Martha shrugged philosophically. “Smith’s young and confident. He impressed at the tryouts and played well for Puddlemere all season.”
“But they could have chosen you!” Tonks said in outrage. “You’re much better than Jeremiah Smith!”
“I’m too old,” Martha murmured under her breath. She turned to Tonks and smiled at her. “The manager didn’t think I’d last the tournament.”
Tonks snorted. “You’d have got us to the semis at least. This is just embarrassing. I mean, Transylvania doesn’t even have a professional league!”
Martha yawned and stretched her arms. “Do you want to grab something to eat? It’s still early.”
Tonks nodded. “I’d like that.” She beamed back at Martha. Tonks hadn’t seen her for ages and, wary of sending an owl, she hadn’t yet told Martha about Sirius. “We have some catching up to do, don’t we?”
Martha winked at her. “Hmm, you’re a bit late for that.” She lowered her voice as the other spectators filed past them. “A certain werewolf of our acquaintance came to see me last week and...” She laughed. “Let’s just say it explains a lot about where Sirius was at night when he was supposed to be meeting up with me.”
“You’ve seen Remus?” Tonks didn’t move.
“He told me you weren’t very happy with him,” Martha whispered.
Tonks pulled a face, about to speak, but there were too many people around to do so. She hadn’t seen Remus since Kingsley had ambushed them at Remus’ flat. Sirius’ letter had arrived whilst she’d still been arguing with Remus, demanding to see her cousin. The fact that Sirius had left the country without seeing her had left her bereft, and she’d Apparated away from Remus’ flat soon after.
“He wouldn’t let me see Sirius,” she muttered bitterly under her breath. “I’ve spent fourteen years waiting for him to be freed, and Remus Lupin decided I couldn’t see him.” She tried to walk forwards, but Martha caught her by the arm.
“He wouldn’t have wanted you to get caught,” she soothed.
“I’m getting really irritated with him assuming he knows what’s best,” Tonks snapped. “I think I had a right to see Sirius.”
Martha looked away and stared at the clear blue sky. “I doubt Sirius will stay away forever, Tonks. He never liked the quiet life, not even when he was sleeping.”
It had been a trying day at the Ministry. Remus sat at one of the desks in the Historical Records section, where he was studying one of the dusty tomes he’d selected from the shelves. He hadn’t found any record of Janet Pettigrew’s marriage. Without that, he couldn’t discover her maiden name and would be unable to trace her sister and Peter’s Squib cousin. Remus frowned. He wasn’t even sure he remembered Peter having a cousin. Perhaps Sirius was wrong “ his brain and memory addled by his time in Azkaban.
“Excuse me,” said a woman’s voice behind him. “You’ll have to leave soon; I want to lock up.”
He looked up to see an elderly woman, wearing grey robes, her hair pulled tightly in a bun. He smiled at her.
“It’s Mrs Goodbody, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she replied, sounding surprised. “Do I know you?”
“I’m John Lupin’s son. You probably don’t remember me, but I used to spend afternoons in this place when my dad brought me to work.”
She gasped. “Little Remus... Of course I remember you, but I haven’t seen you for years. It must be...” She trailed off as both of them remembered the last time they’d met, at his father’s funeral “ a strange affair with guests both magical and Muggle. She reached over and squeezed him on the shoulder. “How is your mother, Remus?”
“She’s happy,” he replied, sighing. “Or at least she’s content, I think. She married again, but I don’t see much of them.” He smiled at the librarian, showing a brightness he didn’t quite feel, and then sighed as he closed the book. “You want to close, you said.”
“I should,” she admitted, “but I could easily stay open for a little while, if you’ve nearly finished.”
Remus yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Not sure where to look now, I’m afraid. I’m trying to trace someone, but I don’t know what her surname was before she married.”
“Try looking under the husband’s name, sometimes things get misreported. What was his name?”
“Er, Pettigrew,” Remus replied.
“Pettigrew!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t that the name of the young man who died duelling that madman, Sirius Black?”
Remus smiled lopsidedly. Mrs Goodbody was wrong on every score, but he couldn’t tell her that. “Yes, Peter Pettigrew was his son. He was a friend of mine, and I’m trying to trace his next of kin.” He paused as he thought up a story. “I have some photographs from our school days, and other keepsakes. I thought his mother might appreciate them “ or his cousin, perhaps. I heard he had a cousin about his age, although I think he was a Squib.”
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Mrs Goodbody beamed at him. “You should look in the Squib register. If he’s there, it will list any magical relatives he has.”
“Wonderful,” Remus breathed. Finally, he was getting somewhere. “Where is it? Can I look now?”
She shook her head. “The Squib register isn’t here anymore. It was moved with all the non-essential records several years ago.”
“Well, where’s that then? Will it still be open?” he asked, showing his impatience.
“All non-essential records were relocated to the library in Godric’s Hollow, Remus.” She glanced at the fob watch on her lapel. “They won’t be open now “ and certainly not tomorrow “ but you could try on Monday.”
He slumped back in his chair. Godric’s Hollow. He hadn’t been there for years. Not since “ Oh, Merlin, Prongs..
Not since the funeral.
“Are you all right, dear?” Mrs Goodbody asked, her voice full of concern. “Only you look a bit peaky.”
Remus sighed as he looked up at her. “I’ve been inside too long, I think.” He closed the book heavily and stood up. “I’ll let you close up now, but thank you so much for all your help.”
Wearily, he stumbled out of the room and into the narrow Ministry corridors. He’d chosen the day of his visit deliberately, knowing that Tonks would be at the England game. He couldn’t face seeing her yet. He was a coward, he knew, but he didn’t know how to tell her that it was Sirius’ reluctance to see her that was keeping them apart. Of course, they both wanted to protect her and shield her from any fallout it if were discovered that Sirius had received help in his escape, but Remus knew she’d say the risk was worthwhile. She needed to see her cousin, and it was tearing at Remus’ soul to see her utter misery at being denied the chance. In the end, though, his loyalty lay with Sirius and not her. For, however much he wanted things to be different, Sirius meant so much more. Remus’ past, his sense of worth and all his good memories were tied to that group of three and to Hogwarts.
Even Lily had been peripheral to their core.
Remus left his flat the next afternoon, loath to stay now that he had a lead. With Sirius away for the foreseeable future and Tonks refusing to see him, Remus found the solitude he usually craved to be suffocating. Now that he knew the whereabouts of the register, he itched to be on his way. Feeling the need to do something other than brood, he packed some clothes in a knapsack and, taking one last look at his flat, Apparated away.
It was warm when he arrived in a small field behind the old Potter house. He’d been here many times in the past. During summer holidays, he’d always spent a week with the Potters, joining Sirius and Peter as James’ guests. James’ parents had been elderly, but tolerant hosts. They’d adored their son and, by extension, his friends, whom they’d welcomed time and time again. He remembered their kindness to him, especially when he’d told them about his lycanthropy. Apart from a few of the Professors at school, Halley and Hereward Potter were the only adults he’d met who hadn’t judged him purely on his affliction. They’d been shocked, naturally, and their protective instincts had surfaced in the form of them studying the moon charts for the rest of that week, and attempting to rearrange the sleeping arrangements - until James laughed quite openly, saying they all shared a dorm ‘for Merlin’s sake’.
But when Remus had left, feeling utterly miserable because he knew this would be the last time he’d be invited, Halley had reached out and hugged him tight.
“Come back next year, Remus. Or perhaps you’d like to come for Christmas, too?” she’d said. And Remus had been hard pressed to say whether the tears he’d felt were from her or him.
When Hereward and Halley Potter had died, he had genuinely mourned them. He felt no shame in mourning them still, despite losing other friends whose lives had been cut short far too abruptly.
From what he remembered, there was a boarding house on the main street. Despite the short notice, he hoped he could find a bed for the night, and if not ... Remus sighed. He could always return home; however lonely, it would beat sleeping in the open air for the night.
Margaret Abbot’s Fine Bed and Breakfast looked much smarter than he remembered. Remus assumed that in the thirteen years since he’d last stayed there, she’d seen a dramatic upturn in business. The carpets were plush, the walls were all freshly painted, and the inside smelt fresh, inviting. When he’d been there before, Margaret Abbot had greeted him dressed head to toe in black. The walls had been grimy and the carpets stained; business at the height of Voldemort’s reign had been poor. But now “ he looked around again, taking in the surroundings “ now, business was obviously good.
It hit him suddenly, painfully, that the scene of Voldemort’s ‘death’ must be an attraction for wizards and witches everywhere. Perhaps they truly wanted or needed to pay homage, but the idea still struck him as ghoulish. This was where his friends had died. He wished they could be left in peace.
“I’d like a room,” he murmured to the young girl at the desk.
“How will you be paying, sir?” she whispered. “Cash, cheque, credit card, or ...” She bit her lip.
“Galleons,” he supplied.
She beamed and handed him a heavy key.
“You’ll be at the top of the house. I’ve given you one of the attic rooms,” she said, lowering her voice, “just in case you need to send an owl.”
After a deep night’s sleep in a comfortable bed, Remus awoke to the faint sound of birdsong floating through the open window. He opened his eyes, rather hoping to see the tiny Scops owl that had delivered Sirius’ last message. But there was nothing there “ no owl perched on his windowsill “ and the birdsong was merely the persistent chirping of the sparrows. Remus yawned and stretched, then levered himself out of bed. He knew, from talking to Margaret Abbott, that the Godric’s Hollow library wouldn’t open until ten, so he took his time over breakfast and ignored the insistent voice in his head telling him he should be elsewhere.
The Godric’s Hollow library was situated at the opposite end of the main street. Dressed in Muggle clothes, Remus did not look out of place amongst the non-magic residents of the village, and he was grateful again for his Muggle mother, who still sent him shirts and trousers for Christmas.
Remus smiled ruefully. It had not been necessary to dress like a Muggle for in Godric’s Hollow, there was a high proportion of wizards and witches, and none of them made a particular effort to blend in. It seemed the Muggles there were used to their ‘weirdo’ neighbours, and a wizard wearing a turquoise cloak no longer caused raised eyebrows.
Arriving at the library, Remus stopped for a moment to peruse the building. It wasn’t very old “ built perhaps twenty years ago “ and he wondered why it had been chosen to house non“essential records for the Ministry. Then it struck him that its very ordinariness, it’s very Muggle-ness, made it the ideal place to record those entities who were neither Muggle nor Magic. Remus pushed open the door and walked towards the reception desk where a middle-aged woman with grey hair and blue-rimmed glasses was stamping books as children took them out.
“Can I help you?” she asked, barely looking up from the pile in front of her.
“I’m looking for Mrs Robbins,” Remus replied, giving her the name of the witch Margaret Abbott had told him to ask for.
“That’s me,” replied a soft, faintly familiar voice behind him.
Remus turned around slowly, unwilling to believe his ears. Could it really be her?
“Hello, Remus.”
“Oh, good Godric, Mary Macdonald! What on earth are you doing here?” he managed to ask in shock.
She smiled at him and, for a moment, he was transported back to lazy days at Hogwarts, spent by the Black Lake or snuggled up together in an armchair as they tried and failed to write coherent essays. She didn’t look that much different: her short dark hair showed no grey, and her face only had the merest of fine lines around her eyes.
“I work here,” she said simply. “I’m Mary Robbins.”
Of course she was married. Why wouldn’t she be? She’d always been pretty and vivacious. Any wizard would have been a fool to turn her down.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, and smiled tentatively at her.
“Thirteen and a half years,” she agreed, a cloud shadowing her eyes. Then she smiled again and gestured with her hand. “Come, I’ll take you to the back room. That’s where we keep the “ er “ papers you’re interested in, Mr Lupin.”
Still bemused by her appearance, Remus complied. “You haven’t changed,” he muttered, trying to make conversation.
“You’re sweet to say so, Remus,” she replied as she led him down a corridor and to a heavy oak door. She pulled out her wand and muttered a spell, and he heard the locks on the other side of the door grate open. “But I’m not sixteen anymore, that’s for sure.”
“You’ve aged better than I have. My occupational hazard of turning into a savage every month does not add anything to my beauty routine,” he said, testing the water with a joke and wondering if she still had recriminations to fling in his face.
She snorted. “Wizards can get away with looking old. They look distinguished. Isn’t that the word?” She looked him up and down. “You look much the same as you always did, Remus. Bit more careworn, bit more grey, but in essence you’re the same old Remus Lupin.”
“Merlin, did I look this bad at school?” He laughed, but stopped when she didn’t join in.
“I meant the same as the last time I saw you.” She paused briefly; then she looked him straight in the eye. “At the funeral.”
He shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of what he could say. Mary must have taken pity on him; when she next started speaking, it was in a far more businesslike and less intimate tone.
“What help do you need?”
“Oh, the Squib register,” he said. “I’m trying to track someone down.”
“That’s easy enough. Although, if the Squib hasn’t registered with us, I can’t help you.”
“Isn’t it mandatory?”
She shook her head. “Only if the Squib wishes to find employment in our world. If they decide to live as Muggles, then they can remain anonymous.” She giggled suddenly. “I do wish Filch had remained anonymous. Merlin, he was a bitter man.”
“Still is,” Remus answered with a grin, adding, “I taught at Hogwarts last year.”
“I know,” Mary said. “You probably don’t realise, but you taught my daughter, Demelza.”
He thought back to the classes, trying to picture a girl with dark hair like her mother. “Oh, Demelza Robbins in the first year. Yes, I know her.” He grinned suddenly. “A Gryffindor “ just like her mother. She’s a good kid, Mary.”
“Thank you.” Mary acknowledged the compliment. “She is, although she’s being unbearable at the moment. She wants to spend all her time on her broomstick. She’s desperate to try out for the team next year, even though I’ve told her it’s rare for second-years to get on the team.”
“Mmm, Gryffindor has a good team as well,” Remus agreed, enjoying this conversation. “She might have to wait a while. Is she a Chaser like her mum or a Seeker like her aunt?”
“As much as Demelza would love to be like her aunt, who is obviously much, much cooler than her mum, she’s resigned to never being Seeker “ at least whilst Harry Potter’s on the team.” Mary pulled a large book from one of the dusty shelves and laid it out on the desk. “Who are you looking for?”
“Er...” Remus hesitated; Mary looked up at him. “That’s the problem. I don’t know his name.”
“Then how do you suggest we find him?” Mary asked, raising her eyebrows. “Really, Remus, I thought you were supposed to be the logical one!”
He didn’t smile; instead, he closed his eyes as the internal debate in his head raged. How much could he tell her?
“It’s Peter Pettigrew’s cousin,” he said at last. “But I don’t know his name, or if he’s still alive.”
“Peter...”she whispered, her eyes wide open. Her face blanched, and she sat heavily in a chair. “Oh, Merlin, even after all these years, I can’t believe what happened. Poor little Peter.”
Remus nodded uneasily. “I want to find Peter’s mother. I have some items of his that she might like.” He used the same lie he’d used on Mrs Goodbody. “I’ve only just found them ... photos ... that sort of thing. I thought she might appreciate them.”
Mary gazed across at him. He noticed her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. He felt suddenly angry that she was crying over the wrong person, and wanted to tell her so. But he couldn’t “ not yet “ not while Sirius was still deemed guilty.
She sniffed noisily and stood up, returning the book to its shelf. “You don’t need to look in that, Remus,” she explained, and smiled weakly. “I know where Janet Pettigrew is.”
“You do?”
Mary nodded. “She has an unusual surname, so when someone came in to renew her books for her just after I started working here, I realised who she was.”
“Janet Pettigrew lives in Godric’s Hollow!” he exclaimed. “Where? Can you take me there?”
“No, and yes,” replied Mary. “She lives on the outskirts of the village, and yes, I can take you there, but I’m not sure you’ll have any luck.”
“Why not? It’s just a few photographs,” he lied. “And she’ll remember me. I used to visit sometimes over the holidays.”
“No doubt you did,” Mary said, sighing. “The trouble is that Janet Pettigrew now lives in a nursing home. Peter’s death was the last straw, and she lives in some kind of twilight haze where he’s still an eleven year old boy about to set off for Hogwarts.”
It hit him with the force of a hex, the utter futility of trying to find Peter, who had always had the best disguise of them all. Even if Peter had visited, she would not have recognised her son “ certainly not the quivering wreck of a man who’d pleaded for his life in the Shrieking Shack. Janet Pettigrew was the only person Peter would have visited; without her identification, he was lost.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
“I take books up there once a month, Remus,” Mary replied. “And every time, I pop in to see her. She has no recollection of Peter ever being at school. She doesn’t remember his friends, his teachers, or even how proud he was of his Care of Magical Creatures O.W.L. mark.” She pulled out a handkerchief and audibly blew her nose. “Poor Peter, you don’t expect your mother to forget you, do you? Especially when he died a hero.”
“No,” muttered Remus, more to himself than to Mary. “I don’t think there’s much more I can do then.”
“You could give the photos to his cousin,” she suggested. “Look, I can help you find him ... I don’t mind.”
“Peter disliked his cousin,” Remus stated. “He wouldn’t have wanted him to have anything. Besides, I should get back home.” He walked towards the door, but the sound of Mary stifling a sob caused him to turn back. He owed her, after all. “I want to go to the church, Mary. Will you come with me?”
She smiled tearily at him. “Laying ghosts to rest,” she murmured, a note of bitterness in her voice.
“I was too angry and too shocked to say goodbye,” he replied. “To James, Lily ... and you. I’m not angry now.”
“Tell me about your husband,” he said idly as they walked out of the library and into the summer sun.
Mary shrugged. “Not much to tell. I met Willard after leaving Hogwarts. He worked at the Ministry and we went out a few times. It wasn’t serious “ not then. But after Lily died, I ...” She faltered and wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Oh, hell, Remus. You know what it was like. Dangerous times, when you seek comfort where you can. Proof that you’re alive.”
Remus flushed, but reached out and squeezed her arm.
“I discovered I was pregnant, so we got married, which seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“You were pregnant?” Remus’ eyes widened, as his brain made a rapid calculation. “Er ... When is Demelza’s birthday?”
She laughed suddenly, wildly, tossing her head back in a gesture he remembered so well from school. “She’s not yours, Remus. She could have been, I suppose, but she’s the image of her father.”
He felt ashamed, but also disgruntled by the knowledge of the other man. Looking at him, Mary snorted. “You left me, Remus, with just a single word on a parchment sheet. ‘Sorry’ really did say it all, and I knew you wouldn’t be back.”
She slowed her pace as they reached the churchyard. “You didn’t know I was married. Didn’t know I’d had a child. Did you honestly expect me to wait for you?”
“No, of course not,” he said, and sighed. “Are you happy together?”
“Happier now we’re not together,” she muttered darkly. ”We split up when Demelza was nine.” She shook her head. “Let’s not talk about that. Why don’t you go ahead and see them? I’ll wait here, if you like.”
He assented and stepped forwards but, as he reached the arched gateway into the graveyard, he turned his head back. “Come with me, Mary “ please?”
“What sort of time do you call this, Nymphadora?”
Sitting down next to Charlie, Tonks punched him lightly on the arm. “I sent a message saying I was running a few minutes late, Weasley!”
“Mmm, your idea of a few minutes is one that defies the laws of time travel, Tonks,” Charlie muttered. He picked up a menu and handed it to her. Then he grinned. “Bloody good to see you again.”
She grinned back. It had been nearly two years since her trip to Romania and, although Charlie had been back to see his family, they’d only been able to see each other fleetingly. This time, though, Charlie was around for a proper holiday to see the Quidditch World Cup, and she’d promised to have dinner with him. “Your dad said he’d got you some great tickets for the final,” she said as she tried to decide what to order.
“Yep, match day arrival,” Charlie replied. He signalled to a waitress and ordered himself another beer and a wine for Tonks.
“Jammy git! I have to get there three days before. It will be murder sharing a tent with dad all that time. He snores so loudly!”
“I would have a thought an Auror could’ve swung brilliant tickets,” Charlie said in surprise. “Even a junior one.”
Tonks pulled a face, but said nothing.
“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re in trouble already,“ Charlie said, laughing nervously.
“Umm, not trouble, exactly,” she replied, and sighed. “Mr Crouch doesn’t really blame me, but...” She hesitated. Charlie glared, so she swallowed and then continued. “It was all a mix-up really. A wand was stolen, and I was found unconscious along with Proudfoot “ and we, um, failed to catch the culprit.”
“Whose wand?” Charlie asked suspiciously.
Tonks shrugged. “No idea,” she replied blandly, knowing full well that the Ministry had ordered a clampdown on news of Black’s wand.
Charlie eyed her thoughtfully. He looked as if he were about to question her further, but then the waitress arrived with their drinks and took their food order.
“How is Proudfoot, now?” he asked idly, as they shared a bowl of peanuts in the centre of the table.
“An arse,” she replied, “but not quite as obnoxious now that I’m qualified. I don’t have much to do with him, to be honest. He likes Quidditch, though, so we talk about that when we do speak.” She took a sip of her drink before continuing. “I’m looking forward to seeing Krum. Is he as good as everyone says?”
“Yep,” replied Charlie. He leant back in his seat. “He’s still at school, but he plays for one of the Bulgarian sides. Merlin, he’s good. If I’d had that amount of talent ...”
“You did,” she replied reproachfully. “You just preferred dragons.”
He smiled ruefully, but said no more. Tonks realised that he was thinking about their time at Hogwarts and all the matches they’d played. Despite choosing dragons, she felt sure she and Charlie felt the same occasional pangs of regret when watching Quidditch. They could have both been players, but other things were more important. She ducked her head forwards and kissed him briefly on the cheek.
“What was that for?” he asked in surprise.
“Just for being here with me, I suppose,” she replied, winking at him. She saw him blush and, mortified that she’d embarrassed him, Tonks tried to think of something to change the subject. “Mad-Eye!”
“What?” Charlie asked in utter bemusement.
“Mad-Eye Moody,” she babbled. “Sorry, I was thinking about him, wondering if he were going to the Quidditch. Has your dad mentioned him recently?”
Charlie shrugged. “Only the usual. Dad says that since retiring he’s even more paranoid.”
Tonks bit her lip guiltily. “I haven’t seen him for ages; I really should go round one evening. He must hate retirement.”
“Not today, though, eh?” Charlie asked. “Let today just be about us catching up and having fun.”
She smiled at him, feeling more relaxed than she had in weeks, and raised her glass. “To fun,” she agreed.
“I was wrong,” Remus said.
“About what?” asked Mary.
They were sitting in the field behind the old Potter house. Mary had brought some food packed in a basket and offered him the last of the fruitcake.
Remus accepted the slice, but his eyes were on the house in the distance. “I thought Lily was peripheral,” he said at last. “I don’t mean unimportant, but I thought she was on the edge of things, that it was the four of us who were the core of everything.”
“You were,” Mary replied as she lay back on the rug. “Even when I was going out with you, I knew the others meant more to you.” She smiled up at him. “I told myself I didn’t mind “ but of course I did.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. Then his eyes flicked back to the house. “But once Lily was with James, it was different. She was the core.”
“Do you think that’s what made Black turn? Was he jealous of Lily?”
Remus turned to look at Mary. He wondered what he could tell her. Martha had believed him, but Mary... He sighed. He did not know Mary “ not any more. “Perhaps,” he replied vaguely.
“I bring Demelza here, you know,” Mary said after a while. “The Muggles can’t see us flying, so we take to the air.” She closed her eyes. “Sometimes it seems like I’m back here playing with Martha, James “ ” she faltered, ““ and Sirius. I feel close to James and Lily here, you know. And I like to think James would be pleased the field’s being used again.”
Remus nodded. “He would be.”
Mary sighed and sat up, brushing crumbs from her shirt and running her hands though her hair. “I should go home. Demelza’s due back from her father’s today.”
Remus stood and, holding out his hand, pulled her to standing. “I should get going, too,” he said, although he felt an aching sadness at having to leave this place.
Mary stared at him. He tried to let go of her hand, but she would not relinquish her hold. “You could stay,” she murmured. “Just for a few more days, couldn’t you?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been here three days, Mary, but I can’t stay. Not tonight.”
“You’re running away again.”
“No,” he denied. “I’m being practical. It’s the full moon tonight. You have a daughter, and I doubt there’s anywhere secure enough to contain me.”
He thought that reminder would cause her to flinch, as Charity had, but instead Mary stepped closer towards him. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him softly on the lips. He hesitated, briefly, before kissing her back.
“Don’t leave it another thirteen years, Lupin,” she murmured, stroking his cheek with her thumb.
He held her close, breathing in her long-forgotten scent, and smiled. He’d laughed with this girl, as she’d danced effervescently into his life, making him feel normal, whole. But he’d cried over her, too, weeping on Lily’s shoulder because he couldn’t show how much it hurt to his friends.
“May I come back to see you, Mary?”
“You may,” she whispered, imitating his formality with a slight smile.
After squeezing him tight and giving him another kiss, she stepped back. With a last look, Mary Apparated away.
Her scent lingered on the air and he inhaled it hungrily, for it spoke to him of happier times. As it evaporated on the faint breeze, he cast a last look at the Potter house, saluting the memories and paying tribute to his friends from years ago. Then he, too, returned home.