rebellxon:
Easter had come and gone, almost a month had passed, yet there Mary was – still thinking about & reminded of it, over and over. Christmas had been a sure event Mary committed to go to, Easter was also supposed to be a given, but she’d missed it. Did she regret missing it, doing what she was doing now with Peter Pettigrew, smoking, listening to Queen, eating, and just relaxing ( if you could call the occasional screaming of lyrics then debating which was right, relaxing )? No. Did she still worry? Of course. Especially when she’d gotten a letter, an owl, & a phone call from her brother – him sounding panicked in each form of communication they’d shared.
Guilt. She felt guilt the minute after their phone call, she felt selfish, she felt angry at herself even though she’d told herself she wouldn’t. That she couldn’t. That she wouldn’t dare let herself feel bad because for once she’d missed a ‘familial’ obligation. But she did, which only led to Mary being an absolute mess the past few weeks – her apartment got exceedingly more messy. She hadn’t written something worth writing or reading in weeks. The thought of being honest with herself aloud about why she felt guilty, not just because of her parents hold on her but because she hadn’t particularly cared about them until it affected Andrew, was terrifying. That for once, she didn’t care about her parents feelings. It was foreign, welcome, but scary. What made the situation even more pathetic to her, was that her friends were out there fighting a war – she was at war with herself over something so … minor. Something she thought she’d reconciled.
Had Peter noticed? Maybe. He’d seen her at points in her life that she’d prefer to forget, at her lowest, her most vulnerable. He’d seen her at her best too, he’d seen more than some people would’ve given him credit for – & Mary appreciated him more than he seemed to understand.
She’d been quiet for a while, staring up at the ceiling deep in thought, letting the joint hang between her fingers for longer than it should’ve when she yelled, “PONCE, WE MISSED THE WEIRD SISTERS!” It had clicked then, that they’d missed the Weird Sisters at the event the Minister had thrown, God, how much had she fucked up in the last month? “We really missed the Wizarding World’s equivalent to Queen. It was free too, fuck. Fuck. I understand if you unfriend me because of this, mate, I really do. You can take as much pot as you’d like this month for my transgression and idiotic act of teenage rebellion.”
Holidays at home were quiet and plain and simple, but Peter DID like them. It was nice, to go to church with his mum and grandfather, to watch the lights sparkle through the tainted glass. It felt untouched, untainted by everything that was going on, to celebrate Easter like he had as a child. Peter might not feel that connected to God any more ( he wished he did, truly, but his faith had been lacking ), but he felt connected to the traditions, still.
He supposed he was lucky, to have his mother and grandpa. It wasn’t MUCH of a family, but it was enough. Besides, they loved him and didn’t treat him like crap -- much unlike the family of some of his friends -- so he had no room to complain. Still, he’d longed for something more during Easter. His dad, perhaps, because be still did, even after all these years. It was pathetic, really, how he still longed for a person who’d made it very clear that he had no interest in being in his life. SURE, Peter was prone to want things he couldn’t have and obsess over it -- a peaceful fucking life, for example, or a new TV -- but this was something else entirely. His wish for a father was simply part of who he was at this point: he’d wished it as a kid, and still did. He almost wondered if it was ungrateful, to want another parent so badly when he had a perfectly wonderful mother, but stopped himself before he could properly. He knew it was.
But maybe it was not that complicated. Maybe his Easter had just felt a bit odd because of everything else going on around him, or maybe it was because he’d needed a live number by the Weird Sisters or two. When Mary mentioned that they had missed them, Peter SHOT up, his high suddenly disturbed by disbelief. “FUCK.” He’d been peacefully listening to Queen, allowing Freddie Mercury’s voice to guide his thoughts, but now he was feeling genuinely upset about having missed the band.
“You know what? I CAN’T really blame you for this, as I forgot too, but I might still unfriend you,” he stated, looking at the other with a grave look. “I mean, I need more organised friends, because I’m too disorganised myself, and I’m not sure being friends with another disorganised mess is helping me in life. I mean, it caused me to miss a FREE concert by an amazing band!” Peter sat back down, shook his head as if he was deeply emotional. “I think taking some of your pot will definitely help me feel better, so I will take you up on that, I think. That’s a nice offer. Thank you for trying to make some reparations for the damage you’ve done.”
