The corners of her mouth twitch up. "Touché."
He yawns, turning back to the ceiling. "When are you allowed to start Quidditch again?" he asks, because if he doesn't start talking he's going to fall asleep and that's the last thing he wants.
It's Mary's turn to sigh. "Not until after Christmas."
James winces. "Fuck."
"Head injuries are apparently serious," she goes on flatly.
"Oh yeah, I vaguely remember that being mentioned." Another pause, the low-burning fire crackling in front of them. James wonders absentmindedly what the house elves do if the common room never empties—do they still come and clean it?
"We'll hold strong until you get back, only one more game anyway. We're gonna take it this year, I can feel it," he finds himself saying.
Mary makes a noncommittal noise that draws James's eyes to her. She's been back from the infirmary all weekend but tomorrow—toady, actually, he supposes—will be her first day in classes again.
James nudges her gently with his foot. "You okay Macdonald?"
A long moment of silence passes. "Have you ever felt helpless?" she asks, eyes still on the fire.
James nods, slowly. "Yeah, all the time."
Mary's fingers fidget with the sleeve of her housecoat. Despite the fact that she's sitting next to him she feels far away. Like she's drifting. James has the sudden desire to reach out and anchor her.
"Not me," she says finally. "I've never been helpless," she bites down on her lower lip and James isn't sure if she's going to continue, but then; "when I was little I used to watch all these movies, and no matter what the story was the girl always needed to be rescued. Like just, constantly. It didn't matter if she was one of the heroes or a love interest or whatever. And I hated that. So I made this list in my head of all the things I needed to know," she laughs at herself. "I thought; I'll learn all this stuff—how to swim and fight and untie knots and fly planes—I'll learn all this stuff, and then I'll rescue myself."
James smiles, because yeah, that sounds just like Mary, even if he doesn't really know much about Muggle movies or what the hell a plane is.
"And did you?" he asks.
He can see her swallow.
"No," her voice is tight. "I got a letter telling me I was a Witch. Figured, what do I need to learn how to fight for? I have a wand now. I have magic. Who's going to be able to touch me?" Somewhere beneath the anger and bitterness is something that hurts.
James doesn't know what to say to that. Most people would probably go with something along the lines of: I'm sorry.
I'm sorry this happened.
Sorry it happened to you.
Sorry you're hurting.
But he knows Mary well enough not to. It'd only irritate her.
"Any word on Mulciber?" he asks instead.
A cold smile spreads across her face. "They tried to expel him but his parents are kicking up a fuss. They have friends in high places apparently."
James grimaces. "Fuck."
Mary nods. "They promised me—McGonagall and Dumbledore—that he won't be in class, that he'll be doing all his school work in Slughorn's office. Temporarily, anyway."
"Temporarily?"
She nods. "Until he gets expelled or his parents get what they want and he's let off the hook."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Start from the beginning
