Back to front, front to back
Will you come backwards with me?
It was one month to the day since the death of Benjy Fenwick, and sometimes Mary still found it difficult to drag herself out of bed and go through the normal routine of her life. She concluded —as she had far too much time to think and conclude lately— that the reason she could not go through her normal routine was because there was simply nothing normal about her days when she knew Benjy would not be around to fill them.
Some days were better than others. Some days she would wake up and tell herself that there was no use in crying again, that no matter how many tears fell from those green eyes, not a single one would have the power to bring him back. And then she could get up, pull on some clothes, and begin her day.
Others were much like the one she faced today, and admittedly these days were far more frequent than the others seemed to be. She awoke with wet cheeks and puffy eyes, her sleep only preparing her for the onslaught of memories she’d be playing through her mind as the day progressed. Without a thought, she forced herself out of the bed and padded her feet dejectedly across the carpet of her bedroom floor. It wasn’t until her bare feet hit the freezing tile of the kitchen that she remembered she was awake at all.
Her hand, lazy and unwilling as it was, reached out for the tea kettle and turned the stove on. She looked at it for a moment, and more so at her reflection in it. Her eyes were tired and just as red as she’d suspected, her hair was frazzled and she was certain that if she tried to run her fingers through it at that moment, they’d only be tangled and caught in the mess for far too long, and really she didn’t care enough to try.
As the stove heated up and Mary continued to stare into the glossy sheen of the kettle, she suddenly felt as if the very thing itself was offensive. The night they’d told her that Benjy was dead, the night when she felt her whole heart ripped out through her chest, that stupid, damned tea kettle had been screaming on the stove at her, a constant reminder that the news was real. That it was all real.
With a sudden movement that surprised even her, Mary felt her arm toss the stupid thing, the horrid reminder, the unwanted mirror away from her with all of her strength. Across the kitchen, the kettle slammed against the wall and shattered all across the floor, the sharp edges of the reflective material skidding every which way.
Again, without though, Mary dropped down to the floor and slumped against the counters, her nails digging into the floor as she screamed, most likely looking half crazed. She screamed until her throat felt as if knives had been scraped across it, she screamed until the sound itself seemed to dull her hearing, and she screamed until the pained noise turned into a sob, a whimper, a whisper for him to come back.
Blurry eyes opened and stared down once more into a piece of the kettle, but the image of her own tear-stained face quickly faded in her fuzzy vision to a memory of much happier times. With several shaky breaths, Mary closed her eyes tightly and leaned her head against the base of the counter, her mind taking her back to the very moment she’d imagined.
They’d been so young back then —and she supposed in some ways they all still were— but then they were not so touched by the burdens of death and fear and war that now loomed over them all. Her hair had been curled to loose perfection, her lips painted a bright red, and her eyes had glistened with the prospect of a good night with her mates. A sharp contrast to the Mary that now slumped pathetically in her kitchen, hugging her legs tightly to her chest as she tried not to sob too loudly.
Benjy was there too, of course, as he so often was exactly when she needed him to be. They weren’t together, and Mary couldn’t even recall whether she’d known he’d liked her at that point, but the fact still stood that upon his entrance, she’d wasted no time in throwing her arms around his neck and greeting him. His arms always felt so comforting when they wrapped around her waist and lingered just a moment more than hers always did. She supposed she should have realized then that he liked her, but she was almost always a little too excitable to notice those things. But now that she’d never feel that too-long embrace, she could recall it with perfect clarity.
All night she’d hung about him, and even as the others goofed around as they were all prone to do back then, she found herself just wanting to talk to him, to be close to him. But the alcohol had, eventually, gone to everyone’s head and as these things go, a suggestion was taken too far.
He’d sloppily commented on the color of her lips, and with a nudge, Sirius had encouraged him to test them out if he was so fascinated. Mary laughed it off, hitting the Marauder lightly but not protesting, and it was only moments later that her lips were on his and his arms around her waist once more. To the cheers of her friends, Mary pulled away from him, but with a final laugh pushed him down onto the couch and insisted on leaving the bright prints of her lips across his neck and cheeks, laughing all the while.
It hadn’t meant anything to her then, it was a fun time, it was a laugh, and shortly afterwards the pair had fallen asleep on the couch just in the same way they’d landed on it. Now though, now just thinking about it ripped open a whole new wound within her chest. All she wanted was to have him back, for the memories she pulled up far too often to stay in the past where they belonged to make room for future memories with him. But as she hastily wiped her palm over her cheeks to rid them from tears and stood up, waving her wand to clean up to mess of the broken tea pot that she’d thrown countless times in the last month, she was faced once again with the realization that she’d never make a memory with him again.
The familiar sounds of engines running, parents bidding their children farewell, and owls hooting in protest of being shoved onto the storage car of the Hogwarts Express met Lily’s ears and brought a smile to her lips. She looked up in wonder at the steaming scarlet train before her and was filled with both a great joy and a sinking sense of sadness. This was the last first time she would be boarding the train with intentions of starting up a new term at the place she called home for more than half of the year, and all at once she worried that one more year would not be enough time. Would she learn enough to get her through the rest of her life? Would she be able to keep in contact with her best mates? Would anything change at all?
It seemed inevitable that something would have to change, the feeling in her gut told her that everything was about to, but her mind tried to tell her differently. It was still Hogwarts, these were still the people she’d grown up with, and James Potter —who had just caught her attention after a rather booming greeting shouted at Remus Lupin— was still an arrogant twat.
Taking one last breath of the smoky but refreshing air that surrounded her, Lily Evans bid the platform goodbye and hopped up onto the nearest entrance to the train with a grin across her face, fingers working to straighten out the Head Girl pin that she’d proudly stick on herself that morning after her mother had crushed her in a hug.
Yes, things we’re going to change.
—-
James Potter stood at Platform 9 ¾ with an almost nervous grin on his face as his hazel eyes swept the place, a pang of familiarity hitting him right in the heart. Had Sirius, Remus and Peter not been having a laugh right behind him, James might have even frowned to know that this would be the very last time he’d start a new term at Hogwarts. But duty called, and instead of feeling upset, he turned to his friends and, with a much exaggerated smug grin, showed off his Head Boy badge to Peter and Remus.
“Dumbledore has lost any marbles he might have had,” Remus commented on the thing, still giving James a smile of congratulations. James’ stomach flipped, as it had been doing every time he thought of his new position for the past month, but he kept his appearances up. What use was nervousness?
The badge had changed everything, and contrariwise had changed nothing at all. He would still goof about with his mates, break the law once a month as the moon reached its final circle, still probably annoy the living daylights out of Lily Evans… But there was a distinct air of difference about the whole thing that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Yes, things were going to change.
—-
A quarter of the train ride in, Lily Evans excused herself from the compartment which she’d been forcefully dragged into by her friends only moments after first stepping onto the train, and she had to admit she was rather glad for the Head Girl duties that would whisk her away. They’d all been acting very strange, almost as if they had a secret they didn’t wish to share with her. She hoped that it was simply that they were feeling just as nostalgic as she was.
Easily making her way to the compartment designated for the Prefect and Head meeting, Lily slid the glass doors open and beamed around at all of the occupants, introducing herself though there really was no need.
And where was her Head Boy? Perhaps Remus had gotten caught up at the sweets trolley. It had to be Remus, as no one else was missing from the compartment.
—-
A quarter and five minutes of the train ride in, Remus Lupin let out a sigh and forcefully pulled James up from where he lounged next to Sirius, shaking his head just slightly. “First meeting and you’re already late, in turn making me late. C’mon, James, recounting tales of setting accidental fires to your neighbor’s cat’s tail can wait.”
“It most certainly cannot wait!” James protested but got up all the same, that same sinking feeling in his gut. Why would Dumbledore choose him as Head Boy? Remus, the punctual, responsible, proper one was clearly the better choice. He couldn’t help but think he would find some way to fail at this.
Stopping on the way to buy Remus a bar of chocolate much to the boy’s protests and eventual thanks, James and Remus arrived at the compartment several minutes late, and the moment a flash of red hair caught his eye, James gulped.
He didn’t have time to turn around, Remus was already opening the door and pushing him in.
—-
The door to the compartment met Lily’s ears with a click, and she smiled as she turned to face the newest member to their meeting, that look immediately falling. Remus was there, alright, but what the bloody hell was James Potter doing in her compartment…in her compartment with a badge that looked eerily similar to the one she donned.
“You’re Head Boy?” she nearly gaped, green eyes going wide and a hand flying to her hip in some sort of postural protest.
“That’s what the badge says, Evans.” He replied, taking another step into the compartment and turning to face the Prefects, also introducing himself with no need.
She starred.
He starred.
Yes, things were going to change.
For Elena
A slight tremble started in the fingertips of one Benjy Fenwick and slowly worked its way up through the joints, knuckles and tendons of his hands until he had no choice but to wring them together with a nervous sort of kneading that he wished very much would stop being necessary. Voices of his fellow classmates reached his ears but failed to prove important enough for his brain to fully comprehend, and the shrill squeals of laughter and clinking of glasses served as a backdrop as he stood quite alone on one end of the room, glancing every few moments towards the blonde who stood with a group of her friends, cheeks painted a pale red from all of the laughter she’d been joining in on.
She was beautiful, and from the moment that this thought weaseled its way into his mind, Benjy simply could not let it go. He’d half ditched the girl who insisted he join her at the first Slug Club party of the year as his date, and he’d half been ditched by her as she’d preferred the company of good old Professor Slughorn’s assorted famous guests to his own company. But Benjy couldn’t feel any certain pang of sadness about this, not as Mary MacDonald’s laugh met his ears from across the room.
With much protesting on her part, Mary had been convinced to join Lily at the party that evening after being promised an assortment of food and with the swear that Lily would happily help her on her next potions essay, should she need the advice. And she would. She’d put on her best dress, pink with delicate lace acting as an end point just above her knees and a neckline that had made Benjy blush when she’d first walked into the room.
After nearly being caught looking her way, Benjy thought it best to turn around and pay some attention to his own friends, hoping at some point in the night to pluck up the courage to say something to her. It wasn’t that they’d never spoken, in fact over the years the pair of them had held several conversations that went past the “Hello, how are you?” pleasantries, he just wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it, to be truthful.
Mary always seemed so put together, a smile nearly constantly on those flush lips of her hers that made him want to either match her expression or press his lips to hers, though mostly it was the latter, and sometimes he felt like a right fool next to her, at least until they started talking. She had a way about her that was so open and friendly that it somehow sucked away any awkward silences or doubts that he might have had, and it seemed that it wasn’t simply him that was affected this way. It was just her own magic, he supposed.
Well into the night as the chatter died down and the music took on a more slow and soothing tone, Benjy found himself looking out at the room and all of the people who had come to attend the get together. Without even noticing, his eyes seemed to seek out Mary, and at that very moment she happened to look up and catch his glance before he had a chance to look away. Within a moment, she was slowly making her way towards him, a small hint of a smile on her face that didn’t quite match the normal grin that often graced it.
“Enjoying yourself, Benjy?” she asked politely, leaning her back against the wall next to him and waiting for his response as she played with the hem on her dress, twisting and untwisting it around her index finger until it began to wrinkle.
He replied almost instantly, but it felt like it took him much longer than that to form his words. “Don’t tell Slughorn, but I’ve been to better parties.” He hoped he didn’t sound like a dolt, but from the sound of her laugh he supposed she at least got a bit of amusement from it.
“Between you and me, so have I.”
He knew that the words were meant to be somewhat of a joke, but he picked up on a slight bitterness to them and watched as she looked down at the ground, finger still playing with the lace of her dress. He swallowed, “Is everything alright, Mare?”
“Hmm?” Her head shot back up, buttery blonde curls bouncing around her face and bringing a smile to his own lips as he watched them. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit bored I guess. See, I came with Lily, only it seems every bloke and his cousin are trying to swoop her up on a date now that Potter isn’t within secretive hexing distance.” A quiet laugh punctuated her words and she shrugged, resting her head against the cool stone of the wall as her green eyes made their way to his face, meeting his gaze.
“What, and they’re not hitting on you too?” He would have found that very hard to believe.
Her shoulders raised in another half-shrug, and she averted her eyes from him just long enough for him to notice a slight shift in her posture, in the way she held her head up. “Well, I’m not Lily,” came her simple answer, and an idea hit him then —or perhaps not an idea at all, but more of a conclusion. Mary was completely unaware at that moment just how beautiful she was. It wasn’t simply that she was pretty, though she was, but Benjy thought everything about her was beautiful. The way her green eyes never focused on one thing for too long unless she was trying to make a point, how she shuffled her feet anytime there was a pause in conversation, the way that she simply made people happy. Especially him. And she didn’t know that?
Without thinking, Benjy took her hand, the twirled fabric falling back into place as her fingers let go of it, and smiled at her like he had some sort of secret, and in a way he supposed that he did. “Hey Mary, you’re beautiful.”
His smile grew —as did the flipping feeling in his stomach and the pace of his heartbeat— as she looked at him with confusion on her face for a moment, pale cheeks burning pink under the soft lighting of the room. It was obvious she was attempting to hide her smile, and somehow that saddened him just a bit.
“Thanks, I think,” she said at last, biting down on the flesh of her bottom lip. “I don’t know what that was for, but thank you.” Raising on her toes, Mary pressed a soft kiss to Benjy’s cheek, and when she returned to normal height beamed up at him. “You’re entirely too sweet, Benjy Fenwick, but that’s what makes you beautiful.”
He nearly blushed at that, but managed to head it off with a smile instead and a gentle squeeze to her hand before letting go. Suddenly, he felt like a party had never been thrown that he enjoyed more than this one, even if he were just leaning against a wall with Mary MacDonald.
“Any particular reason why you look like you’ve just been hit with a bludger?” Lily’s voice teased, mocking the shock that was plainly etched across James Potter’s face as he entered his dormitory late one Friday evening, fresh and sore from the brutal Quidditch practice he’d put the Gryffindor team though.
Yes there was a reason, several of them if he were to be exact. There was the initial shock of seeing someone in his bed, there was the even greater shock of recognizing that someone as Lily Evans, and there was the very Gryffindor sweater she sported with little to no visible pants underneath. James smirked, “It’s just my natural charming face, I suppose.”
Tossing off the spent gear that had served its purpose on the field but was best left off of his bed —most especially when the only thing he craved for more than Quidditch was in it— James walked across the mess of a room and made himself comfortable on the mattress where he lay beside her, nose working to slide across the soft skin of her just barely exposed collar bone, eliciting an obvious intake of breath from her.
“Not tired from a practice well played?” Lily asked with more concentration than should have been necessary, trying not to notice as his fingertips brushed their way up her exposed thigh and back down the soft patch of skin, tracing the course several times before finally his hand stole past the fabric of her sweater. “I’ll take that as a no.”
A light chuckle fell from his lips, dancing across her skin in the expulsion of air. In hardly a second, the hand that wasn’t busy against her thigh was used to prop his body up and he towered over her in a heated straddle. “Lily Evans, there are several things that I would never turn down no matter how tired I happened to be. One of those things is a chance to beat Sirius at a drinking game, another is to play on a national Quidditch team. But the most important of these three things is you being in my bed, no matter what that may encompass.”
A smile stretched across her lips and she met his gaze, his lips only turning to match her expression as they seemed to share a sort of joke between the two of them before she spoke and the joke passed. “You are not nearly as smooth as you’d like to think,” she warned him, amused all the same as her fingers wrapped around his loose fitting tie and she pulled his lips down to hers, gently trapping them in a kiss.
“Must be doing something right,” he said, pausing to mutter against her soft lips before catching them up once more.
