Mary's Story, Part The Third
Part 1 is here.
Part 2 is here.
Part 3 is
A figure came from the depths of the cave. He made as if to approach the fire, then stopped. "I cannot come near the sunlight," he said. His voice was soft and serious, as if he hadn't used it much. "Please hold me excused."
"Light-sensitive?" I asked.
"Only to sunlight. Your fire does not harm me."
"I hope I'm not trespassing," I said. "I was out on a hike and got caught in the storm. I'm just waiting for it to end and for my jacket to dry out."
"Don't worry," he said, drawing closer to me, yet avoiding the thin shaft of light from the cave opening. "My mistress is away, she will not notice you."
I looked up at him, and at his face. He wore fine clothes, a silk shirt and dark tight-fitting trousers, with a black woolen cloak covering it all. He was tall, as tall as Clive, but with a more muscular build that hinted at plenty of exercise. Yet his pale skin told another story. If he got exercise, it certainly wasn't in the open air, not in the daytime at any rate.
His eyes were green like emeralds, and his hair was red -- not orange-red, but red red, just like yours, Lily.
I think you know where this is going. I'll spare you the more graphic of the details -- no one likes to think of their parents as, well, sexual beings. I know I wouldn't. But I'll try to explain myself. Anyway --
"I am Damian," he said, and offered his hand to me to shake. I took it; it was cool and dry, yet his grip had power.
"I'm Mary Evans."
"Why were you out in the storm?"
You know how it's easier to tell some things to complete strangers? Because you know you'll never see them again? Well, that must be why I said what I said.
"I was angry with my husband," I replied, looking away from him. "I wanted to walk off my anger before I did something stupid."
"Do you and he fight often?"
"All the time. It's why we came up here, to try and find a way to stop fighting."
"Do you love him?"
"Yes, yes I do. It's just that... we're so different. And we were so young when we married. I keep wondering what my life would have been like if I'd waited, if I'd met other men before settling down with him."
"You are... curious about other men?"
I could feel the heat rising in my face. "Yes," I admitted.
I felt his hand under my chin, raising it up so his eyes met mine. "I must be honest with you, Mary. I'm... curious about you, too." I felt something behind his eyes, something he was holding in check. "But I'm not really a man."
Something of my usual flippance was back. "You look pretty masculine to me."
"Let me show you."
And then he released whatever it was that he was holding back.
Someone else's memories poured into my head. Scenes of long ago, of Viking longships and burning castles and of one castle that did not burn, and a red-haired Viking caught and made to suffer eternal torment as one of the undead...
The flood of memories ceased, and I found myself gasping, staring at him.
"You poor man," was all I could think of to say.
His hand tightened around my chin a moment, then relaxed. "Most people are disgusted with me, when they find out what I am."
"Their loss," I said. And because I felt like it, I gave him a peck on the lips. They were dry, too, yet soft and pleasant to the touch.
He looked at me with wide eyes. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that.
Then his arms went around me and he kissed me back. He undid his cloak and tossed it onto the ground, and we found ourselves lying on that.
By the time we were done with the kissing and all of that, the rain had stopped. We put ourselves back together, dusted the sand off our clothes, and prepared to go our separate ways.
"Good-bye, Mary," he said.
"Good-bye, Damian," I said.
And then I walked out of the cave, into the sunny day. I could go back to Clive and Petunia. I had the itch scratched. And it was good.
I never fought much with Clive after that. I'd finally realized that I'd been fighting myself because I was angry for not having done more before I settled down. And I have Damian to thank for helping me. I also have him to thank for you, and possibly for your being what you are.
I've wished, in the years since then, that I could have brought you to see him. I think he would have been happy to see that even someone like him could have taken part in the making of someone as lovely as you. But then I found that the wizarding world is even harsher towards Damian's sort than is my own world, and by the time I got the courage to tell you, the cancer had already been diagnosed.
It's your decision, whether or not you want to share this with James. But I do think you should tell your children when they are of age. It's only fair.
I love you, darling. I hope you can understand why I did what I did.
Your loving mother,
Mary
Harry set the manuscript on Dumbledore's desk. He felt the headmaster's eyes on him again.
"You'd better read it yourself, sir," he said, his voice somewhat shaky.
"Thank you, Harry, for allowing me to do so." He made a wave of his hand, and a tea tray, laden with tea and biscuits, appeared. "Do have some refreshment in the meantime."
Harry sat back in his chair, tea cup and biscuit in hand, as Dumbledore read the manuscript. He was just about done with his first cup when Dumbledore set down the papers.
"This does, indeed, explain much."
"Yes, it does, sir."
"How do you feel about it all, Harry?"
Harry was wondering about that, himself. It took a while for him to find an answer.
"Relieved, sir. And happy."
"Happy?"
"Happy to have something from both my mum and her mum. Happy that I can share it with my grandfather. Happy that I know more about how I came to be here."
A smile appeared on Dumbledore's tired old face. "Then that's the important thing, Harry. That's the important thing."
Part 2 is here.
Part 3 is
A figure came from the depths of the cave. He made as if to approach the fire, then stopped. "I cannot come near the sunlight," he said. His voice was soft and serious, as if he hadn't used it much. "Please hold me excused."
"Light-sensitive?" I asked.
"Only to sunlight. Your fire does not harm me."
"I hope I'm not trespassing," I said. "I was out on a hike and got caught in the storm. I'm just waiting for it to end and for my jacket to dry out."
"Don't worry," he said, drawing closer to me, yet avoiding the thin shaft of light from the cave opening. "My mistress is away, she will not notice you."
I looked up at him, and at his face. He wore fine clothes, a silk shirt and dark tight-fitting trousers, with a black woolen cloak covering it all. He was tall, as tall as Clive, but with a more muscular build that hinted at plenty of exercise. Yet his pale skin told another story. If he got exercise, it certainly wasn't in the open air, not in the daytime at any rate.
His eyes were green like emeralds, and his hair was red -- not orange-red, but red red, just like yours, Lily.
I think you know where this is going. I'll spare you the more graphic of the details -- no one likes to think of their parents as, well, sexual beings. I know I wouldn't. But I'll try to explain myself. Anyway --
"I am Damian," he said, and offered his hand to me to shake. I took it; it was cool and dry, yet his grip had power.
"I'm Mary Evans."
"Why were you out in the storm?"
You know how it's easier to tell some things to complete strangers? Because you know you'll never see them again? Well, that must be why I said what I said.
"I was angry with my husband," I replied, looking away from him. "I wanted to walk off my anger before I did something stupid."
"Do you and he fight often?"
"All the time. It's why we came up here, to try and find a way to stop fighting."
"Do you love him?"
"Yes, yes I do. It's just that... we're so different. And we were so young when we married. I keep wondering what my life would have been like if I'd waited, if I'd met other men before settling down with him."
"You are... curious about other men?"
I could feel the heat rising in my face. "Yes," I admitted.
I felt his hand under my chin, raising it up so his eyes met mine. "I must be honest with you, Mary. I'm... curious about you, too." I felt something behind his eyes, something he was holding in check. "But I'm not really a man."
Something of my usual flippance was back. "You look pretty masculine to me."
"Let me show you."
And then he released whatever it was that he was holding back.
Someone else's memories poured into my head. Scenes of long ago, of Viking longships and burning castles and of one castle that did not burn, and a red-haired Viking caught and made to suffer eternal torment as one of the undead...
The flood of memories ceased, and I found myself gasping, staring at him.
"You poor man," was all I could think of to say.
His hand tightened around my chin a moment, then relaxed. "Most people are disgusted with me, when they find out what I am."
"Their loss," I said. And because I felt like it, I gave him a peck on the lips. They were dry, too, yet soft and pleasant to the touch.
He looked at me with wide eyes. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that.
Then his arms went around me and he kissed me back. He undid his cloak and tossed it onto the ground, and we found ourselves lying on that.
By the time we were done with the kissing and all of that, the rain had stopped. We put ourselves back together, dusted the sand off our clothes, and prepared to go our separate ways.
"Good-bye, Mary," he said.
"Good-bye, Damian," I said.
And then I walked out of the cave, into the sunny day. I could go back to Clive and Petunia. I had the itch scratched. And it was good.
I never fought much with Clive after that. I'd finally realized that I'd been fighting myself because I was angry for not having done more before I settled down. And I have Damian to thank for helping me. I also have him to thank for you, and possibly for your being what you are.
I've wished, in the years since then, that I could have brought you to see him. I think he would have been happy to see that even someone like him could have taken part in the making of someone as lovely as you. But then I found that the wizarding world is even harsher towards Damian's sort than is my own world, and by the time I got the courage to tell you, the cancer had already been diagnosed.
It's your decision, whether or not you want to share this with James. But I do think you should tell your children when they are of age. It's only fair.
I love you, darling. I hope you can understand why I did what I did.
Your loving mother,
Mary
Harry set the manuscript on Dumbledore's desk. He felt the headmaster's eyes on him again.
"You'd better read it yourself, sir," he said, his voice somewhat shaky.
"Thank you, Harry, for allowing me to do so." He made a wave of his hand, and a tea tray, laden with tea and biscuits, appeared. "Do have some refreshment in the meantime."
Harry sat back in his chair, tea cup and biscuit in hand, as Dumbledore read the manuscript. He was just about done with his first cup when Dumbledore set down the papers.
"This does, indeed, explain much."
"Yes, it does, sir."
"How do you feel about it all, Harry?"
Harry was wondering about that, himself. It took a while for him to find an answer.
"Relieved, sir. And happy."
"Happy?"
"Happy to have something from both my mum and her mum. Happy that I can share it with my grandfather. Happy that I know more about how I came to be here."
A smile appeared on Dumbledore's tired old face. "Then that's the important thing, Harry. That's the important thing."