And I’m right.” She says, holding up her half-empty glass.

“ Hi.” Pandora answered, smiling back at the other woman. The more she stayed here, the more she could see that coming had been a really bad idea. Most of the patients were too out of it to interview, and friends and family were tired and offended, and she was beginning to wish that she had stayed home. Or that she would have attended the induction herself in the first place - but then, she might have ended up among the poisoned patients. 

“ I’m Pandora Lovegood. I work for The Quibbler, and I was wondering whether you would like to talk about what happened… Of course, I understand if you don’t, you would probably rather rest right now, say the word and I’ll leave.”

She did genuinely feel bad about bothering those people. They were still shocked and tired and afraid, and she was only making it worse. But it was necessary, both to make sure to report the truth and, unfortunately, to be able to stand a chance against the prophet. A small journal like theirs wasn’t the place people went to with information, and it always felt like they were one step behind. When witnesses did come, it was often to try to get them to publish falsehoods they hoped their under-resourced team wouldn’t check, and it was very rarely that people actually came with good intentions and faithful, important stories. 

Of course, they had sent someone at the event itself - Sinistra Lowe, because Pandora didn’t feel like bothering herself, though she deeply regretted it now. She didn’t trust her, especially unsupervised - which, granted, was problematic since she was her employee, but Pandora didn’t feel like dealing with her husband’s hire. He knew how she felt about her. Either way, Sinistra wasn’t in any state to work at the moment. Pandora had been able to enter the building under the guise of visiting her, and she would, eventually. That was another reason why she had decided to take her shot with about anyone she came across : Pandora was dreading that visit. After all, Sinistra wouldn’t be there if her boss had decided to go herself instead of sending a columnist she didn’t even trust. Besides, considering how eagerly she had insisted on attending the event, Pandora was forced to wonder whether she had something to do with the incident. A horrible thought, to be sure, especially since Sinistra had been affected, was probably lying on a hospital bed at this very moment. That was what she got, letting her feelings about the woman festering. She had waited for Xeno to deal with her so far, but at some point she would have to take matters into her own hands. 

“Oh,” Mary murmurs, instantly on edge once the woman mentions where she is from. A reporter. She might still be a little out of it, but Mary has more than enough coherence to put together the word Quibbler and this woman’s intentions. It made sense, really, and if Mary were in this woman’s position, she would probably be doing the same, sniffing around patients to see if any of them were willing to talk, trying to cobble together a story about the mass poisoning before the other, bigger, papers could do the same.

Of course, being featured in a newspaper was exactly the last thing Mary wanted. 

She shakes her head before the words exit her mouth, her heart rate already picking up a little as she considers the mere prospect of being someone’s story. “I- I can’t be in a newspaper. I’m sorry.” She says quickly, practically tripping over her words. The thought of her name being printed alongside this story -- of being immortalised as another tragic victim, it’s a thought she barely wants to entertain. 

“I-I don’t want to be rude, I’m not kicking you out or anything, I just... I can’t have my name in the papers next to this.”

“You know how he is. Sirius Black is an exceptionally needy human being,” James says, although his tone is filled with nothing but warmth toward his best friend. If it came down to it, James was pretty glad that Sirius liked to visit as often as he did: it made James feels as though not everything had changed once they had graduated Hogwarts. Time might go by, but James Potter and Sirius Black still needed one another more than anything.

“I was planning for a younger cat, one that’s a bit lively. We’re becoming quite old and boring around here as of late,” James says with a laugh, “We need a little one around here to spark it up.” The words slip from his mouth just before James can realise the deeper connotation of them, and he swallows roughly, hoping beyond anything that Mary won’t make any links. In any other circumstance, it would seem natural for their friends to assume a baby may come along sooner rather than later; they had married so quickly after all. But with both the war and the curse, James hoped it would take far longer for any of them to make a connection.

Smiling brightly at Mary’s question, glad for the distraction from his current existential crisis, James finishes bundling up the little pastries and slides the tray into the heated oven, before turning to lean heavily against the kitchen bench. “Yeah, a date. Her birthday’s coming up and all, so I wanted to take her out, see her dad. Do something just…dumb and married coupley. Distract us from the…well, the hell it is out there at the moment.”

Mary chuckles, “If you two are old and boring, then what does that make me? At least you’re still technically teenagers, full of life. I’m a twenty year old grandmother. Pretty much every waking moment I spend wishing that I was actually at home with a book.” She jokes, though, lately, her own company was more lonely than anything else, her mind far too active even when she didn’t want it to be, running through thoughts and emotions quicker than she could keep up, and keeping her far too distracted to do anything so pleasant as reading. “Not right now, of course. Right now I’m happy because you’re cooking and are probably the only person I know who can do it.”

Mary hums. A date. It seemed so... normal, it made her smile. Even while everything seemed so dark around them, she could depend on James and Lily to be something better, something brighter. While it could just as easily make her jealous, she actually found comfort in their relationship, something true and solid and good in a world that was ever changing and becoming increasingly worse as time dragged on. “I think she’ll like that. Of course, she’d probably still like it if you did absolutely nothing and just sat on the couch. I don’t know if you’ve realised, but I think she quite likes you.”

Not long after seeing Sirius, he’d been informed that they had been hit not just once today, but again at Scrimgeour’s induction ceremony. More of their people down. Fabian felt like cursing everyone within sight - he wouldn’t, of course, but his frustration was rising at an uncontrollable amount. It was really himself that the worst of it was directed. He knew that.

If he’d ever needed more proof of how far he’d come from the person he had once been, this day was all that was necessary. But sitting around feeling sorry for himself was doing nothing. Having gotten Mary’s room number, he thought it better to check in on her. Sirius was sort-of family, but Mary … he felt responsible for Mary in an entirely different way. They were nothing alike, and yet Fabian found her quiet strength and subtly dogged determination more impressive than just about anyone else in the Order. It was why he wanted her to stay. Why he wanted her to succeed, was hoping for it, even when perhaps he should have told her off instead, thrown her out.

Maybe it was also the reason behind the agreement they’d made recently - and because of that, he couldn’t help feeling like any injury she suffered was somehow on his head as well. Ducking his head into the room first, he felt a wave of sorrow to see her lying so low. It reminded him of what Mary had told him, of how weak Mulciber had made her feel. He hated to think it had happened again - that once more, they’d failed to stop the Death Eaters from inflicting more pain. 

He didn’t even have anyone to direct his anger at this time - he had no idea what had happened at the induction. Stepping further inside, and noting the forced smile on Mary’s face, he felt it all building again. “Hey,” he said, feeling the emptiness of the word. “I’m sorry to find you here. You shouldn’t be here. We should have known - we should have known they would do something at the induction. We should’ve had more people of it instead of - instead of the goddamn disaster at Hogwarts.” His voice had risen heatedly the further he went along - it was himself he’d like to yell at, but that was impossible, so Mary was bearing the brunt. But … how badly could he mess up in one day? “I’m sorry,” Fabian repeated again. 

Despite how awful Mary still felt, seeing Fabian standing in her doorway brought with it a sense of comfort. She didn’t enjoy being alone in this new territory, but one that was familiar for all the wrong reasons, forever associated with some of her worst memories. Fabian was familiar for the right reasons, somebody she was fairly sure had her back, someone she could depend on. And, as strange as it was for Mary to admit, one of the few people she actually thought she trusted, a group that was frighteningly small even when she was at her best.

She casts her eyes down as he speaks, fiddling with her nails as he apologises for the state she’s in, the unmistakable notes of pity still audible beneath the guilt and the anger. Mary was accustomed to feeling pitied. At one point in her life, she’d become used to it, to being the girl who’d been attacked, the girl who needed to be treated as though she were made of glass. She’d grown to hate the looks of sorrow and despair in the eyes of others, thinking that poor you was the same as I understand.

She shakes her head, “It’s not your fault.” She knows that Fabian doesn’t mean to pity her, not after what she’d told him about her experience with Mulciber. Not after the progress they’d been making recently. Fabian had given her the opportunity to be more than just a victim, even if that’s exactly what she’d become again, all the same. She flinches at the anger in his voice, but continues all the same. “More people wouldn’t have made a difference,” She shrugs, “Just would have been more casualties. Apparently the poison was in the drinks.”

“Disaster at Hogwarts?” She repeats, finally looking up again. She frowns as she finally notices a fresh bruise forming around Fabian’s eye. That hadn’t been there last she’d seen him, and, from the looks of things, hadn’t been there even a few hours ago. Her hand drifts absently to her face, resting next to her eye in roughly the same position that Fabian’s bruise sits. “What happened to your face?”

He stared at Mary dubiously as she spoke, raising an eyebrow to his hairline as if that would help further convey his doubt at what she just said. “The day I believe sour pickle is the best flavor in the world is the day you can be assured that I’ve been Polyjuiced,” he said, shuddering at the thought. “Just… how does that make sense as ice cream? It doesn’t! Pickles make sense on burgers or by themselves, not as a creamy dessert. No, I do not take criticism.”

He stepped forward in line once he determined where, exactly, the line was, reaching back to tug Mary forward with him. It wasn’t that she was going to get lost, obviously, but–okay, he didn’t want her to get lost. A smirk played along his lips, and Sirius looked over at Mary before saying, “Now hold my arm, Mary. It’s crowded in here and I don’t want to lose you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Look, all I’m saying is that if Bertie Bott’s can keep coming up with jellybean flavors, so can Fortescue. Sour pickle is unacceptable.”

“I’ll make sure to always have a pint of the stuff handy, just in case I ever get suspicious that it’s not really you, then.” Mary chuckles, stepping forward as the line inches along. “It might surprise you! Just because you’ve never tried pickle in creamed form doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t exist. Pickle deserves to have its time in the sun, too. Not just as a side to whatever else you’re eating.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Mary deadpans as Sirius pulls her along, feeling a little like a child as he did so (the height difference really didn’t help her cause). “I’m not a child, nor do I have an attention span of thirteen seconds. I think I can handle a crowded shop.” Though, truthfully, she loathed crowds like this. Too many people, all brushing up against her and knocking into her. Though Sirius’ arm around hers was humorous, she couldn’t deny that it served as a good anchoring point.

“Bertie Bott’s have vomit and earwax flavoured jelly beans. Sour pickle might sound ordinary, but I’m willing to wager that it tastes a little better than those.”

Eyes track the direction Alice points, landing on a woman who looks familiar in the way of perhaps seeing her in an elevator or while walking down a hall - distant and only half-sure she must have seen her before. There are always faces like that at things like these - people she only half remembers the faces of, much less their names. “I’d say you’ll only have to stick around for another half hour, yeah?” She smiles unevenly, “Then you can claim you must’ve gotten lost in the crowd.”

She should’ve stayed home. Curled up on the sofa and slept through the party that feels like a death march more than a celebration. They’re celebrating someone taking the job of someone else, someone who has gone missing without a trace, someone Alice is worried sick about. Merlin, she wants him to come back from wherever he’s gone. She can only hope that Moody is off on some mission he didn’t trust anyone enough to tell about - even if it would sting a little bit to be left out of the loop on it - and that he’ll turn back up with some new information on his lips.

It doesn’t feel very likely, though.

“Yeah. Figured if none of us came it’d look pretty bad,” Eyes slip to the new Head Auror with something bordering on a sneer curling her lips for a moment before she shakes her head, “Besides, it’s - parties are always a, uh - y’know. A bit of a risk. Bunch of people, all gathered together, with no aurors around to help if something goes sideways? Kinda a magnet for trouble. Figured there should be a couple of us around. Just in case.”

“Mm,” Mary hums in agreement, “She probably wouldn’t even remember if I had a fifteen minute conversation with her, in all honesty. I wouldn’t be surprised if I went over now and she didn’t know my name.” She chuckles, though there’s uncomfortable truth behind her words. Since learning about the Wizengamot back at Hogwarts, Mary had aspired to be part of the wizarding world’s justice system, to get to sit in on their equivalent of a courtroom and make real decisions. She had figured that a job working in their administration department would be a stepping stone on the way to bigger things, and had been thrilled to get the job not long after leaving Hogwarts. Of course, with the war brewing, it seemed as though everybody had bigger things on their minds, and Mary’s position was becoming stagnant. 

“Well, good for you, being the bigger person and all that.” Mary nods. She can understand why the aurors would be unhappy that such an event was even taking place. That they were celebrating a man who only had this job because their former leader was missing in action, and, though Mary was scared to admit it, she feared that with Moody being gone for as long as he had been, he might not be coming back. 

“I hadn’t thought of that.” She admits, glancing around the room. Attending events such as this became almost second nature once she started working at the Ministry, somebody always finding an excuse to celebrate something with fancy food and expensive drinks. She hadn’t really considered the fact that they might pose a security risk until Alice mentioned it, but now that she had, Mary’s eyes scanned the room, trying to account for as many aurors as possible. As Alice said, just in case. “Let’s grab a drink.” She says, turning to the drinks table she’d been leaning on, “I’ve been told the punch is great, but it’s a bit of an off-putting colour, really.”