Where: Aila’s home, front doorstep When: 13th October 1982 Who: Mary && @ailajohnson​
Checking the Prophet daily was almost an obsession, always praying as she did that she wouldn’t read a name she knew. It was a constant tension and yet after a while of every name being a stranger, she had lulled herself into a false sense of security. So for an article to name not one person she knew, not two people, but three was enough to almost make her heart stop.
The first place she wanted to go was Kenna’s but magic was still something of a tetchy subject with her sister. Mary had never told her that Isaac was a wizard and didn’t plan to even with this news. She definitely couldn’t show up already knowing Rosalind was dead when there was a chance Kenna didn’t know yet. There was some news that moved more quickly in the Muggle world but death wasn’t one of them. Particularly sudden tragedies that the Muggles would have no explanation for. So, Mary didn’t go to Kenna first. She went to Aila.
Except, Aila wasn’t there.
Mary’s heart was beating double time. Her fingers were grey from the crumpled paper that was still in her hand and her eyes darted around the street, back to the door, over her shoulder, through the window. Maybe the paper had downplayed it. Maybe she was hurt. She could be lying half-dead in a ditch somewhere all because of Isaac.
Isaac.
Because of Isaac. Mary couldn’t believe it but looking at the paper again through floods of tears and the letters still hadn’t changed. The paper fluttered away from her fingers as she sank down to sit on the doorstep. Their last conversation was starting to make sense in such a horrible way and yet also not make any sense at all. Isaac had attacked Aila. Isaac had killed Rosalind. Mary’s head was a jumbled mess and she couldn’t breathe and oh god—
