Mary

Still, her bad mood followed her after work. She went out to the pub for a drink and came across quite the idiotic scene. “Is today national idiot’s day, or are there just a lot of them in Wizarding London?” She asked.

“No, Dirk’s not here,” Marlene chuckled, shaking her head. “We don’t spend every moment together, you know.” At least it seemed that Mary was finally accepting of him, or at least making a conscious effort to pretend that she was for Marlene’s sake. Either way, it was appreciated. Moving on from Sirius was only made more difficult when her friends continuously tried to tell her how good they would be together. At the request for tea she nodded and headed into the kitchen, flicking the switch on the already filled kettle. “I don’t know, I— wait, what?” Her head poked around the doorway, mouth agape as she stared at her friend. “You and Remus have been kissing?” The revelation was unexpected to say the least, but it was a good surprise. A welcome one. Joining Mary in the living area again, she didn’t even try to hide the excitement from her voice as the questions tumbled out. “When did this happen? How? Do you like him? Are you two together now or…?”

“I’ll just have to owl him. You know, he and I grew up not too far from each other? About an hour.” Maybe when Marlen got with Sirius, she could even make a proper mate of the lad. He seemed decent enough, despite keeping company with a Nott. Mary’s smile grew significantly when what she’d said processed in her friend’s mind. “Yeah, a bit.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but there was a clear giddiness to her tone. “After he got out of the hospital. He came to stay with me, you know. And I realized that I wanted something with him, after the attack. So, I went for it.” Mary shrugged, as if to wordlessly let Marlene know that she had followed her own advice. Though, there were moments when her friend’s doubts had gotten in her head. “If I didn’t like him, I wouldn’t be kissing him. He’s not some random at the pub.” As far as if they were together, Mary thought they were. She hadn’t been going out with anyone else. “I think so. It wasn’t like casual snogging, it was very clearly an ‘I have feelings for him’ type deal.” And he’d told her his deepest secret. It would be lost on her if they weren’t together. “But, don’t mention it to the others. I’m looking forward to the looks on the lads faces when they find out. The complete horror that I’ve corrupted the good one.”

“Never miss a shot to snipe at them, do you?” Remus mumbled, replacing the witch’s hand in his tresses by running his own through his hair–feeling that restless sense of simultaneous arrogance and anxiety that Prongs so often used to field. He glanced upward, an answering smile pulling at his lips. It was misplaced or ill-timed, perhaps, but nonetheless filled with love. He allowed himself to slump slightly deeper into the sofa–too small for anyone even marginally larger than a thimble, and gave himself just one moment to relish in the way Mary seemed to fit so easily against his frail chest. 

It would be, he thought, too difficult and too arduous a process to explain that the way she would fall out of fascination with him would be slow, almost unnoticeable, until one day she’d look back on their time together with nostalgically but not wistfully. This moment between them, as much as the werewolf knew he would cherish it for several years to come was fleeting at best, regardless of how large a heart his beloved sprite seemed to possess. Trust in Mary was hardly the issue so much as the sheer burden that came with loving a monster. Sirius, due to the nature of his animagus, had probably taken the greatest physical toll. But James tended to suffer financially. And Pete…well, Remus would’ve been lying to say that Wormy’s sudden absences–each one longer than the last–didn’t sting, though he could hardly hold it against the lad. Second years are simply not equipped to promise something for the rest of their lives. “Just…let me give you an out, you obstinate little thing. Take it as an insult if you like, but it is said out of love. Come on, Mare, tell me you wouldn’t worry if I fell for-for a vampire or sommat.” 

It was the unbearable pain flickering through her voice that tore his chest to shreds all over again. The words themself were quiet, her voice barely above a whisper, but Merlin! if they didn’t shatter Remus’ heart into nothing but tiny particles of dust. Because, really, there was literally not a single person on the entire planet Earth, not one individual in the history of man or wizardkind, the deserved to find someone to love and spend the rest of their life with more than Mary Macdonald. A beautiful, lovely, magnificent ray of sunshine who was both far kinder and much more deserving of love than Remus, even discounting the whole lycanthropy bit. “I just…I promise some day you’re going to meet some wonderful person, and you’re going to fall in love with them because they are going to be better suited in every possible way. And there is no world in which they won’t fall in love with you, too, because you are the objectively the best human this side of the Atlantic. I’ve never been anywhere else, but I’d wager you’re better than everyone everywhere. So all I’m saying is that…until you can find someone with the ability to be there for you every second the sun and moon are shining, I will be here. And, because we’re being very honest, probably after that as well.”

“They never miss a chance to be idiots.” She countered. And then the bastard, of all things, smiled. Like this whole encounter wasn’t being tainted by her stubbornness and his self deprecation. Mary’s hurt and anger seemed to meld together within her. She wasn’t sure which was blooming in her sternum and clutching her heart, and which was tying knots in her stomach, but it all seemed to be the same now. Anger was easier, but hurt more intimate. Vulnerable. She would always choose anger, but this time she fought against that urge. The need to shake him and make him understand that she adored him and wouldn’t be going anywhere because he was a werewolf. To explain to him that iit was shit of him to place his own doubts onto her character. She was better than that. More than his insecurities. Remind him that she didn’t need him to give her an out. If she wanted out, she’d get out. Mary wasn’t one to stay in something she was unhappy with. Except maybe her job, but she was going to work on that.

“What if I already met a wonderful person? And maybe he’s not in love with me, but he could be. One day. If he let himself believe in me. Believe in himself. What if I find comfort in watching him read books? And the way he rebels against his friends offers of help mirror my own stubbornness in the worst way? What if he is thoughtful and kind? Funny and smart and incredibly stupid sometimes? How about if my family loves him? And all of my friends?” She asked him, because she was trying to make a point and it hurt. He was one of her best friends in the world. In both worlds. Someone she had grown with and was fighting beside in a war. “I don’t need someone that is going to be there every second of every fucking day, Remus. I’d probably go out of my mind and feel suffocated if that was the case. So, think what you want. But I see you. All of you. And if I ever want to leave, I will. I’m not committing to marriage, I’m just saying that I want to kiss you and hold your hand when we’re walking down the street. And under the table. Maybe more when that comes about. And if there is an after, it’s not going to be because I fall in love with someone else while I have you here. It’ll be because you’ve had to hold me back from one too many fights, or because I am jealous of the attention you pay to your books.” She moved slightly towards him. Wanting to lay down, curled up in each others arms, but she was scared that she might fall and all he’d see was sand running through an hourglass. “Anyway, I’ll probably be dead before I realize what a bloody dickhead you are. Being a mudblood and all.” She smiled and knew the joke wouldn’t be well received, but it was all she could do to keep from losing what semblance of a cool she had left.

“Alright, alright,” Marlene laughed, shaking her head in amusement as she reached the door and pulled it open. “Patient as ever, Mary!” Of course, that impatience was one of the things that made Mary who she was, and Marlene wouldn’t change it. It was especially welcome now, after having so recently seen the other witch laying in a hospital bed. Still chuckling, Marlene made her way back into the living area, leaving the door open for her friend to follow. “Do you want a drink or anything? Refresh your voice after all that yelling?” 

Mary grinned obnoxiously when the door opened, “Thank you, I’ve been working hard on it.” She teased, peaking her head around the door, as if in search of someone. “Is Cresswell hidden around here somewhere? I wanted to invite him to get some proper fish and vinegar chips. Maybe make empty threats. He really is a sport about it.” She didn’t actually mind the lad and she wanted her friend unsuspecting if she tried to lock her and Black in a closet on Lily’s birthday. “Actually, a cuppa would be good without having to watch Remus burn his mouth on it. And you all think I’m the impatient one.” She paused, mulling an idea over in her mind. Her nose scrunched slightly in wonder before asking, “Do you think it affects his kissing? I mean, he’s pretty good at it. But, I wonder if it makes him, like, better, or whatever?” It wasn’t exactly a casual reveal of the recent development in her and Remus’s...situation, but when had she ever really had any tact or restraint? “Reckon I should hide my tea for a few days and test it out?”

“S’a good line,” Remus mumbled, any preamble of argument lost the moment the tiny sprite curled into his lap. He half-purred at the light tracing of Mary’s fingers carding through his hair. His own hands, however, hung in the air for a moment, hesitating before placing one gingerly at the small of the witch’s back. Even the slightest movement felt suddenly precarious. So much of his life had been made more difficult by his lycanthropy and, though he went to great lengths to hide exactly how far the suffering went, it was obvious to anyone willing to take a hard enough look. Even on his best days, the wolf was often plagued with exhaustion or dull pain that made any plans fall flat in favor of laying out in his favorite squashy arm chair. Intimacy, in any form, was far from second nature. 

If anything, the affliction only tamped his moods, his friendships, his family’s life and any slim chance toward a relationship. Merlin, no wonder both the healer and the journalist had run for the hills the second he’d glanced away. Regardless of the crippling bite marks dipping into his side, it was difficult not to wonder after all these years if he, himself, was the common denominator for his own misery. “Cheers,” He added, clutching the warm mug of tea with his free hand, wincing slightly at the sudden weight. Briefly, he allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to hold Mary’s hand freely, under the eager eye of their friends. What would it be like to kiss her in the middle of the street, without having to worry about who would see them or whether or not their…exploration would make them a greater target than they were on their own. What would it feel like, just once, to be normal adolescents moving through what should’ve been the peak of their lives. Tentatively, Remus bent forward, stealing another kiss and looking as though he couldn’t believe his own luck. 

“Dickhead,” He said instinctually, already thumbing at the witch’s wet lashes. The way Mary seemed to speak so affectionately, so wistfully about him, Remus half-thought he’d been confused with one of his brothers. Hell, any wizard in their year was a safer bet than shacking up with an actual monster. But any other bloke’s face was rather difficult to conjure when ever available inch of his skin was pressed against hers. “M’just saying I wouldn’t–I won’t–hold it against you when you meet a proper boy, yeah? But m’ happy, honored even, to keep y’company until then.” 

“All my lines are good.” Her retort was out before it had even finished crossing her mind. The barrier between brain and tongue was often short with her, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise that it was already out. Her petite fingers traced unplanned patterns on his scalp. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that he enjoyed the feeling of her hands in his hair. It made more sense now, knowing that some part of him was attuned to a canine, like the ones she’d grown up petting during nearly every stationary moment of her childhood in Ayr. All the same, she would be content to play with his hair forever, if the warmth within her would remain.

There were few things in life that truly scared the short witch. Loss and mundanity were likely the highest on her list of fears, closely followed by the images of Mulciber that still plagued her mind; hindered her progress. There had always been a wild quality about the girl, even as a toddler, she was told, that had kept her moving and living with little regret of missed opportunities. The lack of those were compensated with regrets for her sometimes brash and thoughtless actions and words, but she could apologize for mistakes made. There was no going back to missed chances. She refused to miss this chance with him. Not when the war could take either or both of them away in the blink of an eye.

His stolen kiss and the punctuated insult pulled at her lips, despite the tears building in the corners of her eyes. The way he spoke of himself bothered her, of course, but what was worse was his lack of faith in her ability to love him. To stay with him. To see more than the disease that haunted him. It made her blood boil and she wanted to shake him. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was still recovering, she would have. Mary’d have little remorse, otherwise, for clutching his shoulders and making him listen. “Do you believe so little in me that you think I’d use you as a place holder?” She questioned him, and there was a trace of anguish, of hurt, in her voice, though the brunette tried to hide it. Her hands dropped from where they rested on him. “Think what you want about yourself, Remus, but fuck you if that’s what you think of me. If you don’t know me better than that by now, then you’re more of a bloody idiot than Black and McKinnon combined.”

“Ha ha.” The werewolf grumbled, narrowing his eyes. He suspected that Mary’s strange yet seemingly unyielding affection for him might cloud her judgement, after all, Remus knew that a talent for romance and physicality was certainly not something he possessed. “You don’t have to lay it on so thick, you know.” He chided, blinking slowly at the contact; both odd yet not unfamiliar. It should’ve been weirder, maybe. Definitely. Mary was…Mary, and this was certainly not on the traditional list of friend activities, though Paddy might’ve joked otherwise. Even during the brief stall in their marathon of snogging, his need to close the gap was debilitating. Though the lads had made this joke a hundred times over–Get your head out of your arse, Rem. She’s moony over you!– the actual experience was almost otherworldly. He ran a hand through Mary’s hair, managing a smile through his exhaustion and disbelief. “I’ve been yours since we were kids.” 

A soft groan fell from his lips as he sat up slightly, forgetting the tenderness of his unhealed injuries. The enormity of her question was almost laughable. Even if this–”us,” she’d called it–imploded, his confession would’ve kept them tethered. Werewolves were not privileged enough in their world to make enemies. “Don’t be daft,” He murmured, averting his gaze to the chilled mug of forgotten tea. “You’re one of the of the people I love most on this shite planet. So, no, I think even if we managed to muck this up horribly, you’re stuck with me.”

He glanced back at the witch over the rim of his cup, feigning a nonchalance he didn’t quite feel. “Do you…” He licked his lips, almost surprised by the phantom warmth of her touch. “I mean, m’not great with memory charms but I can try one out if you’d like to…?” Remus trailed off, his nose scrunching up at the thought. So this was why Sirius had been riddled with such an uncharacteristic amount of trepidation. What if it doesn’t work out in the end? Half a second and Mary had already jumped to the inevitable conclusion. Still, a soft voice in the back of his mind lingered. Ah, but what if it does?

She rolled her eyes at him, head shaking lightly in an endeared annoyance. Two things that shouldn’t be felt together, but, then, it was Remus she was feeling it about. He and his brothern had a knack for breaking rules, those of logical emotions included. Mary climbed into his lap, facing him, legs wrapping lightly around his waist as one hand moved up to entwine in his sandy locks. “I’m not laying anything on thick.” She protested softly, her free hand cupping his chin gently as she tried to catch his eyes with her own. “If you were shit at this, I’d tell you.” Thoughtfully, she pressed another kiss to his lips, letting it linger for a few seconds before pulling away just enough so he could see her teasing smile. “You might need a bit of practice, but I’m happy to oblige.”

His words were made up of the beautiful prose that she’d watched him read, often perched on the couch with him, or laying in the grass with their mates by the Black Lake. Had she realized when they were young that he was hers? Mary had claimed him as her own, but had she ever fully realized the hold she’d had on him? No. She’d have surely taken the piss quite mercilessly if she had, before snogging her companion in many a broom closet. “Good,” the words managed to leave her lips after a moment. “I like being stuck with you.” He’d been there at the start of this new world when she’d found it. It was an exciting new place to explore, and he was a constant in it; a sanctuary within the chaos.

Looking at his mug, her soft hand grabbed for her wand on the end table behind him. Carefully tapping it with a muttered incantation, she watched it heat back up, steam spilling from the top in soft wisps. His words pulled her eyes back to him and she sat back slightly, her lips nestling into a deep frown. “A memory charm?” She raised her eyebrows, hurt flickering across her face. “My wanting to be sure that our friendship isn’t at risk is not my way of saying that I don’t want to try this. I do. I want you. I love you. I’d be a bloody hypocrite if I didn’t go after this chance, not to mention a fool. And even if this went to hell, I’d never want to forget the feeling of your lips on mine.” Mary scowled slightly, looking away from him as she felt another prick of tears in her eyed. “Bloody twat,” she mumbled bitterly.

For a moment, Remus might’ve sworn he wasn’t breathing. I’m dead, he thought. I’m lying on the dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack and this must all be one big blood loss, fever induced dream. Do werewolves even go to heaven? And if so, was it all one long marathon of snogging their childhood sweetheart? Mary Macdonald had admitted, more than once, to wanting to kiss him. They were kissing! And it was all he could do to simply try to memorize the intoxicating warmth of the fae’s skin burning against his; to detail every gasp, every careful graze of her nails on his scalp, every moment their teeth bumped against each other’s, both unable to stop grinning and add them all the short list of treasures that might one day serve conjure a patronus.  “Oh my God, I can’t believe…” He muttered, the sentiment lost somewhere between her reddened lips and the slim curve of her neck, where the wolf sprinkled several half-nips, half-pecks. 

It ought to have felt stranger–crossing so abruptly from a platonic, almost familial affection into whatever this territory would show itself to be. Remus leaned back, his smile somewhat lopsided and sheepish before Mary’s trepidation caught him. It was the one advantage, he always thought to the horrible affliction he bore. Most people were as easily read as a text from first year, save for some particularly talented occulemens. Remus’ brow furrowed, giving the sprite’s wandering hand a squeeze. “Thought I was the over-thinker here.” He sat up a little straighter, delighting furtively in just how well their limbs seemed to tangle together before allowing the witch some reprieve. “’s it the wolf thing?” Remus ventured cagily. Then, sheepishly–“Shit, ‘m I bad at this?” 

It was almost laughable, just how little time he’d spent even entertaining the idea of romance.Any instinct he had was passed down from the late night boasts of Pads, Prongs, and occasionally even Pete. And we went up to the Astronomy Tower and… You know, a broom closet is actually quite spacious if you find the right position… His skin was flushed from his chest, heart pounding against the confines of his jumper, all the way up to his ears. “You alrigh’?” Remus pulled Mary close once more, tracing her bottom lip with the tip of his finger before he bent in to kiss her forehead. “Sunshine?”

His lips on her neck...his teeth; they drew a susurrus moan from between her slightly swollen lips. How long had she wanted this? That she wasn’t sure. It hadn’t been an intense need that she fought the way many of her friends had done in their own love lives. The idea of Remus had been present in her mind for years. It was as much a part of her as her ever empty stomach and snarky remarks. Maybe it was her parents’ teasing that made those feelings go unnoticed, or maybe it was his soft nature. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she’d never been as scared as New Years Eve when she saw his blood  and overly pale skin. Never had she felt such relief in her heart as she did when she saw him in the hospital. They were RemusandMary. MaryandRemus. It only made sense that his lips on hers felt like magic.

As he pulled away, the brunette took a moment to get air into her lungs. It might have been cliché, but he had taken her breath away. She wanted to laugh at herself, for acting like one of those doe-eyed girls fawning over someone she’d known for the better part of a decade. Her green eye flickered up to his face and she licked her lips again. Curling her arms around his torso, carefully as to not touch his bad arm, she looked up at him with a playful scowl. “I’m not overthinking.” Mary muttered, but pressed her forehead to his. There it was, his self doubt rearing it’s ugly head. “It’s not the wolf thing.” A soft chuckle escaped her lips and her hair bounced with a slight shaking of her head. “You’re not bad at this, Remus. On the contrary...” She pulled back and eyed his lips before kissing him gently. But it only lasted a second. 

As she leaned back, she gave him a slightly nervous glance as he traced her bottom lip. It was something foreign to her features. Uncertainty was not a common state of mind Mary MacDonald found herself in. Damn Marlene for getting in her head. “Remy,” She started, chewing the inside of her cheek nervously. “If this, us, doesn’t work out,” The thought made her squirm uncomfortably, “We’ll still be us, right? Still Mary and Remus? You won’t disappear from my life?” Mary knew his answer. It was the same as hers would be had he asked, of that she was certain. But the thought of not having Remus in this world, a world away from her family, one that hated the blood that ran through her veins. Well, it was a big enough fear to provoke the question. She swallowed, “I don’t like the thought of a world where we aren’t something.”

One craggy finger traced along the thin lines of Mary’s palm, doodling lazy letters into her skin. C. “You think you’re clever, do you?” He snorted, tilting his head. If it wasn’t exhausting enough being a teenage sodding werewolf, the piss poor puns were enough to drive him even madder. One thing that had always endeared him to the little sprite was her inability for deceit–each of her emotions flickering across her visage like large-print subtitles. A. “I dunno. He’s m’brother. And…,” R. Remus laughed, almost incredulously. It was as if his anger had left his tight shoulders only to rebound straight into the crinkled brow of his companion. Was this what one meant when they said the cringe-worthy phrase, my other half? I. “I suppose he forgets, like you, that I am actually dangerous.”  

Remus knew the way he was staring at Mary’s–Christ, Mary’s!–mouth wasn’t subtle in the slightest. A. Though judging by the soft hitch of her breath as his thumb strummed over the pulse point at her wrist, the witch was just as affected. D. “Come ‘ere, then” He murmured softly, already closing the marginal gap between them.  He slotted their mouths together easily, barely moving, and Remus cursed his mangled arm for what felt like the hundredth time if only because he couldn’t hold Mary in quite the way he wanted to. 

Though the first brush of their lips had been tentative at best, the second was somehow gentler, slower: most likely, he thought, because they were both suddenly conscious of the fact that this…newness between them was out in the open, ready and willing to be explored. Certainly, the werewolf would falter once more and wrack himself raw with the idea of sharing this burden and Mary could come to her senses and want for the healthy normalcy that she so richly deserved. But, more pressing, Remus was reconciling with the fact that being with her any way, in any circumstance, was going to far outweigh the many, many cons he could dream up. 

His finger tracing over the skin of her palm sent a shiver down her spine. A breathy laugh passed her lips and she nodded, eyes sparkling up at him. “Of course, because I am.” Maybe not as clever as he was, but she did have her moments. She tried to focus on the letters that he was tracing onto her palm, but she was a little more interested in what he was saying. “He’s lucky I didn’t know when it happened.” Mary mumbled angrily. Remus could forgive him, but she was still trying to digest everything. That he turned into a wolf once a month and had to live through so many plights that accompanied being a werewolf. “I’ve known all of ten minutes. And you aren’t dangerous. Your wolf form might be, but I don’t fancy hanging around him for your sake. I’ve got a bit more sense than that, Remus.” She argued indignantly. Her arms would have crossed over her chest if his finger wasn’t still tracing her palm. Was that an ‘R’ or a ‘B’?

Her tongue flickered out over her lips when she caught him staring. It was only a second before he beckoned her closer and she complied. As their lips touched, her eyes fluttered shut, taking in the feeling of his brushing back against her own. Mary was hardly a foreigner to a good snog, but this was Remus. While each person obviously felt different with their lips pressed against hers, she wasn’t sure that she’d ever been so aware of the person behind it. He tasted of the Turkish shortbread and faintly of the tea that he’d managed to get before the cup had been shattered on the ground. She pressed up against him. A twinge of fear settled in her stomach; what would happen if they didn’t work out? Was this the feeling that Marlene and Sirius were struggling with? She couldn’t see ever hating Remus, or vice versa, but their closeness had always been special to her. Now, they were exploring a new manner of being close, new territory with one another. Would they be able to maintain their bond if this turned sour. Mary had to will that feeling away. And it went. Because this was Mary and Remus. Even if things didn’t work out, she’d never regret trying it and he’d never regret her. They cared too much for one another.

Lily had to laugh. “I for one appreciate that.” It was the last thing she wanted to smell if she was being honest. James, however, probably would have been amused considering all the pranks he and his friends had pulled during their school days. “He takes great care of me,” Lily assured her friend because it was the honest truth. Most days, she wasn’t sure how she had gotten so lucky.

She shrugged. “I hadn’t figured it out yet.” If Mary could see her kitchen there was a mess of ingredients on the counter waiting to be made into something. “Figured I would see what I had and go from there.” Lily liked the challenge and cooking was kind of like making a potion, part art, part skill, and part talent. “Oh, and how’s that going?” Lily asked curiously. “Come on, you can’t be that bad he’s still alive last I checked in on him.”

Mary chuckled softly, “I thought you might. But, he only gets a pass this once.” She told the redhead playfully, it’d likely be one of many breaks she gave him just for Lily’s sake. “Jamesie’s a good boy. I’m glad that the two of you have one another. That you finally saw past the frog and found the...well, he’s not exactly a prince, but...you know.” The brunette was all about teasing James, but she didn’t mean much by it.

“Do you have tuna fish? Or mac and cheese?” She asked, but moved to look through the contents on the counter. Mary wasn’t shy. She never really had been. “It’s going well.” But her cheeks turned pink at the thought of her werewolf. “I may have kissed him. More than once.” The brunette admitted. “He told me about his lycanthropy. But, I don’t think that makes any difference about how I feel about him. It just makes me see how strong he is, going through that most of his life.”

Dirk didn’t really know Mary that well, he knew that she was friends with Marlene.  He was fairly certain they had crossed paths during quidditch at some point or another, he’d been the Ravenclaw keeper from his third year right the way up til his last match in seventh year.  For the last two years he had been captain, and Gryffindor had only beaten them a handful of times during his reign but he thought better on bringing that up. If he was going to be around Marlenes friends alot, he was greater outnumbered.  Not that it was an issue, he was very nearly placed in Gryffindor himself, the hat seemed to hum and haw between the two for a moment or two on his first night at Hogwarts.  ‘Hmmm Cresswell eh?  Son of Helena Belby and nephew of Edith Belby, as I recall your aunt was almost a Gryffindor, but your mother was without a doubt a Ravenclaw…..’   For the most part, he got on very well with Gryffindors, understood them, usually anyway.  

“I haven’t seen one of those in years.”  He said with a smile as he jerked his head towards the chocolate in Mary’s hand. Raising a hand to run through his hair, he laughed nervously at her comment about Marlene.  He had a slight suspicion it would be more likely that she would hurt him, emotionally that is. Dirk had never had a serious relationship before and he was very aware of not feeling too much too soon.  “Well, I’m free just now.  Unless you wanted it to be slightly more spontaneous.”  Shooting her a friendly smile to show he was just teasing.  “I miss the chippy’s in Glasgow, or actually Scottish chippys in general. Can’t find decent vinegar here to save my life.”

  The brunette paused, opening her bag to search for another one. It only too her a moment to find one of the sweets and offer it to him. “I know wizarding candy has all of the bells and whistles, but I still prefer muggle sweets.” Mary confessed, not that she’d reject a sweet of any kind. Muggle candies just had a nostalgic feeling for her. They reminded her of being little, before the whole world seemed to be against her. Before magic became a reality instead of a bedtime story. “Do you have a muggle parent as well?” She thought he was a halfblood, but she really wasn’t certain. It wasn’t really the main focus of her discussions about him with Marlene. 

Mary grinned at him, but shook her head. “Nah, not just yet. I don’t want to ruin my sugar high with threats.” She would, of course, lash out heavily if the man did ever hurt her friend, but Dirk seemed like a decent guy and she suspected that the damage would be done the other way around. And that wasn’t something the muggleborn liked. It really wasn’t fair to him. Her eyes lit up when he mentioned the chippys. “I grew up in Ayr, and it’s torture here without proper vinegar. The closest one that I found is on the outskirts of London, but it still isn’t as good as in Glasgow. Potter thinks I’m right looney for eating my chips that way, but how could you eat them otherwise? With ketchup?” She made a face of disgust. “So gross.”

“It’s a slur.” Remus corrected, drawing the damp fabric between his hands. A few pieces of stray porcelain shook out, scattering beneath the couch and coffee table. If one was inclined to look at it with optimism, the young werewolf had been gifted with an early mastery of common cleaning and mending spells. Despite the outpouring of affection from his parents and the solace of his mother’s warm embrace as she tiredly mumbled healing charms, he’d started hiding the true brunt of his wounds by the time he was nine. Likely, he remembered thinking, this furtive practice was the only reason he’d been able to wordlessly send Borgin backward in their scuffle. “Tergeo.” The socks dried in boy’s palms, smelling faintly of bergamot–an addition he’d perfected before even receiving his letter. Just as he made a move to pull them back on Mary’s heels, she drew away from his grasp so quickly one might have thought she’d been burned. Right. You can’t have it both ways, Lupin.

He cleared his throat, regretting his spill a second time. For someone consistently at the top of his class, he really did have a rather poor way with words. “They call it my furry little problem.” A joke that one of them, who could even guess which now, had made back in third year. It was too easy then, to compare his condition with the cycles of the witches in their year. Aw, Moony, is it your time of the month? He watched with both affection and exhaustion as Mary stumbled over her overture before he conceded slightly and crawled back onto the cushions with all the grace of a spent pup. “I can still bite a kid, even if they’re not mine.” The sleepiness of his tone gave way the clear notion that he’d, however willingly, begun to lose this battle. “Could bite the twins. M’brothers. One mistake–s’all it takes.” Remus hand raised upward, thumb grazing her chin and then jolting back. “Snivvy found out when Pads tried to sick me on him.” A wrinkled appeared deep in his forehead, as though the memory itself could bring back that night from fifth year. “Like ‘m some sort of attack dog. Like I…wouldn’t have to live with that for the rest of my life.” 

There were a precious few moments growing up, that Remus allowed himself to think of this very instant. Not only the promise of a future, but one filled with joy, with laughter, with Mary, even if the latter had taken nearly a decade to finally realize. The concrete feeling of her fingers dancing lightly over his cheeks and her eyes dancing over him with adoration, though, far exceeded each of his boyish daydreams. In terms of reckless behavior, Remus considered, this was a better venture than most of the Marauder’s pranks. If he had the mental capacity for it or the sociopathic disregard for another, he might have wondered why he hadn’t busied himself with the closeness of his peers far more often; with their once wandering hands, and arms tangled around each other, there was hardly a point in the dim flat where Remus ended and Mary began. He traced over the jagged scar etched into his cheek, trying to remember all of the reasons he ought to hesitate, but each time even an inch of his skin brushed against hers, he could see sparklers fizzling. “Feels like I’m wasting my breath.” Warmth seeped into his body at the points of contact spreading through him like a heavy drink, rendering him loose and malleable. “You really can’t be talked out of this?” Remus asked, his tone challenging, almost daring her to catch on to the great cosmic joke of his condition and pull away. He lightly touched Mary’s arm at the elbow, sliding his fingers down the inner wrist and the scar that seemed to have unintentionally set this fire. Please, he thought, for the love of God, say no. 

“It only has meaning if you let it.” She shrugged, it’d taken her a long time to make it lose it’s meaning and she was proud of how it could roll off her tongue now. As if it wasn’t branded in her mind in the same way the dark mark was branded on her forearm. “I don’t let it. I’d rather be a mudblood than an ignorant purist.” There was a finality in her voice at that, like she’d made that decision long ago and wouldn’t waiver. And she had. Mary loved her muggle roots. Her family. That her dad taught her to drive a car and her mom taught her to make baked goods without the aid of a wand. That her siblings and her had grown up playing football, not riding toy brooms, but she’d still earned a spot on the quidditch team. That she’d had to learn to use a quill and ink well, when she had grown up using pens and pencils. She truly had the best of both worlds, in her mind, and that was the true reason purebloods must have felt inferior, wasn’t it? Because they didn’t understand? She watched her socks go dry and the bits of glass fall to the floor. Her eyes fell slightly.

A small smile cracked at his words. They call it my furry little problem. “Not your time of the month?” She quipped, because that’s what she would have gone with. Mary would have called it PMS, Proper Moon Syndrome, or something of the likes, depending on which word she could come up with to fill the ‘P’. But, as quickly as the smile had come, the frown replaced it. “You’re careful, thought, aren’t you? From being around others on full moons? It couldn’t have been an issue if you were allowed at Hogwarts. I’d think as long as you were careful, it wouldn’t be an issue.” Not that Mary was ready to have the discussion of children now, anyway. “Oh, come off it. You don’t see the twins enough and I’m not scared of you biting them. Or me. Or anyone. Okay? I know you, Remus John Lupin. You’re too much a worrywart for to allow any of it.” Of that much, she was certain. The corners of her lips pulled down further when he told her what Sirius had done. “He did what?” Her whispered words full of horror, the color, she could feel, drained from her face. Mary held Sirius in such high regards. Always admired him for leaving behind his family in the name of what was right. Loved their shared recklessness and hate for pity. Their pride. “And you forgave him?” How? Was Remus really so forgiving? She didn’t think she could ever be. “Fucking little bastard.” A fire seemed to ignite in her with those words. It was lucky that the sandy hair boy had her wand and Sirius was not around, because she’d have hexed him right then, without a doubt. Or punched him. Violence and outrage were never far from Mary’s person.

Of course he was wasting his breath. They both knew it, didn’t they? Both knew that Mary was far too stubborn to listen to reason, especially about her feelings towards the werewolf. He was her friend. His presence was one she’d found so much solace in throughout the years. Was it really a surprise to either of them that her feelings had developed. That his lips over the fresh engraving of the dark mark on her wrist had elicited her undying devotion? An urge to kiss him? No, that was who she was. Her feelings were intense, because she was intense. Her love was strong and her will stronger. She wanted to be with Remus and werewolf or not, it didn’t change matters for her. He’d been a werewolf since before she’d met him, so really, he was the same person. “No.” She said finally, voice concise; certain. Still she sucked in a breath when he touched the healing mark on her arm again. “You’ll never talk me out of wanting you.”

The room filled with his soft laughter, even despite the circumstances. “And humble. A winning combination.” He agreed, though he’d always been a little envious of people who could make light in dire situations. Since the infection, Remus had acted about a hundred years his senior–riddled with anxiety and planning for the worst. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a striking sense of empathy for Snivvy. After all, no one knew better than Lupin about the fragility of trying to balance one’s friendships and one’s secrets. Whatever awkwardness Mary had managed to allievate, however, was cut short at the swear. He flinched as though he’d been stung. “Please, you know I hate that term.”

“Can I?” He gestured tentatively to the floor, guiding the brunette back to sit on the couch as he tugged off her damp socks and bent to examine the scrapes. “You’re so bullheaded sometimes. Always rushin’ in.” The boy chided, reaching for her wand. His own, apparently, hadn’t survived the assault on Diagon Alley and though a new one was on its way, the small and slow acts Muggle life were almost a comfort. Every gesture was purposeful, almost languid. His eyes combed over the dotting of red on her soles and he clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Episkey.” Though the few slices healed, it was evident that the tension still hung thickly in the air. It was selfish, Remus reminded himself, to ever ask for more than the little life he’d been afforded. To beg for more than his family, his friends, even his education; to suppose that a werewolf could also be allotted love or intimacy without consequence. And even if he deigned to put Mary, sweet and fiery and insightful little thing she was, in harm’s way for his own benefit—what a meager thing to offer!

“Mare, you may think the future is hopeless or that…the current state of our world can’t be overcome but I don’t. Are you thinking that far ahead? Because I have; I’ve weighed the pros and cons and I come out wanting. My future is sodding bleak. I shouldn’t have children, I’ll never have stable employment, my lycanthropy will never be cured and…I’m sorry, but I find it a little frustrating that you’re daring to simplify it. Of course I want you. You’re actual sunshine when you’re not being a dickhead. Come on, why do you think I couldn’t leave your side, even bleeding out in the street?” Remus tugged his chapped lips between his teeth, relishing in the ghost of Mary’s warmth. “I would’ve died before I left you to face a Death Eater alone–not that you need help. God knows you’re too stubborn to accept it even if you did.” His shoulder sagged slightly, dropping her wand to rub wearily at his healing arm. “You mean the damn world to me. Which is exactly why I’m telling you that you deserve someone better.” 

She offered him a wicked smile, lifting her shoulders as if to say, ‘what can you do?’ “Yes, a true Gryffindor; brave, daring, and humble.” Mary could be proud, but unlike some of their housemates, she could occasionally swallow that pride, like an antidote to her own toxicity. It really did depend on the circumstances, however, because sometimes she might know she was wrong and refuse to admit it, simply because her falsity really didn’t hurt anyone’s feelings, or well being. Not that she’d do such a thing for a purist or death eater, just for those she loved or felt were innocent. That was how she was. How she’d always been. “It’s just a word. It only has meaning if you let it.” She once said it to herself, over and over until it lost all meaning. Given, she’d been twelve at the time and it was a way to get past the pain that the word had begun to inflict, but it’d worked. Now, she said it enough that it fell from her lips without leaving a bad taste behind.

Sighing, she sat back down beside him. “Go ahead,” She gave a slight nod, but didn’t meet his eyes, once again embarrassed by the tender care that he was giving to her. At least he wasn’t trying to leave. The witch didn’t protest when he pulled off her socks, nor when he took her wand to heal the little wounds on her feet. Her wand took well enough to him, at least. But, she didn’t like that she was okay with him taking care of her in this way. It was too intimate and made her feel small. Smaller than her petite form that never really felt was her true size. Mary took up more space with actions and her loud personality. “I don’t have time to waste being timid.” She shrugged. Her feet tensed and relaxed, flexed and flattened once he’d healed the little scrapes. Then, they were tucked beneath her, as she sat up in an attempt to be level with him again.

“It’s not that I don’t think there’s no future, I just don’t think there’s one for me.” She admitted quietly, with a small shrug. “I don’t see the light at the end of the tunnel like you all do. Or maybe it’s just that mine is green.” She attempted to joke, but the sentiment wasn’t funny. A frown pulled at her lips. Guilt bubbling up inside of her, because maybe she was simplifying his condition, but it wasn’t out of malice. Mary wasn’t well versed in what being a werewolf really meant in the wizarding world. Not much of it, anyway. “I’m sorry if I’m coming off that way, but I don’t really know anything about it. Teach me and correct me when I’m wrong, or give me a bloody minute to learn more about your-your ly-cant-ropy.” She knew she’d butchered the word, but it didn’t matter. Certainly the blokes had come up with something better than that to call it. “If your future looks bleak, then fight for a better one! Don’t just accept things for how they are if they aren’t fair. I certainly won’t. But those problems, they have solution. You can adopt kids if you’re worried about passing on the condition. You can find some sort of work that has more flexible scheduling, or that will work with you. You managed through Hogwarts with better grades than me. And this isn’t the 1800s, Remus, women can also work and make money.” Mary always got too wound up when she was arguing, even more so when it was something she cared deeply about. Like him. Still, the smile crossed her lips when he called her a dickhead. She moved her hands to his cheeks and looked him in the eyes. “You’d die to keep me from facing death eaters alone and you think there is something better out there for me than that? Someone more deserving of me? Even if there was, which there isn’t, I don’t want someone else.” Mary bit her bottom lip softly, tilting her head slightly as she searched his eyes. “I want you.”

Mary: People are always telling me what I deserve.