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Chapter Text

“Well fuck,” Sirius says, with feeling, as the sky seems to open up above them, rain pounding the path into slick mud almost immediately. “Shit, fuck! For the love of–” he slips comically over the path as he slides toward the cover of the porch. 

Marlene simply sighs.

Even as the rain slicks her hair down and blurs her vision, she carries on toward the porch at a sedate pace, stepping over particularly deep puddles and trying not to think about what they’re going to do if their flares are too wet to use. That’s a problem for Future Marlene.

“For fucks sake, McKinnon,” Sirius hisses when she joins him on the porch. They’re both soaked to the bone–despite Sirius’ attempt to escape, his hair is already frizzing in a way that she knows she will hear about in detail when they get back to Grimmauld–and Marlene can feel her socks squishing in her boots, uncomfortable in a way that grounds her. “I’d appreciate it if you at least pretended to care about this,” he flicks his gaze around the porch like an echo is going to apparate from the floorboards. “I’d prefer to get a read on the house before the ghosts start coming out of the walls.”

“We’ve plenty of time,” Marlene counters, tipping her head back and trying to push back the flashes she’s already getting from the house. “You’re not usually so skittish about this shit,” she cuts him a dry look. “Not gonna bail on me are you?”

She grins as he sputters indignantly.

“Come one,” she says, pushing her way around Sirius to get to the door. “We haven’t got all night for you to have your crisis. Wait ‘til Prongs is about to let you wallow.”

“I do not wallow,” he hisses, following her into the house. “I have perfectly rational responses to the absolute bullshitery–”

“Bullshitery?” Marlene repeats, biting back a grin as he nods emphatically.

“I said what I said McKinnon,” he confirms, tossing his hair and seeming to wilt a little when he realizes its state. “There’s nothing wrong with being cautious and carrying on according to the rules.”

“As I live and breathe,” Marlene says, gasping and laying a hand across her chest in mock horror. “Sirius Black, vouching for the rules. I never thought I’d live to see the day that you, of all people, try to keep someone from having a bit of fun.”

“You’re not trying for a bit of fun,” he says, pouting as he starts lining up flares and rolling out the silver nets on the floor. “There’s a difference between harmless fun and intentional sabotage.”

Marlene bites back a retort, scowling as she dumps her bag onto the floor and palms her dagger. For once, Sirius isn’t exactly…wrong. Marlene has been going on missions continuously for the past four months since her parents died. It’s not sustainable and James has already been angling to get her to take a break for weeks now.

She just…can’t stop. Ever since that night, she’s had the strangest feeling of foreboding. Like she was supposed to be taken that night too, and she’s living on borrowed time. Time keeps rushing past her and if she pauses she’ll get snatched away in the tide too. For a person that deals with ghosts pressing into her awareness almost constantly, she cannot deal with death. Remus says she’s being melodramatic, but he subsists on cigarettes and spite so who is he to judge her?

“Oi, McKinnon,” Sirius calls from across the room, he’s squinting at the staircase and tipping his head to the side in a distinctly dog-like manner. It’s times like these that she thinks Sirius and Padfoot are more alike than they are different. “Are you seeing this?”

Marlene tightens her grip on her dagger as she steps next to Sirius, following his gaze and watching as an echo of a woman trails her hand up the rail ascending the stairs in flickering motions. Her dress is torn at the bottom, sagging in places and her hair tumbles down her back in matted pieces. She’s humming, and Marlene shivers at the resonance of the sound.

“Do you think she’s the haunt the client was talking about?” Sirius asks, still squinting even though the echo’s taken full corporeal form. He’s flicking a zippo between frantic fingers.

“Could be,” Marlene hums, following the echo up the stairs. Sirius scrambles after her, snatching a net and lamp from the floor and muttering about irresponsibility, which is rich coming from him.

The echo tips her head back at them as they come to the top of the stairs and disappears through a door at the end of the hall. There’s something off about this, but Marlene can’t place it. She’s wary to cast her vision out ever since the accident and now is no exception. Besides, if there’s something off Sirius will sense it. He’s always been so in tune with the gift that it seemed as natural as breathing for him. Where Marlene always had to fight with her gift, Sirius just got it in a way that had experts calling him a prodigy. 

They trail after the echo, opening the door and casting around the room for the source. There’s not much to be seen: a small bed tucked into the corner, a desk with a scattering of parchment and musty books, and a chair by the window. Sirius goes to the chair like he can’t help himself and traces his fingers over the floorboards, squinting at them like the wood’s done him a personal offense. Marlene brushes it off and trails her fingers over the worn desktop, flashes taking her by surprise.

You don’t know what you’re getting into.

The voice comes through clearly, even though Marlene has been diligently blocking any input from ghosts since she stepped on the property. With the wards she has in place, she shouldn’t hear a thing without actually trying.

“What the fuck,” she mutters, opening drawers as if they might hold tangible answers and coming up with loose change and broken pencils. Snapping the drawer shut, a glimmer of something distinctly not covered in dust catches her eye, and Marlene drops to her knees to dig under the desk. Nestled between the floor and the baseboards, a pendant shines up at her. It looks slightly rusted and trapped like it was shoved there with force and forgotten about.

“Hey,” Sirius says from his perch under the window, Marlene glances back at him and sees that he’s started pulling up floorboards under the window with a crowbar he presumably pulled from his jacket. “I think I found the source.”

Marlene hums in acknowledgment before reaching down to tug the pendant free. As it slips out, she realizes it’s actually attached to a chain that had fallen into the hole it was in, and she vaguely recognizes the symbol. It buzzes in her hand, just a trace of energy so potent it hums.

“McKinnon,” Sirius hisses, ripping at the floorboards more frantically as the hum of an echo starts to shake the room a bit. “A hand, if you don't mind?”

“Right,” she says, tucking the necklace into her pocket and scrambling to help him rip up the floor. There’s a box there, the size of a phonebook, glowing in the faint light coming from Sirius’ lamp. It’s a source if Marlene’s ever seen one. “Brilliant,” she says, grinning at Sirius as he pulls it from the floor. “Now we just need–”

Lightning flashes, casting the room in clear view for a moment, and Sirius fumbles the box. It tips out of his hands and onto the floor in a resounding crash that matches the rolling thunder outside. 

“Shit,” they say at once, looking at each other and scrambling to shove everything that fell out of the box back in.

“The net,” Sirius says frantically, scooping a handful of rings into the box as Marlene scrapes a smattering of beads into a pile. “Get the net, we won’t have time to–”

The door punches into the wall as the echo from before–so polite when leading them up the stairs–screams at them. To be fair, Sirius did just dump her source onto the floor with all the kindness of a raging banshee. 

“Shit,” they say in unison, yet again, and Marlene scrambles for the net Sirius left on the chair while Sirius continues to frantically shove the box back together.

“Duck!” Marlene shouts, tossing the net just barely over Sirius’ head when he dutifully flattens out. The net catches the echo across the chest and pins her in the doorway, where she flails and screeches against her confines. “See,” Marlene says, adrenaline making her hands shake as she joins Sirius on the floor again reaching to snag a loose set of papers and stick them in the box. “What’d I say? Fun.”

“We need to have a long talk about how you define fun, McKinnon, once we get out of this shithole,” Sirius counters with a grin, slamming the lid back onto the box and rifling through his pockets. 

“Tell me you have a bag for this,” Marlene says in disbelief, as Sirius continues to dig through his various pockets and produces absolutely nothing. “A chain? An extra net? Anything we can use to contain the source?”

“Well,” Sirius says with a grimace, dropping his hands to his lap and tapping the top of his thighs nervously. “You see–”

“Sirius,” Marlene hisses, gripping her knees so hard her knuckles creak. “Don’t tell me our only containment is currently holding down a rabid echo in front of our only exit.”

Sirius shrugs, and Marlene expends a commendable effort not to strangle him.

“Okay,” she says, scrubbing her hands through her hair and taking a breath. “Fine. This is fine.”

The room starts to shake again, and Marlene glances at Sirius, who grimaces. A shaking room can only mean that there’s another echo not currently weighed down by chains, which means that neither Marlene nor Sirius–who is supposed to be a fucking prodigy–picked up on the fact that there are two echoes attached to the box, not just the one they have trapped.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says, as a second echo bursts through the wall above the desk. He’s larger than the woman and faster as he dives into the space between Marlene and Sirius forcing them to fall apart or get caught in his icy grasp. 

He roars at Marlene before charging her. Marlene pulls out her dagger and swipes at his throat as she weaves out of the way. “Sirius,” she shouts, catching his eye before snatching her flares from her jacket pocket and tossing them toward him. He catches them as Marlene dodges another swipe of the echo’s hand. She really hopes the rain didn’t render them useless.

“Are you mental?!” he shouts at her, even though he’s already pulling a lighter from his coat and striking it frantically. The flares are only helpful if they don’t get caught in the flames as well, and with the close proximity of these echoes…their odds are admittedly shit.

“Maybe,” she yells back, finally catching the echo across the chest and forcing him to flicker back from her, screaming.

Marlene continues to distract the echo as Sirius struggles with the flares, swiping at him and barely slipping out of his reach. With a triumphant shout, Sirius lights the first flare throwing it…and completely missing the echo charging for Marlene. Sirius curses as the parchment on the desk starts to catch fire and Marlene would scream at him if she wasn’t literally fighting for her life. 

The second flare catches easier and–in a truly inspired moment that Marlene begrudgingly admits was actually quite clever–kicks the box across the room setting it on fire with the flare. The echoes both screech before dispersing in a flash of smoke. 

“What,” Marlene pants out, hands on her knees as she catches her breath and the room fills with more smoke. “In the fuck was that?!” 

Sirius doesn’t answer, simply snagging her by the arm to drag her out of the room. The house is apparently very flammable, and the flares caught on the floors and ceiling faster than they can move. The second they reach the hall, a beam from the ceiling falls in front of them, blocking them from leaving down the staircase. This literally could not get any worse.

“This way!” Sirius shouts over the roar of flames surrounding them. “We’re gonna have to jump!”

Marlene starts to protest, but Sirius drags her to the large stained glass window at the end of the hall and promptly grabs a table from the hallway and throws it through the window. She gapes at him for a moment as he uses his boot to kick out the glass along the edges, but he is genuinely going to make her jump out of a second-story window, into the freezing rain, with nothing to break their fall. 

“Are you serious?!” She shouts, her voice carrying over the rumble of thunder in front of them and the roar of the fire behind them.

He grins, wide and unashamed, and grabs her hand so their side by side in the window frame. She can’t even see the ground through the darkness and the storm. It’s like staring into the abyss and hoping it doesn’t swallow you whole.

“Yes,” he says, smirking, and tugs her with him as he jumps, flames licking their backs and rain drenching them as they tumble to the unforgiving ground. 

Lightning flickers through the sky, but all Marlene can think about is the cold. The iciness of the storm a stark contrast against the fierce heat of the fire. Everything hurts, and then she feels absolutely nothing at all.

Time is a stream tugging her along, and she is drowning. 

~

If Dorcas has to sift through one more pile of paperwork, she is going to break something.

When Albus sat her down four months ago and told her she was a hazard to yourself and others in the field, she laughed outright in his face. Trapped in the bowels of the ministry doing busy work for the past few months has taken the humor out of the situation. 

She flips open another file sitting at her cramped desk surrounded by countless other tiny desks and miserable sods and wants to scream and kick and rage over the unfairness of it all. Instead, she slaps the file closed and gets up to get a shitty tea from the shitty cabinet in this shitty office. At the very least, it’s free. 

She makes her way through the rows of desks, parchment spilling onto the outdated laminate. The constant scratch of pens is punctuated by the crisp clip of her heels in the aisle. Rubeus, who sits several desks down from Dorcas, waves at her cheerily as she passes. She tries her best to smile back. He’s an absolute sweetheart, and Dorcas is almost certain that he sneaks in his dog with him most days under his desk. There’s very little to like about this department, but seeing Rubeus duck out of the office, coat wiggling suspiciously above his arms crossed over his chest, is consistently the highlight of Dorcas’ day.

“Oi, Meadows,” Kingsley calls from behind her. She walks backward to lift an unimpressed brow as she continues toward the kitchen. “Grab me a cuppa while you’re up?”

She rolls her eyes at him before turning around and flipping him off over her shoulder, but she makes a mental note to dig out the creamer from the fridge that he likes. He smuggles her muffins on occasion in exchange for her bringing him hot drinks. It’s a good deal.

Rummaging for a box of tea in the cabinet, Dorcas is genuinely taken by surprise when a packet of sugar smacks the side of her face. She turns to glare at the perpetrator and sighs at the sight of the twins sitting at the table together. Fabian is pointing at Gideon while smothering a smile with his opposite hand, while Gideon gapes at him in betrayal another sugar packet in his hand. 

“For fucks sake,” Dorcas grumbles, finally finding the tea and putting the kettle on the hob. “Don’t you two have work to do?”

“Taking a break,” Fabian says with a solemn nod.

“It’s good for your health,” Gideon agrees, flicking his sugar packet at Fabian and missing.

“Right,” Dorcas says, settling in at the table across from them. They blink innocently back at her, which means they definitely have gossip for her. She squints at them, refusing to break the now-loaded silence.

They glance at each other, and Dorcas sits forward immediately. Dorcas has known the twins vaguely since Hogwarts, but they only started a genuine friendship when Dorcas was shunted into the department in the same way they were. They bonded quickly over the boredom that seeps in here and their mutual suspicion for the ministry. Dorcas prides herself on knowing things, and the Prewetts are somehow always on the inside of the gossip that spills into the department and beyond. 

“Well,” Fabian starts, tilting his hand in a so-so gesture. “There’s the whole business with that McKinnon girl.”

Of course, the latest gossip has to do with the one person Dorcas has expended significant effort attempting to forget about. Dorcas had spent a little too much time in Hogwarts glaring at Marlene’s stupid face, ridiculous clothes, and wild hair before she realized she wasn’t glaring as much as she was staring. And Marlene wasn’t stupid so much as she was beautiful. Regulus had called her helplessly besotted, but Dorcas prefers to think of it as a necessary learning curve. It’s not like she’s still obsessed with her.

Her pulse jumps at the mention of her name despite this insistence.

“What about her,” Dorcas asks, swallowing her desperate tone. 

“There was a huge incident last night,” Gideon says, rearranging the sugar packets in the center of the table by color. “She and Sirius ended up setting the Rookwood property on fire during a storm. You remember that thunderstorm that rolled through, right?”

Dorcas nodded slowly. 

“Right,” Fabian said, stealing a sugar packet from where Gideon placed them and ignoring the glare he gave him. “Well, turned out to be a huge ordeal. Ministry is a mess about it, and Dumbledore is trying to hush it up as quickly as possible.”

“But here’s the thing,” Gideon carries on, leaning his elbows on the table and disrupting the sugar packets further. “McKinnon is being kept within the ministry because of something she said when she was mostly unconscious in the infirmary.”

“What did she say?” Dorcas asks, leaning into the table as though proximity alone would give her all the answers she’s looking for.

“A name,” Fabian says, a wicked grin taking over his face as he exchanges a glance with Gideon. “Helena Ravenclaw.”

“That’s not–” Dorcas started with a gasp.

“The very same,” Gideon insisted, elbowing Fabian where he was still grinning like a madman. “Anyways, now Dumbledore is doing his best to figure out how some small time sensitive from an independent company knows the name of one of the best kept secrets in the ministry.”

Dorcas starts to twist the ring around her thumb in senseless cycles, thoughts racing as she fiddles with the metal and brings it off her finger and back on in repetitive movements. She has to talk to her. There’s no way around it. Dorcas has spent months, ever since she was booted from fieldwork, digging into the depths of the ministry. She knows there’s something about the founders that the ministry is desperate to keep under wraps and that Helena was central to the issue. She’s been agonizing over the lack of information, but then there’s Marlene fucking McKinnon who just might have all the answers she’s been looking for.

“I know that look,” Kingsley says, making all three of them jump. They’d all been so caught up in themselves they didn’t even hear him come in. Worse still, Kingsley is holding a steaming cup of tea, which means not only did he hear most of their conversation, he made himself a fucking cuppa without them noticing. Sometimes Dorcas thinks Kingsley is more a ghost than the echoes she used to hunt. “You’re about to do something stupid.”

“It’s only stupid if we get caught,” Dorcas argues, settling her palms flat on the table in front of her as she smiles at the wary men around her. There’s a plan already forming in the back of her mind, taking shape more as she considers how Kingsley could fit into it. “Otherwise, it’s just called being cunning.”

~

“Let me out of here, you moronic, barbaric, fucking–-ridiculous bastards!” Marlene shouts, punching the door and immediately turning around to shake the throb out of her hand. These doors are insanely well-made. 

“Wow, that was a good one. Maybe yell it a little louder, I’m sure they couldn’t hear you properly to appreciate it.”

Marlene bangs her head against the door a few times, before opening her eyes and settling them on the woman that has been following her around since the absolute clusterfuck that was the Rookwood house. She’s pretty sure it's a hallucination.

“I’m not a hallucination,” the woman insists, which only makes Marlene think that the woman in front of her is a hallucination more.

“If you’re not a hallucination,” Marlene argues stomping over to the stiff cot in the corner across from where the hallucination is leaning against the wall. “Then how did you know I was thinking you’re a hallucination.”

“I didn’t,” she says with a sigh, pressing away from the wall to pace in the limited space available in the room. “It’s not that hard to guess what you’re thinking, and sometimes I get, like, impressions from you. It’s hard to explain.”

Marlene lifts an unimpressed brow and leans back on the bed, before drawling, “clearly.”

She cuts Marlene a sharp look. “I’m real,” she argues, twisting several of her braids between her fingers in a nervous flutter. “At least, I think I am. I used to be. Everything feels so…fuzzy now. Like I’m looking at the world through a fogged-up window.”

“Sure,” Marlene agrees, closing her eyes and tipping her head back against the wall. If she’s really gone off the deep end, she might as well enjoy the fall. 

“My name is Mary,” she says, closer than before. Marlene opens her eyes to see the woman sitting on the foot of the bed, legs tucked up under her. There’s no impression on the mattress from her weight. “I–I work at the ministry. I was supposed to be doing…something. I just–I remember my life, everything, I’m not some figment of yours. Even if it seems like you’re the only one who can see me.”

Marlene scoffs. That had been a fun revelation. Marlene asked about the woman lingering in her hospital room muttering about Helena Ravenclaw and suddenly she was stuck in a stark white windowless room. With a woman that apparently only she can see. They wouldn’t even let her ask about Sirius, so she has no idea if he made it out okay or not. 

“Well, Mary,” Marlene starts, more gentle than she intended but, well, Mary seems quite frazzled. Even if she is just a figment of her imagination Marlene can’t just let her panic alone. “We seem to be stuck in this together, so try not to worry about it too much. We’ll get out of here, and figure out what happened to you. I’ve got a few friends on the outside that are total nerds. They’ll know what to do about,” she gestures vaguely to encompass the problem that is Mary as a whole. “Whatever is going on with you. Or me, depending on whether I’m imagining you or not.”

“Great,” Mary says with a sardonic twist to her mouth. “Now we just have the issue of being trapped within the ministry with no way of getting out.”

“Yeah, that’s a bit of a bitch,” Marlene agrees, thunking her head against the wall again, but with less fervor. 

They lapse into silence, but it’s strangely comfortable between them. Marlene tries not to think about Sirius being dead or her gift wavering beyond her control or her parents' vacant eyes when she found them in her childhood home. She puts in an effort to not think about everything that’s falling apart in her life.

Instead, she drifts into memories of quiet mornings with Remus in the library, sipping tea and doing puzzles and shoving Padfoot away when he noses at the pieces. And raucous afternoons with Lilly in the garden, lobbing weeds at one another while James stands behind them with his hands on his hips looking so like Effie that they burst into a fresh bout of laughter. And evenings around the table playing cards, teaming up with Alice and Emmaline to beat Sirius so thoroughly that it ends in shouting every time. 

Her house in Grimmauld became her home long before her parents died, and the friends she found had been like family long before she realized that she couldn’t bear the one she was born into any more. 

Time could be strange that way sometimes. It reveals the losses countered by gains and the life found through death. For Marlene, time has been a fickle mistress, occasionally giving her peace but mostly wracking her with grief.

“I think I’m dead,” Mary says into the silence settled around them. “I think–that maybe I died.”

Marlene blinks at Mary, at her frantic fingers and wide eyes and the way her body doesn’t leave an impression in the place she’s sitting, and how her chest doesn’t expand with breath as it should.

“Oh shit,” Mary murmurs, clenching her eyes shut like it will protect her from looking at this reality. Like it will stop it from being real. “I died.”

“I’m sorry,” Marlene says, at a loss as Mary’s face cracks open in sadness, shoulders shaking but no tears escaping from her eyes. Marlene wonders absently if she can cry. Can dead people cry? Marlene has never heard of a ghost actually talking intelligently to someone. They call them echoes for a reason. Ghosts can only repeat elements of what they said or did when they were alive. “I should’ve realized sooner but I–”

“How is this even possible,” Mary cuts in, brows furrowed as she looks at Marlene like she can see right through her. “I thought that sensitives could only see, like, impressions of echoes. I didn’t think I had to worry about being stuck after I died.”

“I don’t know,” Marlene admits, staring at the ceiling so she doesn’t have to bear the weight of Mary’s gaze. It settles over her skin anyways. “I’ve been, um, regulating my gift for a few months now. I shouldn’t be able to hear an echo, let alone pioneer new methods of communicating with the dead.”

“Great,” Mary sighs out, sounding as tired as Marlene feels. “So we have a ghost that shouldn’t exist and a sensitive that shouldn’t be able to sense anything. We make a great pair.”

Marlene chokes a laugh, flushing in spite of herself. She can hardly believe that she’s talking to a ghost. Not just hearing the vestiges of a moment of pain or the resonance of long-forgotten hymns, but actually communicating. Mostly, Marlene just dodges when ghosts swing at her before disappearing through–

Marlene snaps straight from her slouched position, turning to face Mary fully. “Wait, if you’re dead–”

“Pretty sure I am.”

“Yes, sorry about that, but if you are, then can’t you, like, move through walls and stuff? Like that’s a thing that ghosts can do.”

“I mean maybe,” Mary agrees, eyeing Marlene warily. 

“Then maybe you can go through the door and open it from the other side.”

“I mean maybe, she repeats, but she slips off the mattress and toward the door despite her hesitant tone. She stares at the door for a moment, hand hovering over the metal, and Marlene bites her tongue to keep from shouting at her to get on with it. Mary lifts her chin and steps straight through the door with no resistance. 

“Oh, fuck yes,” Marlene says, practically throwing herself from the bed to step in front of the door, skin buzzing with anticipation.

Forget whatever anyone has to say, Marlene is a fucking genius.

~

Kingsley is a steady presence at her side, and Dorcas has never been more grateful for friends that are willing to do technically insane things on short notice. Like breaking into the ministry in the middle of the night with the promise of takeaway as an acceptable payment for their efforts. 

“Meadows,” Kingsley whispers, voice low and movements careful as he points to the signpost at the end of the hall that directs which way to go for solitary confinement and which direction is a shortcut to the cafeteria. 

Dorcas pivots with him to carry on, hoping that the twins are able to hold up their end of the plan. If they haven’t actually managed to loop the cameras and set up a totally foolproof distraction, don’t worry about it, then they are royally fucked. They pass a line of blank doors and draw to a stop a the next corner, hearing the distinct sounds of an altercation from down the hall. Kingsley shrugs when she looks back at him, so she carefully looks around the edge of the wall. 

“Fucking shit,” Marlene McKinnon is saying, standing over the slumped form of a night guard and gasping for breath. “No I didn’t kill him, calm the fuck down,” she continues, turning to glare at the empty space to her left. Maybe Marlene isn’t as…put together as she seemed in Hogwarts.

“Hey,” Kingsley says, stepping out from around the corner and startling Marlene so badly she actually stumbles back a step. “We’re here to help.”

“Who are you?” Marlene asks, gaze flicking between Dorcas and Kingsley with suspicion. She waves a hand to the left as if swatting at someone, but again there is no one there. Dorcas exchanges a loaded look with Kingsley.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dorcas argues, stepping toward Marlene decisively. Marlene doesn’t stiffen as Dorcas expects her to, in fact, her shoulders slump as Dorcas draws closer and her eyes flash with something like familiarity. “We can explain as we go, but we really have to get out of here.”

“Okay,” Marlene breathes, as Dorcas grabs her wrist to tug her along. Marlene's eyes are bright with curiosity but she frowns at Dorcas, gaze tinged with displeasure and searching Dorcas’ face for…something. She must find it because she smiles at her, just the faintest uptick of her lips and Dorcas gets so distracted for a moment she stumbles. Marlene catches her with a ring-clad hand pressed to the curve of Dorcas’ elbow and for a moment they just look at each other, caught. 

Kingsley clears his throat pointedly, and Dorcas shakes off whatever that was to slip her hand fully into Marlene’s palms pressed together, fingers firm to pull her into motion. Kingsley won’t stop throwing her teasing looks, but Dorcas refuses to acknowledge him. This is a perfectly normal rescue mission enacted for perfectly normal reasons that have nothing to do with Marlene McKinnon’s secret smiles or sparkling eyes or soft hands. Kingsley poorly conceals a laugh at her expense as they duck around corners.

They linger in the last hallway before the exit. This is where a distraction is really quite necessary. The twins had assured her that she would know when it was clear to go, but as seconds spill into minutes she worries that maybe they already missed the cue.

“Are we waiting for someone?” Marlene asks, breath ghosting over the back of her neck where they’re pressed together to peer around the corner. Dorcas does not shiver. She doesn’t. 

“Kind of,” Dorcas says, voice even as she casts her eyes around for some kind of signal. “There’s supposed to be a sign.”

“Did-”

Whatever thought Marlene had goes unfinished as the fire alarms in the building start blaring, sprinklers scattering water over the tiled floors and forming puddles in mere moments.

“I think that’s our cue,” Kingsley says, nudging them into motion and sliding over the floors with ease. He doesn’t even walk, just glides. Dorcas is constantly surprised by him.

Marlene tugs her out of her thoughts as she starts to slide over the floors with considerably less grace than Kingsley, so Dorcas has to slip after her to ensure she doesn’t fall. Their hands are still locked together, even as the sprinklers make their grip slick.

They stumble together out the doors, alarms blaring behind them and lights casting the trio in red tones. When Dorcas glances back at Marlene, her hair is a mess of wet curls around her face, the lights cast a halo over her head. She’s laughing as they stumble down the steps, leaving sloppy wet footprints in their wake, and Dorcas bites back the smile tugging at her lips. 

They make it to the street, dripping, and a car screeches to a halt directly in front of them, tires centimeters from the curb. The passenger window rolls down to reveal Fabian Prewett’s grinning face. 

“Get in losers,” he says, smiling as he slides sunglasses over his eyes. It’s the middle of the night, and the moon is obstructed by clouds. He wears them for the aesthetic. “Try not to soak the upholstery please.”

“You’re the one that set off the fire alarms,” Dorcas points out as she shuffles into the back seat, jammed between Kingsley and Marlene. “Did you actually set something on fire?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Gideon says, grin sharp as he whips away from the curb and onto the street. 

“For fucks sake,” Dorcas mutters, lifting her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose and finding it occupied with Marlene’s. If she noticed the sharp movement, Marlene shows to sign of it on her face. She’s staring out the window, oddly subdued for someone who was just laughing as she dripped down the steps of the ministry. Now, she’s biting her nails and staring at the sky like the clouds might reveal whatever is troubling her. “Are you okay?” Dorcas asks, voice soft and eyes gentle as she tugs on their joined hands purposefully.

Marlene hums, distracted, and turns to face Dorcas instead of the sky. In the random bursts of light from the streetlamps, Marlene’s concern is cast in golden tones, brows furrowed and shoulders tense. Dorcas may have broken her out of the ministry–though she seemed well on her way to getting herself out when she showed up–to get answers about Helena Ravenclaw, but she can admit in the privacy of her own mind that she maybe hasn’t grown out of her attraction to Marlene McKinnon. And maybe that affection played a tiny, absolutely minuscule, role in her intensity to break her out. 

“I asked if you’re alright,” Dorcas repeats, catching Marlene’s flickering gaze and feeling entranced by the depths there. Definitely not over her then. 

“I’m–” she huffs a laugh, small and cracked down the middle. “I’m not exactly fine, but I will be. There’s just…have you heard of a ghost talking?”

“Well, yeah,” Dorcas agrees, brows furrowed as Marlene squints at her. “I’m–I used to be a sensitive. Hearing echoes was pretty commonplace when hunting ghosts.”

“No,” Marlene says, shaking her head and dripping onto the upholstery carelessly. “I mean, yes, of course, but a ghost talking to you specifically. Holding a conversation, not just repeating things from when they were alive.”

“In that case,” Dorcas says slowly, taking in the tremble in Marlene’s hands and the desperation in her eyes. “No, I haven’t. Is that what happened to you? Why they locked you up?”

“I don’t know,” Marlene admits, tipping her head back against the headrest and blinking slowly at the vacant space beside Dorcas’ head. “I’m still not entirely convinced I didn’t imagine the whole thing.”

“I doubt it,” Dorcas tells her, ridiculously sure of this even though she doesn’t know enough about the situation to be this certain. “There’s something special about you, Marlene.”

Marlene flushes, pink splashing across her cheeks with vibrancy as she swallows. 

“Dorcas,” Gideon calls from the front seat, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he weaves through backstreets. “Anywhere, in particular, I should be heading?”

“Right,” Dorcas says, blinking at the road in front of them and orienting herself. “Are you familiar with Grimmauld Place?”

Chapter Text

“What is this?” Lily asks, doing her absolute best to keep the anger out of her tone as she slaps the morning paper down on Umbridge’s desk. 

Umbridge scoops sugar into her teacup with her pretentious little tongs as she lifts an unimpressed brow, barely acknowledging her presence. Lily positively seethes.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Umbridge begins, high voice grating on Lily’s eardrums, as she stirs her tea, metal spoon clinking against the sides of the cup. If it were anyone else, she would find the repetitive sound soothing. With Umbridge, the noise simply lifts her anger another notch. “That is a copy of this morning’s paper. I think you’d enjoy the piece on page seven, it’s about meditation techniques in the workplace environment.”

Lily’s eye twitches. 

“I meant,” Lily says, carefully calm and forcing herself to sit in the overstuffed chair across from Umbridge instead of looming over the desk. “What happened to the front page?” Lily snatches the paper from where she’d left it on the desk to read the headline aloud. “ A Hunt Gone Wrong: Unknown Sensitive Disappears after Setting a House Ablaze , I mean, what is this? Some random fire takes precedence over the story I’ve been working on for weeks?” Lily tosses the paper back onto the desk, slumping in her seat and trying to breathe through the simmering anger under her skin. “You promised me you’d put it in today. You said it was solid enough to hold up on its own.”

Umbridge clears her throat, eyes shrewd as she glares at Lily over the top of her glasses. “That was before Skeeter brought me this story,” Umbridge says indifferently like she hadn’t tossed out Lily’s piece for some fluff from fucking Rita of all people. “The story was…compelling. And it happened just last night. You know how the news works, you have to jump on a story while it’s hot, not wait until it’s too late.”

“Please,” Lily argues, sitting on the edge of the seat and squaring her shoulders. “Rita Skeeter wouldn’t know about journalistic integrity if it slapped her in the face. This is a fluff piece. I mean, she didn’t even give names, sourcing, or interviews for the article. For all we know, it’s purely fictitious.”

“Are you claiming that there wasn’t a fire last night?”

“Of course not, but the whole missing sensitive on the lam bit is a little rich for something without grounding. Besides, it’s not about Skeeter’s article. It’s about the fact that you pulled my piece entirely from the paper.”

“I may have had a…change of heart about your piece,” Umbridge admits, lifting her teacup and saucer to take a sip. Lily’s heart drops somewhere around her feet.

“No,” Lily says, fingers gripping the edges of the chair tight enough that the wood creaks. “No, I still have more to do with it. The piece for this morning was supposed to be the beginning of it, to add pressure. My informant in the ministry–”

“Who remains unknown,” Umbridge cuts in, placing her tea down with a clatter of porcelain. “Honestly, Ms. Evans, with such little evidence, what were you expecting?”

“I expected you to keep your word,” Lily says, head rushing through all the arguments she’s made for this case. “My informant is trustworthy, they just prefer to remain anonymous until they can make sure no one they love will get caught in the crossfire when everything comes to light. You said I had more time. You–”

“I may have said many things,” Umbridge interrupts. “But the reality is that I’m pulling the story. Permanently. That means no more chasing leads, interviews, or archives. I’m telling you, as your superior, to drop the case.”

Lily gapes at her, listless for a moment. Two months ago, Lily’s investigation had significant merit. Now, the story is ripped out from under her right when she was certain it was going somewhere. All those people she talked to. All the hours spent pouring through the restricted section of the ministry. All of the risks her informant made for her. Gone in a single sentence.

“No,” Lily argues, face hot with indignation and throat tight with all the things she has to say. “Absolutely not. I’m not giving up on it. I don’t give a toss if you see merit in it, I’m onto something. Those disappearances are connected, there are way too many similarities for coincidence and I refuse to give up on it.”

“Either you drop the story,” Umbridge begins, voice even and eyes cold. “Or I drop you as an employee.”

“Under what grounds?”

“Blatant insubordination.”

“That’s bullshit,” Lily seethes, rising from her seat and planting her hands on Umbridge’s desk, leaning over the small woman. 

“I’d watch myself if I were you,” Umbridge countered, completely unbothered by Lily’s anger. “I can make sure that no credible paper even thinks about hiring you. I’ve blacklisted more admirable journalists for less.”

“Don’t bother firing me,” Lily says, pushing away from the desk and turning to the door. “I quit.”

If Umbridge says anything in response, Lily doesn’t hear it as she storms across the office, clearing out her cubicle with shaking hands. She doesn’t hear anything as she carries her things to the elevator and out of the building. She doesn’t hear anything as she takes the familiar route home or when she pushes through the morning stragglers to get to the door of her flat.

Most of the journey is a blur of aching fingers around the strap of her bag, unfamiliar faces flashing past her, and her pulse thrumming so hard it drowns out everything else.

What, in the fuck, did she just do?

She groans, coming back to herself as she throws her bag onto the sofa in her living room, falling gracelessly into the cushions after it. 

This is fine.

So, she just quit her job–her dream job working at The Prophet she’s had since she was a kid–to preserve the validity of a story she’s only been working on for a couple of months. In the grand scheme of things, one story was probably not worth her entire career. But…it is a damn good story. Once she gets the last pieces from her informant, which they seemed pretty confident about when Lily spoke to them two nights before, this story might even be good enough to save her career. Maybe.

Hopefully.

Regardless, it isn’t going to get better with her wallowing in her own misfortunes. So what, Umbridge blocked her story and is likely making calls right this moment to blacklist her from any alternative paper in a hundred miles. And yeah, she has no valid badge to back her when pursuing leads. But, Lily has never been able to sit idly by when injustice is being upheld, and this story is no exception.

There are people getting snatched off the streets with no one to vouch for them and no one to notice they’re gone. Sensitives who lost their gift and were promptly dropped by the ministry as dead weight. People who gave everything to protect the city and got nothing in return. Citizens who have no visibility in the public eye and no one to care when they disappear.

Well, Lily cares. She cares a lot, and she’ll be damned before she lets this story be yet another cover-up for the ministry’s negligence of its city. She’s going to finish this story and she’s going to make sure the issue can’t be overlooked by the public anymore. 

But first, she has to visit an old friend.

~

“I just don’t understand why you’re so adamantly against it, is all,” Barty says from his perch on the counter. The aged wood groans beneath his weight, but he looks as unconcerned as ever by the noise. Across from him, Evan has his fingers steepled in front of his face as he breathes deeply through his nose, clearly grounding himself. Pandora barely conceals her grin with her book. She’s trying to stay out of it, but the longer Barty goes on and the twitchier Evan gets in response the more Pandora struggles to stifle her laughter. “It’s good advertising.”

“It’s a giant target, is what it is,” Evan argues, scrubbing his hands through his hair as he squints at Barty’s grinning face. “You might as well print an advert that says outright that the shop is a front.”

“It’s called clever wordplay,” Barty insists, eyes bright with humor as he leans back on his hands, counter creaking with the movement. Evan’s eye twitches. “It draws in esteemed guests.”

“It draws in the police ,” Evan groans, snatching a stack of books from beside Barty and walking around the counter to start reshelving them with well-practiced familiarity. “Besides, we get plenty of the right sort of customers as it is. Through word-of-mouth advertising. Much safer than the paper.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Barty asks slipping from the counter to trail after Evan between the shelves, voice carrying over volumes of books. “What happened to your sense of adventure?”

Their bickering trails off into the stacks, and Pandora settles into her stool more comfortably actually lifting her book to read. It’s a biography of a sensitive who lost her gift in the middle of a hunt and the aftermath. It’s not her typical preference for recreational reading–Evan had lifted an incredulous brow at her when she picked it from his private collection–but she had gotten the strangest feeling of foreboding when she had brushed her fingertips across the spine. Like it was buzzing to be read. 

She tries not to look too closely at her premonitions, but they’ve yet to lead her astray.

Just as she turns the page, the bell at the front of the shop signals the arrival of a customer. She strains to hear where Barty and Evan are, but she can’t make out their bickering so they must have slipped into the back. 

Pandora sighs as she sets her book aside and steps up to the counter. She’s honestly an honorary employee at this point with how often she covers the front of the store.

“Welcome in,” Pandora calls toward the door, shelves blocking her view of the visitor. She catches a flash of red hair between books and the steady clip of boots across the creaking floors. 

“Hi,” Lily says, emerging from the stacks and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear when she catches sight of Pandora behind the counter. The sleeve of her sweater slips with the motion revealing the trace of a tattoo spilled across the skin there. It’s new, Pandora realizes belatedly. But of course, after two years Lily probably has more than just one tattoo she doesn’t know about. 

“Hi,” Pandora echoes, helplessly trying to see everything that’s changed about the woman in front of her. She has two new piercings in the cartilage of her left ear, and the silver hoops there wink at her in the dim light of the shop. “Did you come here for something?” Pandora asks at the same time that Lily speaks. Their words jumble together and Pandora can’t help but relish in the familiarity of Lily’s blush spreading across her cheeks and over her ears. “You go first,” Pandora offers, taking mercy on Lily’s vividly flustered state.

“Sorry,” she starts, stepping closer to the counter and leaning against it across from Pandora. It creaks, as usual, and the sound makes Lily’s eyes skip over the worn wood warily. “I, um, I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important, but I didn’t know where else to go.” Her eyes are earnest and so very green and Pandora hates that she already knows she’ll do whatever Lily asks. 

Even after all this time, she can’t say no to her.

“What do you need?” Pandora asks, taking in the way Lily chews on the inside of her cheek, an awful habit Lily could never kick when stress settled into her skin. Constantly destroying herself from the inside out. 

“There’s so much,” Lily admits, glancing around the room and tapping her fingers restlessly on the counter. “I don’t know where to start.”

“How about the beginning,” Pandora suggests, smiling at Lily despite herself as she rounds the counter to lead Lily out of the shop. It’s not her bookshop anyways, and Barty and Evan aren’t paying her to be a good samaritan to wayward shoppers. “You’ll buy me a coffee and we’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll buy you ten coffees if you can help me out of this mess I’ve ended up in,” Lily says, following Pandora as they pass under the cheerful bell and onto the street, the lunch rush forcing them to walk shoulder to shoulder or get lost in the crowds.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Pandora replies, taking only a little satisfaction in the way Lily winces in response. 

Pandora may be an absolute fool for Lily Evans, but she refuses to let it show too much. She’ll let Lily buy her an exuberant amount of caffeine and listen to her troubles and send her on her way. There is absolutely no need to get feelings involved again. A simple favor for an old friend, nothing more.

Despite her best reasoning, Pandora has a feeling things are about to get much more complicated.

~

Gripping her mug like it might instill within her the strength she needs to get through this, Lily tries to still her racing heart under Pandora’s critical gaze. This seemed like a much better idea–her only idea, honestly–when the adrenaline of quitting her job was still thrumming under her skin.

Sitting across from Pandora, the whole thing seems a little farfetched.

“So,” Pandora says, sipping from the second coffee Lily had bought her, halfway through her explanation. “You quit your job to pursue a story.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re informant has suddenly gone radio silent after weeks of continuous correspondence.”

“Right.”

“And you have no way to find them because they kept their identity completely secret from you.”

“Yeah.”

“Which seemed like a reasonable thing to do at the time because…?” Pandora trails off, twisting her hand in a carry-on motion that makes her bracelets flash in the fluorescent lighting of the cafe. It takes a moment for Lily to realize she’s meant to have a solid argument for this. She absolutely does not.

“They seemed reliable at the time,” at Pandora’s deadpan expression she hurries to continue, “and they knew all sorts of things that only someone within the ministry could know.”

“Uhuh,” Pandora agrees, taking another drink from her coffee like it will fortify her against Lily’s past decisions. Lily follows her example even though her drink has gone lukewarm over the course of their conversation. She feels like she’s been talking for hours. “And you said something about a drug?”

“They call it liquid death,” Lily explains, fidgeting with a loose thread on her sweater and shifting restlessly in her seat. “It’s a kind of tranquilizer. They said trace amounts of it were found around where people have been disappearing. They couldn’t get me the medical reports, but they said it had some component that was only grown in a few parts of the country.”

“Sounds promising,” Pandora agrees sitting forward in her seat, her eyes flashing in curiosity. 

Lily has missed many things about Pandora, but the way she works out a problem–eyes bright, mouth set in determination, and fingers flashing over scratched-out notes–has lingered with Lily the most. There are few people that Lily has met that match her enthusiasm for picking things apart just to weave them back together, and Pandora is one of them.

“That’s what I thought,” Lily agrees, shaking off her nostalgia and wracking her memory for the details the informant gave her. “They said that there was only one place in the city that grew that component in enough surplus to match the amount of the chemical being manufactured.”

“Which was?” Pandora asks, clearly biting back a smile as Lily grins at her, hopeful for the second time today that the answers to all her problems can be found somewhere in Pandora’s scarred palms. 

“The Rockwood farm.”

“Oh,” Pandora says, fingers tapping along the side of her mug in thought. “That’s strange. I thought the Rockwoods were entirely agricultural.”

“Apparently not,” Lily says, taking another ill-advised sip of her drink. Trying not to think about the flex of Pandora’s hands around her cup or the way her mouth twists in thought. She’s not very successful.

“Are you going to go to the farm?” Pandora asks a small smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. 

“I–” Lily pauses, considering it for the first time. “Maybe I should. I couldn’t before because the Prophet wouldn’t clear investigative excursions to businesses unless I had two forms of probable cause.” 

Pandora lifts an unimpressed brow. “That sounds stupid,” she says and Lily laughs despite herself. 

“It is,” Lily agrees, still smiling.

“Good thing you quit then,” she argues, eyes bright with humor. “You were always better at working around rules than following them blindly.”

“You have to know the rules to get around them properly,” Lily says, not for the first time. 

Pandora rolls her eyes, as she always does, and scoffs, “most people just admit they are rule breakers, you always insist that you’re a stringent rule follower.”

“I am,” Lily insists, genuinely invested in proving this point. It’s a well-worn argument, familiar from before she ruined everything. When Pandora would end their bickering by brushing the hair out of Lily’s eyes and giving her an indulgent smile, telling her she was lucky she was cute and reveling in the laugh it inevitably drew from Lily’s lips. Now, Lily argues the point as she always would, her heart aching for the parts that are different. The places they no longer fit. “I just bend the ones I don’t like.”

“Sure,” Pandora agrees, clearly humoring her, hands tucked around her mug. Lily stares at them for too long. “I could go with you if you wanted.” Pandora offers, voice soft.

I’ll go with you if you want. Pandora had told her, eyes earnest and still grinning at Lily. Like her success was exciting for her too. Like Lily being happy was enough for her. You don’t have to do everything alone, in fact, I think I’d really like it if we tried to do life together.

For a moment, Lily can only swallow down her shock at the familiar wording. The words that echoed in her mind in the early hours of the morning when memories haunted her dreams. The words she have rolled around her thoughts with such frequency that time could not corrode the familiarity of them. 

“I’d love that,” Lily admits, honest in a way she wasn’t two years ago. Earnest in a way she wishes she could have been. Agreeing in the way she wanted to so desperately. “If you want to.”

“Of course,” Pandora says.

It’s easy to smile at Pandora across the table and settle into the kind of companionable silence that Lily has only ever found with her. Where peace lingers in the space between them, and Lily can breathe.

They finish their drinks like that, and lukewarm coffee has never tasted so good.

~

The sun has long since dipped below the horizon, and Pandora can’t help but wonder how she keeps ending up in situations such as this. 

Her boots are squelching through mud and she’s shivering in the cutting breeze that blows over the field. Well, she knows exactly how she ends up in situations such as this. It’s the same reason she spent three weeks running around the city chasing gut feelings with an overzealous journalist two years ago. She couldn’t say no to Lily then, and she is no more equipped to do so now.

Lily leads the way across the unforgiving terrain of the Rockwood farm, and Pandora can only hope she doesn’t end up with the same emptiness as she did the last time the adventure was done. 

“Here,” Lily says suddenly, breaking the quiet that had settled over them since they first stepped on the property. Pandora glances over to see Lily taking off her coat, holding it out towards her, wrist tattoos flashing in the moonlight. 

“I’m fine,” Pandora says right as a chill wracks her frame so hard it was likely visible to Lily. Fantastic. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lily argues, stepping closer to Pandora with the warm fabric held out, like an olive branch. A new beginning. “You know I run warm anyways. I don’t really need it.”

Pandora scoffs but reaches out to pull the coat around her shoulders. It smells like Lily and Pandora is equally infuriated and relieved that she still smells the same. Like rain and flowers and something uniquely Lily. 

This is going to be a long night. 

“Oh shit,” Lily says as they finally reach the crest of the hill they’ve been stumbling up. In the distance, fields of crops spread out before the ruins of a burnt house. If Pandora squints, she can make out the vague shape of a barn beyond the crisp remains. “I can’t believe Rita might’ve actually written something with merit.”

“Rita Skeeter?” Pandora clarifies, remembering several particularly voracious pieces by her in the Prophet. Skeeter is invested in gossip columns with the same fervor that beetles take to manure, fully committed to airing out shit with little care for those that step in it. 

“Yeah,” Lily admits with a sour twist to her face, like the very mention of her name brings a foul taste to her mouth. “She did the piece on the fire this morning. I guess there was some semblance of truth in the story.”

“The best lies are woven with honestly threaded throughout,” Pandora says with a hum, slipping down the other side of the hill towards the remains of the house. 

The journey is punctuated by uncoordinated scuffles of boots and chilled breath fogging the air. By the time, the house looms before them–air heavy with the smell of smoke long after the fire had been put out–Pandora’s feet are weighed down with a thick layer of mud and her hands are freezing despite the coat wrapped around her shoulders. 

Lily seems to share none of her tiredness. Her head is tipped back to see the concave roof and her fingers twitch on the strap of her bag, eager to move. Lily always had that frenetic energy about her. The kind of charisma that drew Pandora in and left her breathless in the aftermath. Lily was always running, and Pandora could never stop herself from chasing her. 

“Here,” Lily says, a strange echo of their previous exchange on the hilltop, this time digging out a flashlight to hand to Pandora. 

“Thanks,” Pandora hums, trying to shove down the warmth in her chest at the brush of their fingers over the metal. 

“Of course,” Lily says, with bright eyes and a brighter smile as she zips her bag closed. Lily clicks her flashlight on and makes her way into the ruins, Pandora trailing after her.

The wind whistles through the walls as they walk through the empty rooms, paint blackened by smoke and floors groaning beneath their weight. The living room floor is scattered with silver nets and what appears to be the crisp remains of a duffle bag. Vestiges of a hunt gone terribly wrong. 

“What’re we looking for?” Pandora asks, glancing into the barren dining room. Lily brushes past her, fingertips ghosting over her shoulders, and examining the empty sink critically. 

“We’re looking for clues,” Lily says, opening a cabinet as if it holds ministry secrets and not stale crackers. “Anything that seems…nefarious.”

“Nefarious,” Pandora repeats, deadpan, and wanders into the kitchen to lean against the counter by the sink. “Is this the kind of journalistic strategy that got you awards?”

“Ha ha,” Lily sighs, ducking under the sink and poking at the burnt remains there. “I just go for the vibes of a place. My gut hardly ever leads me astray.”

What did it lead you astray about ? Pandora wanted to ask, words pressing against her teeth before she bites them back. Was I the thing you were wrong about?

Pandora has never refrained from asking questions. It was her inquisitiveness that got her into trouble more often than not, but it also gave her opportunities. Her brief stint in the ministry—abruptly ended by her curiosity—juxtaposed with the passion she found in the aftermath in experimenting with sources. Breaking things apart, and putting them back together.

Questions are the center of research, of understanding. Without curiosity, there would be no progress. Once Pandora starts asking questions, she can’t rest until she knows. Until confusion fades into comprehension.

Maybe she bites her tongue because, for the first time, she doesn’t want to know the answer. She might not recover from the truth.

Through the creaking of the house, a door slams.

“Did you hear that?” Lily asks, freezing with one hand braced on the sink to stand.

“Could be the wind,” Pandora says, just as the steady tread of boots on the creaking floors echoes through the house.

“Get out of there, asshole, we don’t have all night,” a man’s voice carries through the walls. 

For one heart-stopping moment, Pandora is convinced that he is talking to them. That he saw their tracks in the lawn or their boot prints in the soot. That they’re absolutely and unequivocally caught with no way of getting out. And then:

“Shut the fuck up,” a second voice calls, floorboards creaking under the steady clip of heels. “I do what I want.”

Lily rises from her position on the floor silently, the floorboards miraculously quiet as she pulls Pandora from her stupor and into motion. While the other intruders bicker at one another in the entryway, Lily tucks them into the pantry, the door creaking ominously as she tugs it shut. 

The intruders continue through the house, steps echoing through the space and voices muffled as Pandora settles in to wait. The pantry really isn’t made for two people to fit, so the shelf digs into Pandora’s lower back while Lily is a line of heat in front of her. 

“Hi,” Lily whispers into the minimal space between them, hands fluttering for a moment before settling against her own thighs awkwardly. 

“Hi,” Pandora breathes out, blinking in the darkness and trying to make out Lily’s expression. It’s a lost cause, but Pandora desperately wants to know if she feels something too. If she was broken when she left, or if she never felt anything at all. If she made everything up in her head, or if the phantom brush of Lily’s hands on her waist haunts her too.

“Sorry,” Lily says, earnestly into the darkness.

For which part, Pandora isn’t sure. Sorry, because they’re trapped in a house with two intruders. Sorry, because of the forced proximity. Sorry, because she doesn’t know what to say. Sorry, because of what she said before. Sorry, because she couldn’t stop leaving. 

“It’s okay,” Pandora says, to all of it, perhaps a little caught by the whisper of Lily’s breath on her neck and the way she does everything with her whole heart. It’s okay, because Pandora could never deny Lily anything, and forgiveness is not the exception she thought it would be.

“I–”

“He’s not going to let this go,” the man from earlier is saying, voice closer than before. Pandora didn’t even hear them come into the kitchen. “He was very particular about the importance of the hallow symbol to the ritual.”

“Oh, come off it,” the woman says, cabinets slamming as she speaks. “It’s a stupid necklace, not even the original. We have the original in the cave. It wouldn’t be impossible to make another from it.”

“Are you suggesting we forge a copy? I’m fairly certain he’ll know the difference.”

“There won’t be a difference,” she insists, cabinet slamming to punctuate her statement. “It’s symbolic anyways. If he believes in the symbolism the rest will work out.”

“I’m not helping you make a copy,” the man insists, heavy steps crossing the room repetitively, pacing. “If we get caught–”

“We won’t get caught.”

“But if we did, then we wouldn’t come back from that. We’d be next on the list instead of safe from the massacre.”

“That’s a bit extreme.”

“ He’s a bit extreme,” at the woman’s incredulous scoff he continues, “I’m okay with extreme as long as I’m not paying the price for it.”

“You won’t,” she argues, voice fading as her footsteps carry her out of the room, the steady pace of the man trailing after her. 

Moments later, a door slams.

The tension slowly seeps out of them as the seconds slip by, only the continuous whistle of wind resonating through the house. 

“Well fuck that,” Lily says, pushing the door open with shaking hands and spilling into the kitchen on unsteady feet. “Who the hell were those people?”

“I don’t know,” Pandora admits following Lily out of the house and into the unforgiving chill of the night. “But at least we have a lead.”

“What lead?” Lily asks, hair spilling into her face from the wind. Pandora’s fingers twitch to push it out of the way. She tucks her hands under her arms to counter the urge. 

“The hallow,” Pandora says, smiling helplessly when Lily grins at her. 

Pandora has always been weak for Lily Evans, and this is definitely not going to be simple. It’s going to hurt this time, again, when Lily leaves. Maybe Pandora needs to learn to revel in watching her go.

Chapter Text

It’s not a curse Marlene’s mother had insisted, hands braced against Marlene’s shaking shoulders. It’s a gift, you’ve been chosen for greatness.

Marlene inhales deeply from her cigarette and tries to still her shaking hands. People have been telling Marlene that she has a great destiny ahead of her since she first started waking up from nightmares as a child. Since the signs of the gift started showing in her bloodshot eyes and broken breathing. 

It’s actually quite incredible, the specialist had said, eyes greedily scanning Marlene’s file. I’ve never seen a sensitive show signs of the gift so early in their development.

Tipping her head back to release a plume of smoke, Marlene tries to push back the memories and the expectations, and the responsibilities.

Don’t be selfish, Marlene, her father argued when Marlene had begged him to let her quit training. You have a duty to the people. You can’t just keep the gift for yourself, it’s meant to be shared.

The roof tiles are rough against Marlene’s bare legs where she’s sat with her legs dangling over the edge, quilt held around her shoulders with one hand while the other flicks ash down into the street below. 

I never asked for any of this, Marlene had shouted, back when she was still angry with her parents. Back when they were still alive and still fighting with her about a position with the ministry. Back when she thought she had all the time in the world to convince them she was right. If it’s my gift, then I should get to use it where I want. Not under the ministry’s thumb all the time.

A car honks in the street below, and Marlene watches as a man leans out of his window to shout at a pedestrian, who flips the driver off as they dash down a side street. 

Whatever you want to do, James had said hours ago, Marlene and her ragtag rescuers gathered in the foyer as they dripped onto the carpet. I support you. I’ll back you if you pursue it, and I’ll stop anyone who tries to make you do otherwise. It’s your gift Marlene, and your choice.

This is exactly the reason Marlene agreed all those years ago to James’ proposal. Even when he was fresh-faced out of Hogwarts and convinced the world was his for the taking, he always considered how Marlene felt about a decision before doing it.

He included everyone in the decision to move to Grimmauld and the choice of name for the organization and the jobs they take as a team and what they have for dinner. James is a warm person, and it shows in everything he does.

For Marlene, who had been shoved in icy rooms and given the cold shoulder for insubordination, James exuded the kind of warmth that felt like freedom. That felt like the sun. 

I don’t understand how you turned out so selfish, her mother had told her, the last time they spoke before the accident. Before everything fell apart. You might blame me for what went wrong, but you were such a special kid. So grown up for your age, and we wanted you to live up to your potential.

A strong wind blows over the rooftop, scattering ash and tugging at her blanket. It’s hard to be comfortable on the roof, but it’s more difficult to pace through her bedroom with Mary’s dark eyes tracking her movements. 

It’s easier to think up here, and easier to hide.

“So, this is where you disappeared off to,” Dorcas says, climbing through Marlene’s open window and settling onto the open ledge beside her. 

Usually, it’s easier to hide here. But that was before Dorcas.

“You followed me,” Marlene says, blinking at Dorcas slowly and taking her in. 

The way her lips are turned down at the corners and the concerned crease to her brow. The way her curls frizzed after they dried, flyaways encircling her head and catching the first rays of the morning light, illuminated and sacred in the spill of the sun. The way her borrowed sweater is wide at the neck reveals the swoop of her collarbone and the shadow of her neck. 

“You left,” Dorcas replies as if it is that simple, and maybe it is. 

They lapse into silence, watching the sunrise and the city wake up. People start to fill the street below, laughing and shouting and clattering about. Marlene’s cigarette has long since been stubbed on the rooftop, but they linger here anyways. 

Marlene has been a little obsessed with Dorcas ever since Hogwarts. She probably doesn’t remember Marlene, but Marlene noticed Dorcas all the time. Her crush was painfully obvious and she faced relentless teasing for it, but she couldn’t help but see where Dorcas was in every room and watch as she excelled in exams and sigh when she crossed the graduation stage right before her, gown trailing through the field and eyes bright with success. Emmeline has a particularly embarrassing photo of Marlene, looking absolutely captivated as Dorcas walked past her in Hogwarts. It’s been a source of blackmail for years now. 

“It’s nice up here,” Dorcas says, leaning back on her hands and watching the scatter of people in the streets. “Peaceful,” she adds looking at Marlene with something like wonder in her eyes.

Marlene desperately wants to know if she remembers her.

“It helps me clear my head,” Marlene says, instead, a confession of a different sort. Inexplicably, Marlene wants to tell her everything. “I don’t know what to do.”

“With Mary?” Dorcas clarifies, sparing Marlene the weight of her gaze and watching the clouds instead. Marlene is relieved and disappointed in equal measure.

“Yeah,” Marlene agrees, stomach churning at the memory of Mary’s expression when Marlene had confessed to James what was happening. When Marlene said she didn’t know whether she wanted to turn Mary over or not. 

Dorcas hums in acknowledgment, and something in Marlene settles at the lack of judgment in her expression.

You have to do this, her mother’s voice rings in her head.

“It’s your choice,” Dorcas says simply. “I won’t lie and say I’m not curious about the whole situation, but I know how heavy the gift can weigh at times. Sometimes I miss it, you know? The simplicity of knowing exactly who your enemy is and just taking them out. Most of the time though,” Dorcas sighs with a rueful twist to her mouth, “I’m relieved by the absence of it. It’s so quiet without the gift pressing in all the time.”

“Exactly,” Marlene says, “I can feel it pressing down on me all the time and the wards they taught us at Hogwarts only do so much.”

“Things in the field are hardly as simple as they make it seem in the classroom,” Dorcas agrees with a sharp grin and Marlene finds herself smiling in response.

“I want to help her,” Marlene says, fingers fiddling with the edges of the quilt, loose thread slipping between her fingers. “I just don’t know where to start, or if I can.”

“You don’t have to know,” Dorcas says, warm hand settling over her shoulder. “If you want to try, everyone in this building is there to figure things out with you.”

“And you?” Marlene asks, unable to catch the words before they’re slipping past her lips and hanging in the small space between them. 

“What about me?” Dorcas asks, and her eyes are like honey in the morning light and her fingers are still framing the curve of Marlene’s shoulder and the sweep of her collar bone is still right there.  

And Marlene is maybe still a little obsessed with her.

“Would you stay to help too?” Marlene asks, braver and steadier than she feels.

“Well,” Dorcas says, eyes flashing with humor and fingertips pressing through three layers of fabric. “Technically I’m not in the building, so–”

“Oh, fuck off,” Marlene says, laughter bubbling out of her. Her body shakes with the movement, knocking Dorcas’ hand out of place, but instead of pulling away, Dorcas leans closer forehead pressed against Marlene’s shoulder, laughter bright in the air between them.

“But genuinely,” Dorcas says, settling her chin on Marlene’s shoulder, breath ghosting across Marlene’s neck. Marlene tries not to feel some kind of way about it with absolutely no success. “I’m here as long as you want me.”

So forever, then? Marlene thinks, lost in the closeness and the confession and the confidence that blooms in the silence between them.

“Good,” Marlene says, reaching from beneath the quilt to pull one of Dorcas’ hands between her calloused palms. 

Dorcas tips her head against Marlene’s shoulder, settling in, and Marlene sighs into the softness of the morning. 

Whatever Marlene was chosen for, she wants to choose this–whatever it is–with Dorcas for as long as she can have it. Fuck destiny, Marlene is going to help Mary because she wants to and hold Dorcas’ hand because she wants to and watch the sun trace across the sky because she wants to. 

Gift or curse, it’s Marlene’s and she’s going to figure it out on her own terms.

~

“So,” Emmeline says conversationally, drawing out the vowel until Marlene looks up from her plate of food. “Is she, like, in the room right now?”

“Um,” Marlene says, swallowing her bite of toast and glancing at the empty seat at the table. “Yeah, she is.”

Emmeline lifts an unimpressed brow, before asking “and? Is she saying something? Like, you can actually hear her talking and stuff?”

Dorcas sits back in her seat, glancing between Marlene’s anxious fidgeting on her left, Emmeline’s laidback disposition to her right, and the empty seat across from her. It’s…strange to know that there’s a ghost in the room that she can’t sense, even all these months after her gift has faded away. 

It’s stranger still to know that the ghost is lucid and, presumably, talking without Dorcas being able to hear. 

“Mostly about your lack of tact,” Marlene replies, poking at her food and cutting a sharp glare at the empty seat. 

“Nice,” Emmeline says as if she has just received the highest praise from a dead woman. 

“And it doesn’t hurt?” Dorcas asks, remembering the nights her gift used to keep her up, the buffetting noise of the dead impeding her sleep and punctuating her days. At Marlene’s confused tilt of her head, Dorcas continues, “just, with the gift, it can be overwhelming to hear spirits all the time and, well, I wanted to make sure it’s not painful to talk to her.” 

“Oh,” Marlene says, grinning into her mug of coffee. “No, I haven’t really thought about it, but everything else is just a buzz when she’s around. Like the gift is focused on her completely and the pain just…fades.”

“Can other sensitives see her?” Emmeline asks, pushing her plate aside to lean her elbows on the tabletop. 

“I actually don’t know,” Marlene admits, glancing at Dorcas as if she has the answers. Regrettably, she does not. “I haven’t seen Sirius or Alice since I got in, and everyone else lost their gift before we met.”

“Speak of the devil,” Emmeline says leaning back in her seat and pushing away from the table. 

Alice and Sirius come through the entryway, shoving at each other and looking exhausted. They were both asleep when Dorcas and the entourage came in, and from their shuffling feet and squinting eyes Dorcas gathers that they are not morning people. 

“Good morning,” Alice says, dumping herself into the space Emmeline made for her without hesitation. Emmeline grins as she presses her lips to Alice’s temple, wrapping an arm around Alice’s waist so she doesn’t tip over onto the floor. Alice cracks an eye open to squint at Dorcas. “You’re new,” she observes, sounding entirely nonplussed about the stranger in her breakfast nook. 

“I am,” Dorcas agrees. She’s only known Alice for two minutes, but Dorcas is inexplicably fond of her. 

“Don’t sit there,” Marlene says in a rush, reaching to block Sirius from moving the empty seat at the table. 

“Oh, good morning Marlene,” Sirius says, tone dry and looking entirely too tired to be fighting for a seat with a ghost. He scrubs his hands over his face, settling them behind his neck as if he’s bracing himself for this conversation. “I slept well, thank you for asking. Why can’t I sit here?” 

“It’s occupied,” Marlene says, not elaborating at all as Sirius stares at her, visibly confused. Alice lifts her head to squint at the empty seat, before giving up and tucking herself into Emmeline’s shoulder. 

“It’s occupied,” Sirius repeats, walking away from the table and pulling a mug from the cabinet to fill with coffee and an indecent amount of sugar and cream. 

“Yes,” Marlene assures, leaning back in her seat and glaring at the empty seat. Dorcas can only imagine what Mary has to say about the situation, but none of it is especially flattering for anyone involved. “There’s a ghost sitting there, Mary. I was rather hoping that you’d be able to see her too.”

Sirius blanches where he’s taken a perch on the countertop. He glances at Alice as he takes a shaky sip of his coffee. “Well,” Sirius says, trying for a light tone and missing by a mile. “I hate to disappoint, but I can’t see any ghosts in the kitchen.” 

“I can’t either,” Alice agrees, slightly muffled from where she’s still tucked into Emmeline. 

“Huh,” Marlene says, nodding her head at the empty seat. “Yeah, well there’s no way to know why I can see you. No, yeah, I get it but–” Marlene scoffs, glaring at the empty seat. “Fine, yes. Emmeline?” Marlene says, startling Emmeline so badly it jostles Alice’s perch on her lap. 

“Um, yeah,” Emmeline says tentatively, adjusting Alice and glancing warily at the empty seat.

“Do you happen to know anything about this symbol?” Marlene asks, pulling a chain and pendant from around her neck and setting it on the table.

“Are you kidding?” Emmeline asks, leaning over the table to look at the pendant eyes flashing with excitement as she glances between Marlene and the necklace. At Marlene’s shrug, Emmeline continues, “no, not kidding, okay.” She leans in her seat, adjusting her grip on Alice as she goes. “Do you remember anything from when I was working on my doctorate program?”

“I mean I remember some things,” Marlene rushes to assure, securing the necklace around her neck again and fidgeting with the grooved of the pendant. 

“Yeah, no,” Emmeline says, glancing at Sirius as if he should also know. He shrugs sipping his coffee and knocking his heels against the cabinets beneath him. “Okay, I actually have, like, a whole presentation from when I finished my research on this.”

“Do you want to pull your presentation things and have a meeting in the library?” Sirius asks, grinning as Emmeline gets increasingly excited at the prospect. 

“Oh, absolutely,” Emmeline agrees, displacing Alice as she gets up, hands twitching with unspent energy. “I have visual aids.” 

~

“Okay,” Emmeline says, clapping her hands decisively and silencing the group scattered across the room. “Is everyone settled in?” The room bursts into broken conversations and shifting limbs and disgruntled movement in response. 

Marlene sinks deeper into the armchair she’s taken, impressed by the various posters and pictures Emmeline has set up and tucked away behind her, ready to talk. Alice leans her elbow against Marlene’s shoulder from her perch on the arm of her seat and grins at her beatifically. 

The large sofa is overfull with Gideon, Fabian, Kingsley, Peter, and James jammed together, a mess of overlapping limbs. After a brief introduction, they seem to get along like a house on fire, and Marlene is concerned by the way Gideon and Fabian matched Sirius and James’s energy shockingly well. 

The remaining armchair is filled with a reluctant Remus and an overzealous Sirius. Remus keeps giving Sirius these loaded looks that Marlene is trying not to read into, but there is something off in the way he laughs with James and glances at Emmeline warily. 

Behind Marlene, Dorcas has taken to leaning against the bookshelf and throwing paperclips–where she got them Marlene isn’t sure–at the boys on the couch. They have yet to figure out it’s her, and Dorcas simply winked at her when Marlene caught her doing it, lifting a single finger to her grinning lips. 

“Aren’t you smitten,” Mary says with a wry twist of her lips as she settles onto the empty arm of her chair. 

“Shut up,” Marlene hisses, face flushing and glancing at Dorcas–who is thoroughly invested in aiming her next shot at an unsuspecting Fabian–before glaring at Mary. She’s been doing that a lot this morning. 

“Yikes,” Mary says, unconcerned as she pulls her knees to her chest on the narrow space. Marlene is sure that if Mary weren’t a ghost, the balance she achieves would be impossible. “Hit a bit of a nerve there did I?”

“No,” Marlene insists, crossing her arms over her chest and facing Emmeline fully. 

“Why are you pouting?” Alice whispers on her right, grinning when Marlene sinks into the armchair more. 

“I’m not pouting,” Marlene insists.

“Yes you are,” Mary and Alice say at the same time. 

Marlene gapes indignantly at both of them. Mary tilts her head at Alice in blatant fascination, which is fair since the fact that they lined up so perfectly is mildly unsettling. 

Or incredibly unsettling.

But Alice has always had that sense of otherness about her. As if she’s seeing into something that you can’t. As if she doesn’t even realize that she knows things she shouldn’t.

“Okay,” Emmeline says again, everyone seems to settle fully this time. When Marlene glances over, James has no less than three paperclips in his hair and Dorcas looks incredibly satisfied with herself. Marlene bites back a grin and scowls at Mary when she lifts an unimpressed brow. “Right, does anyone recognize this symbol?”

Emmeline steps aside so the poster behind her is visible. It has an enlarged depiction the same as the pendant Marlene found, and she catches herself tracing the grooves of the symbol where it hangs over her sweater. 

“That’s familiar,” Mary had said squinting at Marlene’s discarded pile of clothes she had left in a sopping mess as she changed. 

“My clothes?” Marlene asked, poking at the wet cloth and shrugging at Mary’s unimpressed glare.

“Not the clothes,” Mary insisted, reaching into the pile just for her hand to disappear into the mess of fabric. “For fucks sake, the necklace.”

“Oh,” Marlene said, plucking the cold metal from the pile. Marlene had nearly forgotten about the strange necklace she found only the previous night. “Yeah, I found it at the Rockwood house.”

Mary hummed, glaring at the pendant as though it has personally offended her. “It’s familiar,” she insisted again, fingertips hovering over the edges of the metal. “Didn’t you say that Emmeline was, like, a specialist with symbolism in the ministry?”

“I mean technically,” Marlene agreed, tilting her hand in a so-so motion. “She studied stuff like that to get her degree but I don’t know if she’s going to know every strange symbol.”

“Well, ask,” Mary said, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her chin up resolutely. “It has something to do with me, I can feel it. And I doubt it’s a coincidence that you started being able to see me after you found the necklace.”

“Could be a coincidence,” Marlene argued, slipping the chain over her head. “Maybe you just died afterward. You don’t even remember what happened.”

“I don’t remember yet,” Mary clarified, following Marlene as she headed for the kitchen. “Ask or I’ll make you.”

As weird as it is and however little sense it makes, Marlene has to admit that it is strange that Mary came into her life at the same time as the necklace. She just doesn’t understand what a necklace in a prolifically haunted house has to do with Mary’s untimely death. Marlene has been banking on the hope that Mary just needs a little extra help settling her affairs before passing on–or whatever the fuck she’s supposed to do when ghosts are suddenly talking to her–but Marlene keeps getting this awful foreboding that Mary’s death is just the beginning of her problems.

“Isn’t that just the weird symbol you were obsessed with for your research?” Sirius says breaking the silence, head tipped upside down over the arm of the chair where he’s draped across Remus’ lap. “The one about the siblings or whatever?”

“I mean,” Emmeline begins reluctantly, glancing at the poster as if the image will tell her what to say. It, resolutely, does not. “I guess, yeah. That’s actually pretty accurate.”

“Oh my stars, get to the point,” Mary mutters, arms crossed and brows furrowed as she glares at the poster.

“Be nice,” Marlene whispers back, arm moving through Mary uncomfortably when she tries to nudge her.

“Something from the peanut gallery?” Emmeline asks, squinting at Marlene and the empty space to her left. 

“Yeah, tell her to explain this shit before I die a second time.”

“She says we’re really lucky you know so much about this,” Marlene lies smoothly, gaining an indignant squawk from Mary and a pleased grin from Emmeline.

“Lies and slander,” Mary mutters, frowning more intensely than before.

“Now who’s pouting?” Marlene whispers to Mary, grinning beatifically when both Emmeline and Mary cut her a sharp look. 

“Anyways,” Emmeline says, tracing her finger over the symbol as she explains. “This symbol is actually associated with a children’s story dating back to the first leakage between worlds. A lot of scholars discounted the narrative because it’s a children’s story and other authorship from the time–diaries, periodicals, laws, and such–took precedence over storybooks. I mean, the fact that we still have a legible copy of this particular story is just–so amazing because of the book burning that took place at the turn of the century, but, well one copy did survive and that’s what I centered my research on.”

Emmeline digs through one of the boxes stacked behind the poster coming up with a worn book and a victorious grin. She passes it to Sirius in the armchair to flip through.

“Just pass that around,” she says returning to the easel and flipping through a clipboard filled with handwritten notes. “Right, okay. So the only reason we associate the symbol here with the story in the book is because of the surviving dedication on the inside cover of the book. I mean, some people argue that the symbol was put there coincidentally because of rampant symbolism that emerged along with the tear between worlds, but honestly, that’s a bit of a stretch. Especially considering some surviving diaries and such that have direct relations between the story and the symbol. Anyways, I did my research on this because origin stories–or in this case the mythologization of catastrophic events–are just as important as the first-hand accounts from the time.”

Emmeline continues about the validity of her project, hands gesticulating wildly as she gets deeper into the arguments surrounding the topic and eyes flashing when she makes a particularly powerful point. Alice looks positively smitten, chin settled into her palm as her eyes trace Emmeline’s passionate pacing in front of the poster.

Dorcas pulls her attention with a tap on her shoulder, holding the aged book out to her with a smile. Marlene smiles back, reflexively, and takes the book with a mumbled thanks. 

“Wait flip back,” Mary says, leaning over her shoulder to look through the worn pages with Marlene. Marlene dutifully flips back to the front cover, holding it up for Mary to see the faded ink better. 

“All this to say,” Emmeline continues, a change in her tone pulling Marlene’s attention back to the poster and the pacing and the postulations. “The story itself is relatively simple. I’ll spare you the semantics and just break it down into its four central parts. First, there’s the act of deception. Three brothers cheat Death through their innovation, so Death tries to cheat the brothers in return. Offering each brother a wish, Death promised to let them live as long as they were satisfied with their choices. The next act centers on the eldest brother. He wished for immortality and went on to take huge risks and get into fights, thinking he was invulnerable. Eventually, he lost a fight and died, but immortality is–by definition–the ability to live forever. Since he didn’t specify the capacity of such life, after he died, the eldest brother remained in the mortal realm able to live and watch life but unable to interact with his surroundings, a voyeur to his own existence. Eventually, he begged Death to take him, and so Death did.”

Emmeline traces the line down the middle of the symbol with a pause, letting the first part sit for a moment before continuing.

“The next act follows the middle brother, who had recently fallen in love, so he wished for Death to allow him and his lover to stay together and pass on at the same time. Tragically, his lover died shortly after but couldn’t pass on without the middle brother. The lover was trapped between realms, only able to relive the hours before their death over and over again. The middle brother couldn’t bear to watch his lover suffer. He begged Death to take him, and so Death did.”

As she finished, Emmeline traced the circle in the symbol.

“Next, was the youngest brother. His son had died shortly before he cheated Death, so when he was offered a wish he asked to be able to reach beyond the veil to speak to those lost. For years, he spoke to the dead granting closure to friends, family, and strangers. When he died, decades later, Death welcomed him through the veil and they passed through together, satisfied.”

Tracing the triangle surrounding the symbol, Emmeline grins at the group clapping her hands with finality before asking, “Any questions?”

“I do,” Remus asks raising his hand slightly and continuing when Emmeline nods at him. “How, exactly, did you come to be the sole owner of the only edition of this story?”

“Any questions that do not implicate me in various crimes?” Emmeline revises, tapping her clipboard to her chin in thought. 

“So you stole it?” Remus asks, lifting an unimpressed brow.

“I borrowed it,” Emmeline corrects.

“Permanently.”

“Any other questions,” Emmeline repeats, cutting a glare at Remus when he grins at her evasion. 

“Um, what does the symbol have to do with the three brothers?” Peter asks from his squished position between Kingsley and James. He tilts his head at the poster before clarifying, “I know you traced each part of it as you mentioned it, but why are the line, circle, and triangle put with each brother?”

“Great question,” Emmeline says, purposefully ignoring Remus when he gasps at her in mock offense, Sirius almost falling out of his lap with the motion. “Interpretations of the symbol are tied largely to the writings of the daughter of one of the founders. Supposedly, she went into intensive detail about the connection between each part of the symbol and the brothers.”

“Supposedly?” Dorcas asks, moving to lean against the arm of the couch next to Gideon.

“Well, yeah,” Emmeline affirms, flipping through her notes. “No one’s actually read the writings firsthand in several decades. Everything scholars are working with these days are second-hand accounts of what she wrote. It’s all very convoluted.”

“Wait,” James says, pushing his glasses up and leaning forward on his knees. “How do you even know it’s connected then? If the only sourcing that ties them is technically nonexistent.”

“It exists,” Emmeline argues, gesturing with her clipboard. “The ministry has the documents, but you need, like, super high clearance to see them.”

“That’s weird,” Gideon says, sinking back into the couch and rubbing his eyes. 

“Why so much red tape though?” Fabian asks, leaning forward and dropping his chin into his hands. “What does it matter if some lady said that this weird symbol and the story are connected?”

“Didn’t you say some scholars thought the symbol didn’t have anything to do with the story?” Kinglsey clarifies, squinting at the poster. “What else was the symbol tied to if not the story?”

“Ugh,” Emmeline sighs, dropping the clipboard into the box behind the poster and pacing across the open carpet. “I mean, some people say it has something to do with a cult.”

“Okay, what?” Sirius asks, perking up from his relaxed position so quickly Remus has to snap an arm out to catch him. Sirius doesn’t even seem to realize he almost fell, barrelling onward, “Cult stuff? Why didn’t we start with the cult stuff? That seems much more likely to be connected to the ghost’s weird death. No offense.” He adds glancing over to Marlene and the empty space beside her.

“None taken,” Mary says, tugging on her braids absently as she considers the poster. 

“None taken,” Marlene repeats for Sirius’ benefit, grinning when Mary rolls her eyes. 

“The cult stuff is…I mean I argued at length against the connection between the cult and the symbol through my research. But fine. Some scholars argue that the emergence of the symbol didn’t have to do with the story as much as it had to do with the rise of extremist groups after the tear between worlds.”

“Wait, so multiple cults were associated with the symbol?” Remus asks, holding Sirius by the waist so he doesn’t fall when he leans over to pick paper lips from James’ hair. 

“No,” Emmeline corrects, sighing with her hands on her hips. “Just one super prolific one led by Grindelwald. He was all about trying to control the tear between worlds and figuring out why some people had the gift and why eventually faded away for some people. They did some…ethically ambiguous experiments on people that were dying and sensitives. Those records are also under rigorous regulation at the ministry.”

“Did they figure it out?” Peter asks, kicking at Sirius when he flicks a paperclip unearthed from James’ hair at his face. “What? Everyone also harps about how bad it is that they did morally dubious experiments, but those experiments are what have informed us about, like, psychology and stuff more than the regulated stuff.”

“I mean,” Mary says, tilting her head back and forth in consideration. “The path to success is rarely paved with morality.”

“Whatever they found,” Emmeline explains as she rubs her temples. “ If they found anything at all, it hasn’t been published or utilized in public.”

“Okay,” Marlene says, tapping the spine of the book in her lap and glancing at Mary. “So, the symbol that Mary has some weird connection to is either referencing a story or a weird cult?”

“I still think the cult thing makes more sense,” Sirius says, raising his hand and shrugging. “Was she in a weird cult?”

Marlene looks expectantly at Mary, who shrugs noncommittally. “I don’t think so,” Mary says, with much less conviction than Marlene was hoping for. “I don’t exactly remember a lot from before I died. I think I went to parties? It’s all blurry and I feel like there’s something important just…missing from my memory. Like gaps where someone should be.”

“That’s…mildly concerning,” Marlene says, feeling incredibly concerned. “Oh, right, you guys can’t… she says she doesn’t think so.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Remus points out, snagging another excavated paperclip from Sirius’ grasp before he can throw it. 

“No,” Marlene agrees, grimacing at Mary when she catches her eye. “It’s really not.”

~

“So,” Kingsley says, kicking at the porch railing absently as they gather around the worn wicker chairs there. Gideon slumps into the creaking material while Fabian settles on the railing behind him, feet twisting through the gaps of the railing. Dorcas settles into the remaining seat, watching as Kinglsey continues to think and kick, kick and think. “You’re really staying?”

“Yeah,” Dorcas admits, ears burning when Kingsley lifts an unimpressed brow. “Well, I promised her I would. I’m gonna see it through to the end, whatever that looks like.”

As much as Dorcas likes Marlene, it isn’t just about her in the end. Kingsley can tease her and Gideon can grin smugly at her and Fabian can squint suspiciously when she mentions Marlene, but Dorcas didn’t start this because of Marlene. She started it because it doesn’t make sense.

Marlene doesn’t make sense.

Dorcas spent considerable time wondering about her, as she excelled in courses and training and in her career. There was always something different about Marlene, in the way she used her gift and the reluctance that seemed to shroud her all the way until graduation. There is something off in the way her gift reacts to spirits and there is undoubtedly something strange in her ability to actually talk to a ghost.

Not to mention the fact that Emmeline didn’t even mention Helena Ravenclaw outright, which begs the question of why this ghost knows and what that has to do with a story if anything at all.

Marlene McKinnon is an intangible person, something shifting in the questions surrounding her and the motivations that drive her. Dorcas prides herself on her ability to read people, but for some reason, Marlene continues to perplex her. 

She might be the slightest bit obsessed.

At this point, she’s just lucky that Regulus isn’t here to witness her falling over herself for Marlene.

“Right,” Gideon says, still smiling as he leans forward in his seat. “I guess that leaves us to smooth things over with the ministry.”

“It’d be too suspicious if we all disappeared at the same time,” Fabian agrees, sharing a look with Gideon and nodding slowly before smiling at Dorcas. “Besides, someone has to push paper while you chase some ghost across the continent.”

“I’m not chasing–”

“And make sure Rubeous stays out of trouble,” Gideon interrupts, grinning when Dorcas scowls at him. “I swear, Avery is going to figure out what he’s doing one of these days.”

“I think you’re giving him a little too much credit with that one,” Dorcas argues, tucking her feet up into the wicker chair.

“Maybe you’re giving him too little,” Kingsley counters, kicking at the porch again with his arms crossed over his chest. “I have some…errands I need to check in on, Meadows, so I can’t stay either.”

“Errands, huh?” Dorcas asks, covering her grin with her hand when Kingsley glares at her. “What? Fine, enjoy your errands , King, I’ll keep all of you posted on the situation.”

“Good,” Kingsley says, relaxing against the railing across from Dorcas. “We’re just a phone call away if something goes wrong.”

“I know,” Dorcas says, rolling her eyes fondly as they settle into a comfortable silence, laughter spilling from the house as they decompress.

They leave with scattered goodbyes and fluttering hands and reassuring smiles until it’s just Dorcas watching the garden in the backyard sway in the wind. She lingers and thinks and tries to settle the foreboding growing in the center of her chest. 

Everything is fine.

“Hey,” Marlene says, poking her head out the back door and smiling at Dorcas. “I see you’ve found the garden.”

“Yeah,” Dorcas agrees, lips curling up as Marlene settles into the wicker chair next to her. She seems lighter after the discussion in the library. “It’s nice out here.”

“It wasn’t always,” Marlene admits, grimacing as she looks over the flourishing fauna. “This used to be Sirius’ family house, did you know that?”

“No,” Dorcas admits, twisting in her seat to face Marlene fully. “Tell me about it?”

So Marlene does. 

They sit on the porch for hours as the sun traces lower across the sky, disappearing behind the skyline. Marlene talked about renovating the house and reviving the garden and reclaiming the space as something that was theirs after the pressure of school and parents and careers. Dorcas listens and tries to convince herself that this is just an extra benefit of staying behind for answers, not the woman in front of her.

The fading sunlight catches Marlene’s eyes, casting her in golden tones. Even as darkness encompasses the space around them, the brightness of Marlene’s eyes seems to burn in the shadows. She’s like sunlight, brilliant and amaranthine and consuming. 

In all the ways Dorcas knows she is cold, Marlene is warm, and Dorcas wants to press her palms to her and see it blisters her skin or alleviates the chill. 

“Oh good,” Remus says, shoving open the back door and breaking the thread of their conversation. “James told me to tell you that dinner is ready.”

“Awesome,” Marlene says, unfolding from her scrunched position in the chair, bones cracking with the motion. “I’m starving.”

They trail after Remus into the house, and Dorcas tries to imagine what the house looked like before, from Marlene’s description. Places, where portraits were once hung, are now scattered with landscapes and polaroids. 

As they cross into the kitchen, laughter and conversation permeate the air. Alice, Peter, and James are gathered around the large island, making up plates and adding last-minute garnishes to the food. Alice keeps sprinkling more seasoning into the pot on the stove every time James turns around, while Peter stirs dutifully and pretends not to see, poorly concealing his grin when James looks at him suspiciously.

“I’m just saying,” Sirius is saying, feeding Padfoot scraps under the table shamelessly even as Remus cuts him a look, settling into the seat beside him. “You’re more likely to be murdered in a cult than a book club.”

“It’s not about murderability,” Emmeline argues, standing up from her seat to dig through the fridge, talking around the open door as she rummages through its contents. “It’s about contextualizing history through contemporary accounts.”

“Technically,” Sirius begins, before Remus covers his mouth with his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sirius glares at him, but the effect is wasted on Remus who simply sighs when Sirius grumbled incoherently.

“Please,” Remus says, removing his hand slowly and continuing when Sirius simply pouts at him. “I cannot listen to you two argue about this anymore. We can’t really do anything until the ghost remembers whatever it is about the pendant that makes it special. For all we know, she was just told that story or saw the symbol and it could have nothing to do with her death.”

Sirius and Emmeline burst into another series of protests while Remus thunks his head against the tabletop. Dorcas winces in sympathy, already tuning out the argument taking the unoccupied seat while Marlene settles into Emmeline’s vacated one. Dorcas gets admittedly distracted by the dog, petting him when he comes begging at her feet and helplessly endeared by his large eyes and floppy ears. 

Eventually, plates are distributed and everyone takes up various places to eat, pulling additional seats up to the small table or settling at the island. It’s comfortable in a way Dorcas has never been around a large group of people she’s not familiar with. 

There’s something about the warm laughter and familiarity that seeps into the room and relaxes some of the tension that still lingered around Dorcas’ ribcage. It’s refreshing in a way that Dorcas isn’t with people beyond her few close friends. It’s nice.

It’s loud enough with conversation and clattering cutlery that it takes several minutes for the pounding at the door to make it through the noise. 

After a series of particularly voracious knocks, James gets up from his seat adjusting his glasses as he goes to answer the door. He’s not even wearing shoes and the foreboding wraps around her as the room falls silent to listen to the drag of the door over the floor. 

Whatever peace she had garnered dissipated in the aftermath. Needless to say, no one finishes their dinner after the arrival of their uninvited guest.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure this is safe?” Lily asks, ducking under a bundle of rosemary drying in the doorway.

“Scared, Evans?” Pandora asks, grinning at Lily over her shoulder as she leads the way between piles of books and shelves of jars. “When have I ever led you astray?”

Never, Lily thinks.

“I’m not scared, ” Lily argues, instead, scoffing as she picks her way over a scattering of parchment on the floor. “I’m…justifiably wary.”

“Oh, sure,” Pandora hums, smile still tucked in the corner of her lips as she pulls open the beaded curtain across an ornate doorframe with one hand gesturing with the other. “After you then, oh brave one.”

Lily scoffs as she passes through the passage Pandora has made, but her heart is racing despite her attempts at being unruffled by the circumstances. She’s never met Pandora’s friend before, but she’s certainly heard the stories about his eclectic nature and habit of collecting echoes and their sources. 

Lily doesn’t have much experience with echoes, except for the infestation her grandmother had when she was only seven. When she told Marlene about it–the voices at night, random doors opening, and anxious cat–she said it sounded like a mild echo. A peaceful death. Echoes relive their deaths over and over and over. For some, it’s a gentle slope to sleep, like her grandmother's haunting. For others, it’s a screeching stumble into eternity, like most of the jobs Marlene volunteers for. 

Still, collecting sources and their echoes seems offputting to Lily, and being surrounded by items that could be sources puts her even more on edge. Marlene says there’s a vibe to sources, but Lily has never had the gift, so every bottle, box, and bead seems like it could have an echo lingering in its lining. Or something, she’s not really sure how echoes work. 

That’s a Pandora question. 

Before she can gather the words to ask, a man is emerging from the opposite entrance to the room Pandora has led her to. He’s…taller than she expected. His floor-length coat embellished with swirling embroidery designs and his long white hair spilled over his shoulders by his waist. He grins at the sight of them, and it’s the genuine sort that brightens his eyes and reveals his slightly crooked teeth. He seems cool, and Lily could even see them being friends.

“Pandora,” he says, smile broadening as he closes the distance between them, grasping Pandora’s elbow to press a kiss to her cheek in greeting. “It has been far too long.”

On second thought, Lily hates him. 

“It really has,” Pandora agrees, beaming up at him and placing her free hand over his on her elbow. “Are you still having trouble sealing sources after you’ve examined them?”

“Oh my stars,” he says, laughing brightly as he withdraws from Pandora’s grasp, crossing the room to retrieve a wooden box and hold it in front of them excitedly. “It really has been a while if that’s the last thing we talked about. No, here,” he explains tracing a symbol on the box, engraved into the lid. “I did some research through the ministry–dreadful that, never again–but they were the only way to get access to some of the theory I used behind the types of symbols and, well, long story short, you can harness and seal in echoes with their sources if you can find the proper symbology to align with their type of death.”

“Fascinating,” Pandora says, eyes bright with interest as she traces the symbols etched into the box. “Oh, well, we have to discuss this more when we have time, but we’re in a bit of a rush.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” he agrees warmly, tucking the box under one arm and turning to face Lily fully. She’s a bit taken aback by the intensity of his gaze like he’s seeing right through her. He smiles at her like they’re in on a secret before extending his hand to shake, which Lily takes reluctantly. “Xenophilius, a pleasure to meet you.”

He trails off expectantly, and Lily startles quickly blurting, “Lily, um, Lily Evans.” 

He hums, releasing her hand and gesturing for them to follow him across the room and through a large door. Dark engravings line the wood, and Lily worries about what, exactly, Xenophilius is trying to keep out. Or in. 

“Apologies about the mess,” Xenophilius says, stepping carefully and familiarly over the various spills of objects covering the floor throughout the room. Light spills warmth into the space from high windows and there’s a chirping somewhere in the distance that sets Lily on edge. Not knowing what is in the room might just kill her, anxiety and curiosity swirling in a vicious loop. 

“It’s no trouble,” Pandora assures, in that steady way of hers. Her feet are steady as they pick their way across the room, hands held out to the side for balance and lips quirked in a small grin she tosses to Lily over her shoulder. 

Lily tries to not stumble into a pyramid of jars.

“Right,” Xenophilius says, clapping his hands and leaning against the impressively large desk framed by towering bookshelves–equally as cluttered as the floor–and smiling at them as they settled into the patch of cleared floor around him. “You mentioned something about a group you were looking into?”

“Yes,” Pandora agrees, fingers twisting the bracelets around her wrists as she asks, “do you happen to know anything about a group called the Hallow?”

“Why do you need to know about the Hallow?” He asks, pleasant demeanor suddenly shrouded in nervousness as he flicks his gaze between them and the door behind them. 

“Call it academic curiosity,” Lily says, stepping between him and his view of the exit, arms crossed and eyes stern. 

“I’m not sure I should…I mean, there’s nothing to be gained from knowing about them,” Xenophilius insists, swallowing as he shrinks into the desk a bit under Lily’s glare. 

“Not much to lose by telling us then,” Lily argues, squinting at Xenophilius. 

“Do you remember that trip you took to the states a few years ago?” Pandora asks so suddenly that it startles Lily into squinting at Pandora’s stoic expression instead of glaring Xenophilius into sharing what he knows. 

“I might,” he admits warily, easing more toward resignation than outright anxiety as Pandora continues.

“I remember it quite clearly. In fact, I remember you telling me that if I could get you papers for that special little vase you’d be in my debt forever, do you remember that part?”

“I might’ve said something to that effect.”

“You did,” Pandora agrees, eyes flashing as she tilts her head at him. “I’m the generous type, though, so I won’t hold you to the forever bit. I just want to know about one thing, scholar to scholar, and we can call it even.”

“Whatever you two are in right now,” he begins, sighing as he rummages through the desk drawer for some spare parchment and a quill. “I’m not liable for what happens after this. I would still like to be friends, Pandora, but this business with the Hallows, it’s not for everyone.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about it,” Lily says, leaning against the desk next to Xenophilius as he pulls the stopper out of an inkwell. “For someone so adamantly against them.”

“I’m a scientist as much as a scholar,” Xenophilius says as if that is a proper response. Pandora nods slightly from where she’s peering over his shoulder at the parchment, so maybe it is. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of in my search for answers.”

“Fine,” Lily agrees, crossing her arms and watching Xeniphiulus’ fingers tremble around his quill. “Tell us what you learned.”

“There’s a lot,” he admits, straightening and dropping the quill to sink into the inkwell, fingers twisting together. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“The beginning, perhaps,” Pandora offers, settling against the desk next to Lily, shoulders resting together. 

Lily tries not to feel some kind of way about it with minimal success.

“Right,” he agrees, pacing in the small space free of clutter. “Okay, so are you familiar with Tom Riddle?”

“No,” they say at once, and Lily tucks a smile away when Pandora nudges her in acknowledgment. 

“Okay, he’s a…charismatic man,” Xenophilius says, flushing slightly as he continues to pace. “We met at a conference that centered around echoes and their sources. I gave a talk on my recent, um, discoveries regarding the symbols and the seals, and Riddle, well, he approached me after. Said he was interested in what I had to say and offered to buy me a drink to discuss it more.”

“And you agreed,” Pandora says, a note of surprise tinting her words as she squints at him.

“I know,” Xenophilius sighs, glancing at Pandora warily. “Bars aren’t really my thing, but I was still riding the adrenaline rush of speaking in front of so many people and he seemed…earnest. In a way that most people aren’t about my work.”

“So you went,” Lily prompts when Xenophilius fails to elaborate.

“So I went,” he agrees. “We got to talking and he mentioned how he was hosting a sort of get-together. Like-minded people trying to solve the same problem. Of course, I was interested. He said he had funding and resources and connections to the ministry, so I could access things without having to mess with the red tape that surrounds the ministry files.”

“And you believed him?” Pandora asks, eyebrows twitching together.

“Yeah, I did. I believed a lot of what he said, at first. In the beginning, it was simple stuff. How are sources and echoes connected, what makes a source a source, and why echoes can’t move on by themselves? All questions I had asked myself many times. And he had all these resources. Empty sources and raging echoes and book after book of archives I had never seen before. It was like a dream come true. Full unhampered scientific testing.”

“But?” Pandora asks, eyes already softening in sympathy at Xenophilius’ increasingly uncomfortable state. 

“But, okay, well, but then he started bringing them around when I was running tests. The Deatheaters. He said they were there for research, but there was something about the way they watched me run tests on echoes, especially when it got violent and I had to put them down, that just didn’t sit right with me. I did some morally ambiguous things to echoes to try to understand them, but I never delighted in it the way the Deatheaters did. The worse things got, the more intensely they watched me and the less I wanted to do any research at all.”

He stops pacing, facing them fully, eyes heavy with guilt as his fingers twist together rapidly. 

“You have to understand,” he says, shoulders tense and eyes pleading. “I didn’t know–I never would have continued for so long if I knew , but they, well, Riddle started asking about the gifted, instead. Wondering where the sensitivity came from, why it disappeared, and what made some people so much more attuned to it than others. All questions I’m sure we’ve all considered at some point, but, well, there’s no ethical way to test it. I told him as much, but he didn’t take no very well to say the least. Neither did the Deatheaters. I started getting threats and followed on my way home and strange notes at work.”

“You have to understand,” Xenophilius insists again, practically shaking as the truth spills out of him. “You have–I never wanted to hurt anyone , I didn’t have it in me, but they came to my house and they–they threatened to take everything, so I did one last thing for them. To buy my way out. Riddle said if I did one more experiment then he’d let me go, no strings attached. It was just one experiment.”

“Xenophilius,” Pandora begins, crossing her arms like they will protect her from this confession as a physical blow. “What did you do?”

“You have to understand,” he repeats, like saying it enough will make it true. The more frantic his voice becomes, the less likely Lily thinks it is that she will. Whatever he’s done might just be too far over the line. “He said it was one last experiment, tying together the symbolism I’d been investigating with my knowledge about sources to do something different. To make someone different.”

“What did you do?” Lily asks, despite herself, a shiver traveling from the base of her skull to the soles of her feet. There’s something frenetic in Xenophilius’ eyes. Something dangerous. And maybe he was right when he said they shouldn’t know because the more he fills in the gaps of his story, the less certain Lily is that she’s going to leave this room the same way she entered it. 

“You have to understand,” he murmurs, movement coming to a halt as he stares at the floor. “I was trying to give her the gift. I never realized it would–I didn’t mean to hurt her. I don’t even know if she’s okay, now. I drew the symbols and Riddle had the sacred thing he was doing and when she started screaming I just–I don’t remember. I think she was okay, though. She was probably okay, right?”

“I don’t know,” Pandora says when he stops there silence drenching the air between them. Weighted and suffocating. “I don’t know,” she repeats, voice cracking down the middle.

“I never went back, after,” Xenophilius continues, eyes distant and fingers clenched at his sides. The stillness is almost jarring in the aftermath of his continuous movement. In the aftermath of his confession. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? He’s confessing. “I told Riddle we were even, and I left. I’m never going back, they can’t make me.”

“No one’s going to make you, Xenophilius,” Pandora assures, steady even as her hands shake where they’re tucked behind her back. “No one can make you do anything.”

“I know,” he says, sounding all the more devastated by this. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t.”

Silence blankets the room again, thick with things left unsaid. Heavy with the weight of Xenophilius’ words hanging over them. It almost doesn’t seem real. The room is bright with afternoon light, but Xenophilius has a darkness covering him that is equally intangible and unshakeable. 

“So,” Lily begins, voice loud in the quiet of the room even though she feels like she’s whispering. “Riddle worked for the Hallows?”

“No,” Xenophilius corrects, eyes still tracing the floor as if it will absolve him. “The Hallows bend to him. That’s what this whole thing was about. Taking back the Hallow to control it.”

“Wait, so the Hallow isn’t his group?”

“Of course not, the Hallow existed long before Riddle came along and will continue to persist long after he succumbs to it.”

“What is the Hallow then?” Lily asks, frustrated and feeling led on by this terrible confession and confusing turnabout. 

“The Hallow is a story, first and foremost,” Xenophilius explains, finally looking Lily in the eye, gaze heavy with guilt and grief and something like anger, though that’s too simple a word for it. “After that, well, the Hallows are death.”

~

“Wait, wait, wait,” Barty says, waving his hands in front of him as if he’s physically batting the explanations Pandora has given him away. “You’re telling me that Xenophilius–sweet, gentle, apologized to a shelf after he bumped into Xenophilius–he got caught up in some weird science group and, like, conducted unsanctioned experiments on some person without the gift?” 

“Essentially,” Pandora confirms, fighting off a headache by sheer force of will.

“I mean, the groupies were called death eaters, what the fuck did he think was going to happen?” Evan points out, flipping through a worn book lazily from his perch on the backroom couch. 

“Regardless,” Lily says, we still need to figure out what all of this has to do with the people disappearing from the streets and why the hallows were at the house, and what any of this has to do with the ministry.”

“Well, obviously the hallows are snatching people off the streets,” Barty argues, traipsing over to the counter to sit on it, wood still creaking under his weight. One of these days, the counter is going to break out from under him, and Pandora can only hope she’s here to watch it happen. “And the ministry’s shit anyways, I’m sure they’re involved somehow.”

“But why would they be snatching people still?” Lily asks, tattoos peaking from under her sleeves as Lily gestures while she talks, movements wide and tired. To be fair, it’s been a long day. “If Xenophilius isn’t still doing experiments for them, then who replaced him? And why do they need so many people to get things done? And why people who had the gift before but lost it if it really is about giving sensitivity to someone who doesn’t have it?”

“I can’t give you all the answers,” Barty says, leaning back on his hands and swinging his feet so they thump rhythmically against the cabinets below. “I have to leave some of the intrigue for you to figure out on your own.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Lily says, in that dry way of hers that Pandora missed so much. 

Most of the time, Pandora can hold a grudge or a promise for years if she wants to. Like Xenophiulius’ debt or the seven scones Barty owes her from various coffee trips over the years. It’s harder with Lily. 

Maybe it’s the way Lily smiles at her sometimes–at the Blackwood house, in the coffee shop, over Evan’s head when Barty says something particularly ridiculous–small and sweet and just theirs. 

Maybe it’s the way Lily talks to her sometimes–tone soft where it’s strict with others, fondness dripping into every word–quiet and certain and devoted. 

Maybe it’s the way Lily has changed since they saw each other–tattoos spread across her skin, settled confidence in her posture, comfortable in herself in a way she wasn’t before–mature and sharp and determined.

Maybe Pandora can’t hold a grudge because Lily is different from the woman that left her alone at the pier. Maybe Pandora can’t keep the promise she made to herself because she doesn’t want to.

Lily Evans, the exception to all of Pandora’s rules.

“I try,” Barty agrees, grin broad and eyes dancing with mirth. 

“What you really need is a fresh lead,” Evan says, slightly muffled from where he’s holding a pen cap between his lips as he writes in the margins of the book he’s holding. Red ink on yellowing pages. “Unless there’s another place you can find shit on the Hallows without getting caught.”

“What about your contact?” Pandora asks, not at all distracted by the way that Lily tilts her head at the question, cartilage piercings flashing in the store lights. “The one in the ministry? Maybe they know something about the Hallows.”

“Still totally silent on that front,” Lily confesses, pacing in the small space. “We’ve gone a few days without talking before, but it feels different this time, with Umbridge blocking my story and the fire and, well, it all seems connected, doesn’t it?”

“Could be a coincidence,” Evan says, tucking the pen behind his ear and flipping the page. “Hunts go wrong all the time and contacts dry up when the stakes get too high. Happens all the time with–” he stops glancing at Lily before clearing his throat and continuing, “with, um, donations to the store.”

“Nice save,” Barty says, grinning when Evan glares at him.

“Shut up.”

“Anyways,” Pandora says, exasperated, as she steps in front of Lily to still her restless movements, hand wrapping around the bend of her elbow. “We just need a new angle. What are we missing that could give us a fresh view of the problem?”

“So basically a fresh lead,” Evan mutters, scribbling in his book again.

Pandora ignores him, barely refraining from rolling her eyes.

“A new angle,” Lily repeats, tugging on her piercings habitually as she thinks. “We could try for the archives? I technically don’t have clearance but–”

“I have clearance,” Pandora says, biting back a smile when Lily blinks at her in shock. “What, who did you think funds my research?”

“I dunno,” Lily admits, a blush rising across her cheeks setting her freckles in stark relief. “I just, well, I thought you hated the ministry.”

“Oh, I do,” Pandora agrees, grinning when Lily scoffs. “But they don’t have to know everything that I learn from their resources. As far as the ministry is aware, I’m doing a content analysis over the origins of sources.”

“What do you actually do?” Lily asks, that determined curiosity flashing in her eyes.

And, oh, she forgot how much she loved that about Lily. The way her inquisitive nature melts into resolve when she encounters a question she can’t answer immediately. It was that steadfast nosiness that drew Pandora to Lily when she was young and immature and cocky. It was that glint in Lily’s eye that made Pandora say yes when Lily asked her for a favor, even though Pandora had promised herself not to get into anything that would put her on the ministry’s radar. 

It was that intensity that made Pandora fall a little in love with her the first time around.

She chased Lily across the city, under the ministry’s awareness, without telling her friends. She followed her through troubles and laughter and couldn’t help but trail after her with a single crook of Lily’s finger. She was so deep in the pursuit, she didn’t realize Lily wasn’t letting her catch up anymore until it was too late. 

Until she was left behind with no way of following. 

But, oh, how Pandora wants to slip into what they had before. When Pandora would tell Lily anything she asked and follow her through any circumstance. 

She wants and wants and wants, but she can’t make the same mistakes. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Pandora replies, quick and sharp and slightly find despite anything. 

Instead of throwing her off, Lily simply looks more determined. Well, if Lily wants to chase for a change, Pandora won’t stop her. She couldn’t if she wanted to and she really really doesn’t.

“So you’re going to archives to look for…what?” Barty asks, effectively obliterating the tension gathering between them. 

Pandora is equally relieved and irritated, but that happens most of the time when Barty talks.

“I mean,” Lily says, clearing her throat and tugging on those piercings again. “I guess? There has to be something about the Hallow there besides what Xenophilius said. He built his research off of something, right?”

“Right,” Pandora agrees, shaking off the tension still pulling against her ribcage and taking a cleansing breath. “A simple research trip. Honestly, a trip through the stacks will be a refreshing break from all the mess we’ve been getting into lately.”

“I’m sure,” Evan says dryly, tossing his book to the side and sitting up properly in his seat. Pandora cuts him a glare, but he’s regrettably immune. “You two have fun reading, me and Barty have some business to attend to.”

“We do?” Barty asks, straightening from his perch on the counter and tipping his head to the side. Evan cuts him a look over his shoulder where he’s grasping the door handle. “Oh, right, yeah. Of course, we do.” 

They disappear behind the worn door, hinges rattling in their wake. 

“Well,” Lily says, a smile breaking across her face as she passes Pandora on her way to the door. “No time like the present, right?”

Pandora simply hums and follows Lily out the door.

It’s fine.

~

I’m sorry, dear, but you must be mistaken,” the archivist says with a sympathetic grimace, keyboard clacking as she continues to type, the rhythmic thumping driving Lily up the wall for no reason other than she’s antsy and this woman is wildly unhelpful. She’s gotten into fights with politer people for less. “There’s absolutely nothing in the files about the Hollow.”

“Hallow,” Pandora corrects, patience shining through as she twists her fingers together on the countertop beside the archivist. At the woman’s confused glance, Pandora elaborates, “it’s anything with the Hallow, not the Hollow.”

“Oh,” the woman says with a delighted laugh as if she hasn’t spent the last half hour talking them in circles about searching the key for the wrong term. Lily’s eye twitches. “Well, isn’t that something? Hallow then, hm, yes okay that’s going to be on the fourth floor.”

She rattles off several numbers and letters that Pandora copies dutifully onto her palm with a floral pen from the bouquet at the counter. It’d be charming if Lily wasn’t so peeved about the whole situation.

“Thank fuck that’s over,” Lily whispers as they start up the stairs. Lily tucks away a private smile when Pandora snorts in response. Pandora can laugh at Lily and not mean anything by it. Just because she’s helping Lily with this mess, doesn’t mean that she’s forgiven her, trusts her, or wants anything to do with her after this.

If it were Lily, she wouldn’t want anything to do with herself either.

“I’m surprised there’s anything Hallow-related here,” Pandora admits, leading the way through the stacks while Lily tries to focus on the task at hand and not the trailing of Pandora’s fingertips across the spines of books or the small smile she keeps giving Lily or the way her hair is up today, exposing the line of her throat and curve of her neck. It’s fine. “Xenophilius made it seem very secretive. Like no one could know about it unless they were told.”

“In a place like this,” Lily says, valiantly focusing on the books they passed and not the scrawl of ink where Pandora wrote the key on her hand. “There are so many books it could be impossible to find things unless you’re looking for it specifically. And we’re technically in the restricted section.”

Pandora hummed noncommittally, coming to a stop in front of a row of impressively thick tomes. 

“This is us,” Pandora says, sounding as reluctant to parse through the collection of large and likely meandering pages of the books in front of them. “Should we just start at the top?”

“Might be best,” Lily agreed, grabbing two large tomes from the top and following Pandora to a nearby table, with three especially creaky chairs surrounding it. 

They settle in and read.

And read.

And read.

Minutes bleed into hours into what feels like a lifetime. 

They’ve parsed through only a handful of the overwhelming books, pages blurring together and references to the Hallow few and far between. The words swim in front of Lily, and she finds herself re-reading the same sentence over and over, eyes unfocused and attention muddled after so many pages of dry literature.

Just as Lily is about to ask that they call it a day, Pandora jolts in her seat, chair squeaking obnoxiously as she trails her finger along a passage in the book settled in front of her.

“Did you find something?” Lily asks, grateful for an excuse to look away from the book and at the satisfaction spread across Pandora’s features.

“Oh my god,” she replies, fingers tapping along the tabletop in excitement. “Yeah. Yes, I mean I think so. It’s very vague, but it’s the closest I’ve come to a connection so far.”

“What is it?” Lily asks, impatient and itching to get out of here. The stacks seem to loom over them and Lily would rather get out of there than spend one more minute reading. 

“Okay, I think I found a citation for another book, so we have to find that, but it’s a reference to a diary about the Hallow,” Pandora explains, all in a rush. She uncaps a pen from her pocket and starts writing on her inner arm as she continues, “I’m not really familiar with the person, but I’m sure there’s something of hers in the archives somewhere. We just have to pop back down to the front desk and get rerouted to–”

Pandora is cut off by the resounding but familiar thump of a large book meeting the polished tiles of the archive floor. They stare at each other for a moment, but there are no footsteps or apologies that echo through the quiet space in the aftermath of the noise. Just as Lily opens her mouth to ask, another thump resonates through the space, closer.

“What is that,” Pandora asks, as another thump sounds with three more following suit all trailing closer to their table.

Unsure and not terribly excited to find out, Lily rips out the page Pandora had been reading from, ignoring her protests and gripping her hand to pull her away. The source of the thumping becomes clear as they make their way out again, stacks of books spread across the floor. 

Lily pulls Pandora around the edge of the shelf and immediately stumbles back into her as a book bigger than her head flies centimeters from her nose to collide with the shelf behind her in a loud clap. 

“Shit,” Lily says, blinking fast and running as more books fly at them. 

They run past a long line of windows, the sky dark but peaceful, while the panes rattle in their frames. What in the fuck is going on?

“What the fuck is going on?” Pandora shouts over the clamor of books hitting the floor and the walls in thundering claps.

Rather than respond, Lily simply drags Pandora back down the stairs. Four floors fly by in moments as they stumble down the steps, the picture frames lining the walls shaking in place and flying off their pegs as they rush past. A small portrait of a dog clips Lily in the face, stunning her for a moment while Pandora steadies her with her grip on her hand and another on her upper arm.

By the time they burst through the now-empty lobby, shattered glass and fragments of paper stick to their clothes and skin and the sight of the exit doors is freedom the likes of which Lily has never appreciated quite like this before. 

The pot of pens Lily found annoyingly charming rise from their potted place and almost seem to chase them as they burst through the doors and into the chilly night air. As soon as they stumble down the front steps, the pens fall across the threshold, and a lonely tome slams against the doorway.

“What the fuck,” Lily gasps, out of breath and slightly giddy with adrenaline.

Pandora maintains her grip on Lily’s hand laughing breathlessly into the open air of the night and looking at Lily like she’s something to be wondered at. Lily smiles despite herself, laughing along with Pandora right as the glass panes in all the windows along the front of the building burst. They duck into each other, arms bleeding slightly from the glass, but mostly okay.

They’re okay.

“Are you okay?” Pandora asks, fingers ghosting along Lily’s jaw as she checks her over for injuries. 

It’s the kind thing to do, and Pandora is a kind person. Lily needs to stop reading into things. She flushes at the touch anyway and can’t help but glance at Pandora’s lips, chapped from the cold and oh-so terribly familiar. Lily can’t breathe, and it’s not from the run or the adrenaline or the injuries peppering her skin. Lily can’t breathe because Pandora is right there , and all she would have to do is–

“I’m fine,” Lily says, voice tumbling out rough so she clears her throat and tries again. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Pandora echoes, smile tucked into the corner of her mouth and eyes bright. She’s devastatingly beautiful and impossibly lovely and Lily has never regretted something in her life as she has having lost her. “God, what even was that?”

“I dunno,” Lily admits, thinking of Marlene and strange experiments and broken sources. “Why would there be an echo in the archives? I thought there were safeguards for things like that.”

“There are,” Pandora agrees, lips pursed in thought as she scans the front of the building and the flickering lights within. “And it’s strange that no one was there. At the very least, the lady at the front should have been there.”

“She was there,” a woman calls from the street, causing Lily and Pandora to straighten and turn to the street at once. There the archivist stood, smoking a cigarette and looking bored. “I don’t get paid enough to stick around when books start flying off shelves. I was here when you both stumbled out, but you seemed…preoccupied. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Does this sort of thing happen a lot?” Pandora asks, tugging Lily with her as she descends the front steps to settle beside the woman, hands still clasped together. 

“God no,” the woman scoffs, blowing her smoke away from them as she continues, “I used to be a sensitive. I still am, technically, but the gift comes and goes. I’m not sure what kind of echo that was, but I didn’t want to stick around to find out. You two would do well to try and do the same. You seem the sort to get into trouble that you can’t get out of without a struggle.”

Lily started to protest, but quickly realized she had been uncomfortably and accurately pegged by the seemingly nice librarian. Apparently, when she’s not behind the desk, the librarian’s a bit rude.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Pandora says, sounding earnest even though Lily knows she’s lying through her teeth. The librarian seems appeased, though, and simply nods, dropping her cigarette to the pavement and pressing it under the toe of her shoe.

“Good,” she agrees, promptly pivoting and heading down the street. 

“Hey, wait,” Pandora calls, stepping forward to follow the woman, Lily keeping pace beside her. “Do you know where I could find something on this woman?” She asks lifting her sleeve to show the name scrawled across her forearm.

“You two really are looking for trouble, aren’t you?” the woman says, shaking her head and keeping a steady pace down the street. “You aren’t going to find anything on her in the archives, I can tell you that much.”

“Do you know where we could find something?” Lily asks, matching the woman’s stride and trying her best to plead with her eyes.

“I–” the woman falters, taking in Lily’s despondent expression and Pandora’s pouting on her opposite side. “For fucks sake, fine. Keep this shit to yourselves, I don’t need to be sucked into the mess you’re certainly about to step in, but it’s a dead end anyways so you might as well try to find something else to be curious about.”

“Is it a dead end, or is it going to get you in trouble?” Pandora asks, tilting her head, the picture of innocence as she blinks up at the librarian. “It can’t be both.”

“There’s only one copy of her diary,” she admits, reluctantly. “Even you’re clearance won’t get you access to it, though. It’s one of the ministry’s best-kept secrets.”

“How do you know about it?” Lily asks, just as the woman draws to a stop in front of the ministry, likely about to request a report for the archives. 

“I had a proclivity for getting into messes when I was your age,” the woman sighs, a fond smile crossing her face. “Anyway, the diary is secure, you’d have to be the minister or get permission from him if you want to get within spitting distance of it.”

“Theoretically,” Pandora begins, standing in front of the librarian and effectively blocking her path to the ministry. “If we were to…put in a request to see it, where would we start?”

“A request?” the woman laughs, “you don’t put in a request. Either you’re in the know, or you aren’t.”

“Put us in the know then,” Pandora argues, in that earnest way that Lily could never refuse. The librarian seems similarly incapable.

“Are you familiar with the room of requirement?” The librarian asks, not waiting for an answer before continuing, “I can’t tell you everything, but in the ministry, there’s a room where they put everything too dangerous or whatnot to be public. The book you’re looking for is there if you ever get permission to read it.” 

“Thank you,” Lily says, as the woman steps around Pandora to start up the steps.

“Save your gratitude,” the woman says waving a hand over her shoulder as if she’s batting off the praise. “You don’t even know what you’re getting into yet. Thank me if you’re still grateful after you know.”

“You seem confident that we’ll get answers,” Pandora points out from the bottom of the stairs as the woman turns to face them from the top.

“You’re unashamedly asking questions about things you most definitely shouldn’t know about,” the woman says, crossing her arms and squinting at them. “Be careful who you ask about this, not everyone is as indulgent about this as I am.” 

“Why?” Pandora asks, brow furrowed and reflecting the librarian’s posture. 

“The last person who went around asking about Helena Ravenclaw was taken into custody immediately,” she sighs. “She escaped almost as quick, but still.”

She leaves without a backward glance, pushing through the large doors to the ministry. Lily wants to know everything about her and realizes belatedly that she never even learned her name. 

“She was strangely helpful,” Lily says, walking with Pandora back down the lamp-lit street. She wants to crawl into bed and sleep for the next week.

“Maybe,” Pandora says slowly, eyes distant as she walks. “Maybe she just likes the chaos.”

And honestly? Lily can think of worse reasons to help someone. 

Chapter Text

“So let me get this straight,” Zabini says drily, idly stirring her tea and looking over the tops of her glasses at Dorcas. “You want me to lie to my employers.”

“Yes,” Dorcas affirms, sitting back in her seat across from her and crossing her arms. 

“Falsify documentation?”

“Absolutely.”

“Commit fraud?”

“Yeah.”

“And use my position to get your ass off the line?“

“That sounds right.”

“Why in the fuck would I do that?” Zabini asks, incredulity dripping from her tone as she lifts a perfect brow. 

Dorcas has worked for the ministry for almost seven years in some capacity or another. First, she was a sensitive working through the program. Then she advanced to field captain, quite literally the top of her field. Her success through the sensitive program only made the sting of being shoved into pushing paper that much sharper.

As long as Dorcas has been with the ministry, Zabini has been three years ahead of her, and leagues ahead of almost everyone in the department. When Dorcas first joined up, bright eyed and hopeful, she saw Zabini and thought she wanted to rise through the ranks just like her. Now Zabini is the only thing that could possibly save Dorcas quite a lot of heartache.

But she doesn’t need to know that.

“I heard you were friends with Narcissa,” Dorcas counters, shifting the conversation to the left so hard Zabini simply blinks at her for a moment before recognition flashes across her face. Whatever game Dorcas is playing here, Zabini has been playing it better for longer. 

“I might’ve been,” Zabini says, squinting at Dorcas.

“It’s a shame what’s been going on with her,” Dorcas continues. She’s already started this, she might as well see it through, even if it doesn’t work. “We hear a lot in my department, seeing as we filter through everyone’s dirty laundry for the ministry.” Dorcas tilts her head at Zabini, reveling in the uncomfortable twitch of her shoulders as she continues, “I heard that she’s gotten into a spot of trouble.”

“That’s common knowledge,” Zabini counters, tapping her spoon on the edge of her mug and letting it clatter to the tabletop. “I don’t know what you’re–”

“But I do know about the woman on the side,” Dorcas cuts in, crossing her arms over the tabletop as Zabini leans back in her seat, eyes wide as she stares at Dorcas. “That the reason Lucius has been running a smear campaign is because he caught them together at a ministry event. And I know about how Narcissa begged him to take her back, even though he got her fired.”

“How do you–”

“It’d be a shame, wouldn’t it?” Dorcas sighs, tipping her chin into her palm and scanning Zabini’s tense expression, adrenaline thrumming through her veins. “If laundry like that got aired out, instead of getting tossed.”

“It’s cute that you think I care so much for Narcissa to keep something only mildly embarrassing out of the press,” Zabini says, taking a measured sip of her tea, an air of imperiousness falling over her shoulders like a well-worn cloak.

“It’s cute that you think I don’t know that you’ve already done much worse to lesser people than me to keep this particular bit of information out of the public eye.”

“You know,” Zabini says, leaning her elbows onto the table and lacing her fingers together over her teacup. “I thought for sure you would go for the bleeding heart script to convince me. All she’s a good person and she deserves better and such.”

“Please,” Dorcas scoffs, “I knew that wouldn’t work on you.”

“Maybe,” Zabini agrees, her smile all teeth as she looks Dorcas over, more like eyeing up a threat than the cursory glance she got when they first sat down. “I’m not so sure you convinced me fully with your elementary attempt at blackmail.”

“ Hey,” Dorcas protests.

“But I’m feeling generous today,” Zabini finishes, talking over Dorcas and smirking. “You’ve amused me if nothing else, and I don’t give a flying shit about the ministry anyways.”

“Wait, so you’ll do it?” Dorcas asks, trying to curb her enthusiasm with absolutely no success.

“I’ll do it,” Zabini sighs.

From the hall, there’s a clamor of whispers and several suspicious thumps. Dorcas knew they were eavesdropping, but she had hoped they could have the slightest bit of decorum about it. Apparently not.

“Honestly,” Zabini says, rolling her eyes at the commotion. 

“Sorry about them,” Dorcas says, glaring at the door and grimacing at Zabini’s smug expression.

“You must care a great deal about this girl,” Zabini says, too conversational to be anything other than a threat. “If you’re willing to risk that bit of information for her. I’ve destroyed careers to keep secrets for Narcissa over the years.” Dorcas tries not to squirm under Zabini’s calculating gaze. “You already knew that, though. And you did it anyway.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Dorcas argues, excuse lame even to her own ears.

“I don’t think so,” Zabini says, rising from her seat and looking down at Dorcas as she rounds the table. “People like us don’t do things because they’re right. We do them because we want to. The real question is what does little miss McKinnon have that you wanted more than that secret and the threat that came with unearthing it.”

“Nothing,” Dorcas spits, feeling caught out and hoping that their audience is too distracted to catch this horrifyingly transparent conversation. “I don’t want anything from her.”

“Alright,” Zabini says, a smug smile spreading across her face as she lifts her hands in front of her. “Fine. Just trying to move things along for you, but by all means, remain in the dark.” She reaches into her pocket, pressing a card onto the table in front of her. “Consider the business with the McKinnon girl dealt with, but you owe me a favor now.”

“But–”

“You’re too smart to actually try to weaponize Narcissa’s secrets,” Zabini cuts in, rolling her eyes. “You’re cute, but I do actually want something out of helping your sorry ass. Besides, I have a feeling you’ll be in a position to help me sometime soon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dorcas asks, bristling.

“You’re smart,” Zabini says, rolling her eyes at Dorcas’ scowl. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Zabini’s heels click across the tiles as she heads for the door. From the hall, a clatter and several curses fade into the distance as Zabini nears the door.

“Oh, and Meadowes?” Zabini calls, one hand on the door handle as she looks at Dorcas over her glasses, somehow intimidating and innocent at once. “Do try to keep out of trouble for a while. I can only do so much to cover for your missteps, especially with the ministry scrambling to catch the mole.”

“What mole?” Dorcas asks, causing Zabini to still with the door cracked.

“For fucks sake, Meadowes,” Zabini sighs, rubbing her temples and squinting at Dorcas. “What the hell have you been doing? Ever since that clusterfuck of a job, the ministry has been doubling down on trying to find the leak of information.”

“What, the Rockwood fire?”

“No,” Zabini says, confusion clouding her expression as she looks Dorcas over. “Fuck, no. The whole thing with the Prophet. Apparently, someone’s been spilling ministry secrets for months now. The only reason the ministry isn’t getting absolutely fucked in the press is because Umbridge pulled the story.”

“Wait, what secrets were they spilling?”

“If I told you that, Meadowes, I’d be absolutely shit at my job,” Zabini counters. “It was just some good samaritan trying to raise awareness. They’ve already taken care of the editor that initially gave the go-ahead for the journalist to pursue something that directly put the ministry in the hot seat.”

“What–”

“I think you have enough problems, without thinking about my shit too,” Zabini cuts in, leaning against the doorjamb and lifting an unimpressed brow. “Worry about that girl of yours, and stay the fuck out of trouble. That’s all you have to do.”

“Fine,” Dorcas says, heat flaring along the back of her neck as Zabini scoffs. 

“Fine, fine,” Zabini says, waving a hand nonchalantly over her shoulder as she leaves through the door. 

The front door slams, and suddenly the kitchen is bursting with excited faces as everyone stumbles over one another to press around Dorcas, all teeming energy and barely restrained excitement. Remus lingers in the doorway, close enough to hear without risking a limb. 

“Well?” Sirius asks, eyes bright as he keeps glancing over his shoulder at Remus, who remains leaning against the wall and smiling softly at Sirius every time he looks at him.

“I’m sure you all heard already, pressed as you were to the door to snoop,” Dorcas counters, grinning as Sirius and Emmeline roll their eyes in almost perfect sync. It’s actually kind of spooky.

“Say we didn’t,” Marlene counters, looking at Dorcas like she’s something to wonder at. 

Marlene’s been doing that quite a lot since she rescued her from the ministry. Looking at Dorcas, utterly shameless, and if Dorcas didn’t know better, she’d say she looked besotted.

But she does know better.

That doesn’t mean that Dorcas isn’t the slightest, tiniest bit soft for Marlene. Zabini wasn’t wrong when she said that it was a risk to play her cards as she did, but the worst part is Dorcas didn’t even think before playing them. She just thought of Marlene–smoking on the rooftop, smiling at Dorcas in the low light, speaking on the back porch–and she did what she had to so they could walk out of it. It’s terrifying how easy it was to risk everything for her.

“Zabini is going to cover for us,” Dorcas says, incapable of denying Marlene anything, apparently. “The charges are going to be dropped and you’re free to go and do whatever, Marlene.”

“Really?” Marlene asks, turning to face the empty space beside her and nodding frantically. “Oh, right. Um, Mary asked about the people who saw it? Like witnesses when I first woke up.”

“Zabini has a way of keeping people quiet,” Dorcas says, aiming for reassurance.

“Well that’s not suspicious at all,” Remus says, causing Sirius to bark out a laugh. 

“It’s what we have,” Dorcas counters, bristling.

“Thank you,” Marlene says, an earnest smile breaking over her face. Marlene is so breathtakingly genuine sometimes it makes Dorcas want to do something insane. Like cupping her face between her palms or tucking her away from the world. Like keeping her safe from the world or running away so she doesn’t have to stare into the honesty inherent in Marlene’s very bones. “Honestly, I’m not sure what we would’ve done if you hadn’t been here. We’re not particularly savvy with getting out of trouble with the ministry.”

“Hey,” Alice protests, tucked under Emmeline’s arms and scowling at Marlene. “I got us out of the parking ticket last month.”

“Parking ticket,” Marlene counters, lifting her hands in a so-so gesture, as if she’s weighing the thought in one palm. “Versus indefinite imprisonment.”

“Fuck off,” Alice bristles. 

“Anyways,” James says, effectively defusing the tension and smiling gratefully at Dorcas. “The point is we didn’t have to figure it out on our own, which we totally could have done,” he adds assuaging Alice’s ire before continuing, “so thanks. For handling it.”

“Of course,” Dorcas says, trying not to squirm under the excited gratitude from this group of do-gooders Dorcas has found herself attached to. 

Technically, she’s only attached to one, but they seem to come as a matching set; Marlene and all her friends. 

Everyone drifts off eventually. Splitting into conversations, cleaning up the dishes haphazardly placed in the sink from when Zabini first arrived, and stepping over Padfoot as he trots around for scraps and head scratches. 

Marlene settles beside Dorcas at the table, pulling a deck of cards from the folds of her sweater and shaking them out of their box. Dorcas lifts a brow and Marlene grins at her. 

Dorcas’ heart does not skip a beat. It doesn’t. 

“Have you ever played jelly?” Marlene asks, shuffling the cards with familiarity. 

“No,” Dorcas says, biting back a smile when Marlene gasps at her. “Teach me?”

And so she does. 

~

The morning light has just eased over the edges of the skyline and Marlene is already fucking exhausted. 

It’s her own fault, really, she stayed up late with Dorcas and even later with Mary, planning out what they were going to do next now that anything with the ministry is out of the question. They’re lucky Zabini had mercy on them and it’s not the kind of luck you try to stretch. 

So now they’re walking through alleys as the sun traces slowly into the sky, painting the streets in muted tones and casting Dorcas in an ethereal light. 

The exhaustion of the past few days is clearly clinging to Dorcas as much as it is Marlene. Eyes slightly reddened from lack of sleep and shoulders slumped in tiredness. When Dorcas catches her staring, she smiles at her, soft and sure around the edges. 

She is so very impossibly lovely. 

“Well, isn’t this romantic?” Mary says, falling into step with Marlene and glancing between them. 

Oh, right. And she’s here, as usual talking shit when Marlene is simply enjoying spending time with Dorcas. It’s fine. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” Marlene snaps, tired and maybe a little louder than she meant. 

“What?” Dorcas asks, gaze flicking between Marlene and the space Mary takes up beside her. She’s uncannily good at guessing where Mary is at any given moment. “Did she say something rude?”

“Yes,” Marlene confirms, smirking when Mary scoffs in derision. 

“I am not,” Mary argues, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. 

“She’s being quite rude,” Marlene continues, because Mary has been a bit of an asshole to Marlene from the first time they met. Call her karma, she’s just balancing the scales. “insulting me and the like.”

“Insulting or honest?” Mary counters, scowling at Marlene so hard she doesn’t notice the dumpster in front of her until she’s on it, phasing through the material and looking all the more pissed off because of it. 

“Really?” Dorcas says, sounding like she doesn’t believe Marlene for a moment, but she’s humoring her anyway. 

“Absolutely,” Marlene confirms. 

“Unbelievable,” Mary sighs. “Only one person in this fucking city can hear me, and she doesn’t even relay what I say properly.”

“I never said I was a good translator,” Marlene argues, stepping over a particularly deep pothole and biting back a smile when Mary steadies her with a fleeting hand at her elbow. 

“You okay?” Dorcas asks because she’s lovely like that. All warm eyes and gentle fingers and soft smiles. “I know it’s a lot with the ministry and stuff.”

“I’m fine,” Marlene says, automatically. Warmth spreads across her face at Dorcas’ earnest expression, utterly unconvinced. “I mean, I’ve been better, but I’m going to be fine.”

Dorcas hums in response, listening but intense eyes tracing the path ahead of them instead of Marlene. It’s as relieving as it is disappointing.

“And I wanted to say thank you, again,” Marlene continues, a flush creeping across her ears when Dorcas glances at her in surprise. “I mean, it’s just that you didn’t have to. Help that is. And I really am grateful, for you. That you stayed.”

“I said I would,” Dorcas points out, clearly biting back a smile as she glances at Marlene out of the corner of her eye. 

“I know,” Marlene says, face burning as she keeps talking. “Most people would just say that though. You meant it.”

“I did.”

“So, thanks,” Marlene repeats, trying to retain something of her composure. “For meaning it.”

“Well, in that case,” Dorcas smiles, “you’re welcome.”

Pause

“And for the record,” Dorcas says, eyes steady on the street ahead. “I always mean what I say.”

Marlene thinks about Dorcas, in Hogwarts, arguing with a professor when they said that sensitives are obligated to serve. How Marlene had looked at Dorcas then, really genuinely looked, and hadn’t been able to name what she felt when Dorcas’ eyes flashed in indignation or her words became sharper with earnestness or when she took the detention with pride. 

Marlene thinks about Dorcas, in Grimmauld, sitting with her on the roof and promising to stay. How Marlene had seen Dorcas and found something close to religion in her gaze. Something like redemption. Something like hope.

Marlene thinks about Dorcas, with Zabini, fighting for Marlene when everyone else had frozen in shock. How she had put everything on the line for her, to get her out of trouble when no one expected her to. That she would risk herself, in any capacity, just so Marlene could stay out of the ministry. 

And, oh.

“Oh,” Marlene says, flushed all over again and so very pleased. “Awesome,” she murmurs, at a loss for anything intellectual or savvy to say.

“Awesome,” Dorcas repeats, a teasing smile flashing across her face when she finally, finally, looks at Marlene. The sun trails into the alley they’re wandering down, casting Dorcas in silhouette and framing her curls in golden light. 

“Awesome,” Marlene says, again, grinning at Dorcas’ incredulous bark of laughter. 

“This is hell,” Mary says, passing them and startling Marlene so badly her heart falls somewhere around her feet for a moment. Mary stomps ahead of them, floating over potholes and phasing through bags of trash and boxes scattered throughout the path. 

And, to be fair, it is a ridiculous situation. 

Everyone loves an adventure, but hardly anyone enjoys it while it’s happening. 

Glancing at Dorcas–and the soft curve of her lips and the dip of her collarbone where her sweater is stretched at the neck and the tired slope of her spine–Marlene thinks that maybe she’s the exception.

Marlene is going to love this adventure and every moment with Dorcas that she can grasp. 

~

“What do you want,” Regulus says, deadpan as he trails through the shelves, an armful of books and an unimpressed tilt to his head. 

Typical.

“Wow,” Dorcas says, equally deadpan as she trails after him between the stacks. “What happened to hello and how are you ?”

“Hello,” Regulus says, false cheer threaded through his tone as he turns to face her. “How are you?” 

“Okay, never mind,” Dorcas says, rolling her eyes and lowering her expectations. “I might need some help.”

“See?” Regulus asks, turning back to plucking books off of shelves and wandering deeper into the stacks. “You did need something. You always have this, like, intensity about you when you need something. If I played along we’d be exchanging niceties forever and still have to get to the important bit.”

“Fine, fine. I already dropped the pleasantries,” Dorcas argues, twisting the ring around her thumb and stepping in front of Regulus to bring him to a stop. “You’re a specialist with, like, jewelry and stuff, right?”

“That is quite possibly the worst explanation of what I do I have ever heard,” Regulus counters, scowling. 

“But it is what you do,” Dorcas affirms with a lifted brow.

“I mean–”

“The short version, please.”

“Yes,” Regulus grits out, scowl deepening as he shifts his grip on his collection of books. “I’m familiar with jewelry and stuff .” 

“Great,” Dorcas says, taking the top half of the books Regulus has accumulated and walking back toward the front of the store, ignoring Regulus’ belated protests. “Are you running the shop for Barty and Evan?”

“Fuck no,” Regulus says, catching up to Dorcas and looking supremely offended by the prospect. “I don’t know what they’re doing. They left the shop open, and I’ve been meaning to pick up a few things.”

“Are you…stealing them?”

“I mean–”

“Regulus.”

“I think of it more as borrowing, ” he argues, sniffing indignantly when Dorcas scoffs.

“Permanently borrowing.”

“Sure.”

“Otherwise known as stealing.”

“Fine,” Regulus sighs, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like they’ll notice anyway.”

They finally arrive back at the front of the store, where Marlene is sitting cross-legged on the floor petting the cat that comes and goes from the shop at its leisure. The orange tabby has been a fixture in the shop since Barty and Evan first opened it, but he never responds to whatever name they try for him.

“Hey honey,” Regulus says, dropping his books on the counter and stooping in front of the cat, who looks utterly unimpressed with his efforts.

“Hi, Beelzebub,” Dorcas tries, tutting at the cat when he looks at her blankly. 

“What is happening,” Marlene asks, glancing between the cat and Regulus and Dorcas, lips pursed in confusion. 

“We’re talking to the cat,” Regulus explains, like an asshole, scratching under the cat’s chin in a vie for his affection. 

The cat remains impartial. 

“I gathered that thanks,” Marlene says, rolling her eyes and clicking her tongue at the cat. “I meant why are you calling him different names?”

“We’re trying to figure out his name,” Dorcas explains, stacking her books next to Regulus and sitting across from Marlene.

“He’s yet to respond positively to anything we’ve tried,” Regulus sighs, pulling a treat out of his pocket to placate the cat. 

It’s incredibly effective. 

The cat takes the treat and rubs his head against Regulus’ outstretched palms, purring. 

“Did you fill your pockets with treats for the cat?” Dorcas asks, incredulous and slightly upset that she didn’t think to do it first. 

“No,” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. “I just keep cat treats in my pockets for myself.”

“Or other cats?” Marlene counters, grinning when Regulus scowls at her. “What? You seem like the type to scatter cat treats for strays.”

“Who is this?” Regulus asks, tipping his head toward Marlene while lifting an unimpressed brow at Dorcas. 

“I’m Marlene,” Marlene says, scowling when both the cat and Regulus ignore her.

“And why is she here?” Regulus sighs rolling his eyes when Marlene bristles.

Regulus is a good friend, honestly. Dorcas has known him for years now, ever since she stumbled across their misfit group–two smugglers, an antique expert, and an ethically ambiguous scientist–after Pandora approached her to help with a study she was doing on echoes. Three months and six shitty jobs with the ministry later, Dorcas had more faith in those four people than she did in the entire system. 

Dorcas never understood ride-or-die friendships until she knew them.

So, yeah, Dorcas trusts Regulus implicitly and he’s proven himself repeatedly to be a good friend, even though he’d hate it if Dorcas said as much. 

He’s still an asshole, though. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” Dorcas says, scrunching her nose at him when he rolls his eyes again. It’s an impossible task, but she has to try. “And she’s with me.”

“Oh?” Regulus says, glancing at Marlene–who is pouting impressively, arms crossed and lips pursed–before looking incredulously back at Dorcas. Dorcas tries her best to project her desire for them to get on well through her grimace alone. “Well then, I’m Regulus,” he continues, offering a hand for Marlene to shake. She takes it suspiciously. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Sure,” Marlene says, expression very unsure. She squints at him before continuing, “have we met? You look very familiar.”

“Definitely not,” Regulus says, frowning and dropping her hand, fingers raking through the cat’s fur instead. 

“Anyway,” Dorcas says, remembering that they did, in fact, have a goal in tracking Regulus down today. “We have a question for you. Of the strange jewelry and definitely don’t tell the ministry variety.”

“Well, you’re in luck then,” Regulus says, eyes brightening with interest. “Illicit questions are my favorite kind.”

“I don’t know if it’s illicit,” Marlene says, grimacing at the thought.

“The ministry can’t know?” Regulus asks, looking between them.

“No,” they say in unison. 

“Then it’s illicit,” Reglus confirms with a shrug, totally unconcerned.

“Fine,” Dorcas sighs, twisting her rings around her fingers and catching Marlene’s eye before saying, “whatever you wanna call it, we still need you to look at it.”

Catching her cue a beat later with a hard blink, Marlene pulls the necklace over her head passing it to Regulus with a nervous twitch of her fingers. 

“Oh, that’s very interesting,” Regulus says, holding the necklace up to the light and scowling. “Where did you get this?”

“What do you know about it?” Marlene counters, picking at her nailbeds and frowning at the empty space next to her. 

“I know it’s hopefully a replica,” Regulus starts, flipping the pendant between his fingers. “A very good one, though. Whoever made this had access to the original when they shaped this. They even got the impression of the maker's mark on the back right.”

“A replica of what?” Marlene asks, so tense the cat startles and trails into the shelves rather than curl around the space between them.

“It’s–well, honestly, it might be easier if I just get it,” Regulus says, getting to his feet and trailing between the aisles without a second glance.

“Okay,” Marlene says drawing out the vowels of the word and smiling at Dorcas. “Is he always so–”

“Rude?” Dorcas supplies, grinning at Marlene’s surprised laugh.

“I was going to say withdrawn, but sure,” Marlene says, picking at her nailbeds in what Dorcas is realizing is a nervous tick.

Dorcas used to do the same thing until she started wearing rings.

“Here,” Dorcas finds herself saying, reaching into the space between them, palm up, waiting for Marlene to reach back.

Marlene blinks at her for a moment, then reaches out abruptly, hand cold when she places it into Dorcas’. Looking at her, Dorcas is caught by the juxtaposition that is Marlene McKinnon. Warm eyes and cold hands. Stumbling motions and fluid grace. Her golden hair a halo around her head and the twist of her mouth pure sin. 

Marlene smiles at her, uncertain, and Dorcas’ heart thunders heavily against her ribs. She’s almost certain Marlene must be able to hear it, but she just smiles and tips her head at Dorcas, curious. 

“Um,” Dorcas says, clearing her throat as she slides the ring on her thumb off, slipping it over the callouses of Marlene's thumb until it settles snugly around the base of it. “I, well, it helps. So you don’t pick at your fingers.”

“Nasty habit,” Marlene murmurs, looking at the ring like it’s something miraculous. She turns those eyes onto Dorcas, still full of wonder, and Dorcas feels heat gather at the back of her neck at the attention. “Thank you,” she says, earnest as ever, and Dorcas might feel some kind of way about it.

“Of course,” Dorcas whispers back, the space between them seeming so small all of a sudden. It’d be so easy if she just tipped forward slightly, Marlene’s lips are right there.

“I,” Marlene starts, and Dorcas is maybe a little obsessed with the way her lips shape the syllable. 

“Okay,” Regulus says, appearing out of fucking nowhere and dropping a book onto the floor in front of them. “Are you two good, or…?”

“I’m fine,” Marlene says, voice rough and Dorcas tries to maintain her composure as a deep flush spreads across Marlene’s face, casting her faint freckles in stark relief. 

“What did you find?” Dorcas asks, glaring when Regulus gives her a significant once over, clearly spotting the exchanged ring and looking far too smug. 

“It’s a diary,” Regulus says, settling cross-legged across from them and flipping through the pages of the book as he explains. “The symbol was really popular when the tear between worlds first happened. Some people said that it would protect you from ghosts, which was total shite, but no one knew enough at the time to dispute it.” He flips the book toward them so they can see the page. “This specific composition is unique though. This is a diary from the time and this specific rendition, see the way the edges of the triangle go over the sides of the circle? Yeah, well most replicas have the edges in the circle because it’s easier to weld, so only authentic pieces from the time or damn good replicas maintain the original design.”

“Wait, how do you know it's a replica?” Marlene asks, tracing the edge of the drawing with her finger. Dorcas’ ring flashes on her finger, and Dorcas bites back a smile at how well it suits her. 

Regulus scoffs. “There’s just no way,” he explains, brushing the fringe from his face. “The original was lost some twenty years ago. Disappeared right out of the ministry’s vaults. They kept the whole thing under wraps, but I have a habit of stumbling into that kind of information.”

“That just sounds like it’s more likely that this is the original,” Marlene argues, twisting the ring around her finger. “Since no one knows where it is.”

“It would,” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. “But I happen to know where it ended up after it was stolen and there’s no way you could have taken it and come out alive.”

“What if I found it?” Marlene counters. 

“Then I’d say you’re the luckiest person in the city,” Regulus says, brows furrowed as he considers Marlene more carefully. “No one crosses the Death Eaters with all their fingers still intact.”

“Who are they?” Dorcas asks, not at all trusting the uncomfortable shift of Regulus’ shoulders or the nervous twitch of his fingers in his lap. 

“An extremist group,” Regulus says, eyes focused on his hands. “They’re obsessed with the veil between worlds. Wanted to find a way to control it, and navigate it at their leisure. Instead, they ended up with a line of dead bodies and no clue what they were doing wrong.”

“How do you know so much about them?” Marlene asks, squinting at Regulus. 

“I used to be one,” Regulus says with a sardonic smile. 

And suddenly, everything Dorcas knew about Regulus shifts slightly to the left.

~

“You’re giving me a headache,” Mary drawls from her perch in the center of Marlene’s bed, rolling her eyes as she tracks Marlene’s progress wearing a hole into the floor of her room.

“You’re dead,” Marlene snaps, nerves flashing up and down her spine and stirring anxiety through her stomach. 

She really wants a fucking cigarette. 

“So what?” Mary asks, countering Marlene’s sharpness with impassivity. “There’s definitely some weird cult stuff going on, which we already knew, and your girlfriend’s friend happened to be in it.”

“She’s not–ugh, it doesn’t matter,” Marlene says, scrubbing her hands through her hair and stopping at the foot of the bed to properly glare at Mary. She remains unaffected. “I don’t care that he was in it, I care that I’ve apparently come to possess some weird culty artifact they’re obsessed with.”

“So?”

“So,” Marlene repeats, incredulous. “ So , that puts at, like, major risk! Do you not understand the severity here? Regulus said that they have new and imaginative ways to torture people. Torture, Mary. What the fuck is this? And what am I supposed to do with this? You were probably killed by this weird cult thing and–and the necklace now has me connected to it, not to mention all my friends and Dorcas, so there’s no telling what they’ll do to get it back.”

“The necklace might not have anything to do with my death,” Mary counters, suddenly finding the duvet extremely interesting. 

“Of course it does,” Marlene sighs, pacing the length of her room again. “And I haven’t even talked to Lily in days. She was working on this big story, and now I have to tell her hey, be careful who you talk to 'cause I accidentally got into some cult stuff and now they might hurt you to get to me. That’ll go over well.”

“Wait–”

“Oh fuck,” Marlene says, new waves of horror washing over her. “I never even talked to Lily after the fire. Do you think she knows I’m okay? I didn’t–I mean everything’s been moving so fast I forgot all about filling her in, oh shit, she’s going to be pissed I broke out of the ministry and didn’t call her.”

“Marlene.”

“And I never even looked at the paper!” Marlene barrels on, shame heating the back of her neck as she crosses the room, back and forth, back and forth. “I was going to frame it when she got it published. It’s only been her whole life for months now. Oh fuck, I’m an awful best friend. I was gonna surprise her with celebratory champagne, and instead, I got arrested and ghosted her for days.”

“ Marlene .”

“I have got to make this up to her,” Marlene says, stopping at the foot of the bed again and noticing the stillness of Mary’s form on the bed. Usually, she’s all movement, twisting her braids together or tapping her feet. Marlene never noticed how much of Mary is encompassed in the motion of her body until she saw her without it. The difference is stark and immediately offputting. “Are you okay?”

“I think–” Mary stops, shaking her head roughly and rubbing at her eyes. “I’m starting to remember something.”

“From your death?” Marlene asks, settling tentatively on the edge of the bed.

“No,” Mary says, a tear slipping down her cheek before she can dash it away with shaking hands. She looks at Marlene, and there’s something devastating in her gaze. Something like grief. Marlene should know, she’s seen it in the mirror enough. “Something about my life.”

“What–”

“But that’s not quite right,” Mary says, a laugh bubbling from her lips as she swipes at a fresh wave of tears. “No, it’s someone. I think I’m remembering someone.”

“Oh,” Marlene says, at a loss. 

She forgets sometimes, that Mary is really truly dead. And more than that, Mary has had a whole life Marlene knows very little about, with people Marlene should probably pay respects to when all of this is over. Mary was alive in a way Marlene has never known, and she hates that she never knew her before. When the time they had together might not have had a definitive expiration date, or every moment together is tinged with the knowledge that they never should have known each other. 

In another life, Marlene likes to think they get to have time together, without the weight of death pressing against their ribs with every breath. 

Where they could just be.

“Who?” Marlene asks, voice thick, once the heaviness of the silence has saturated the space between them.

“What?” Mary asks, blinking like she’s been lost somewhere in the depths of her mind.

“Who did you remember?” Marlene clarifies, feeling like every word is dredged through molasses to stick to the roof of her mouth. 

“Oh,” Mary says, an odd echo of Marlene’s previous response. “Someone I think I might’ve loved, once.”

“Well, that’s not morose at all,” Marlene says, aiming for levity and missing by a mile.

Mary laughs anyway, rough and threaded with tears. “It is a bit, huh?” Mary says, smiling with glassy eyes. “She was always more of a pessimist than me, if you can believe it. She would hate that it ended like this for us. Or, I guess she’d probably feel vindicated. She told me that what we were doing was bound to end badly.”

“I’m sorry,” Marlene says because there’s nothing else to say.

“Please,” Mary scoffs, scrubbing over her face and grimacing. “Save your condolences for someone who can do something with them. Besides, I think I’m handling the whole ghost thing rather maturely.”

“Sure, when you’re not pouting or cursing the sun or scoffing at me and Dorcas,” Marlene says, grinning.

“I deserve to be at least slightly petty at the way life moves on when I can’t enjoy it,” Mary sniffs, scrunching her nose.

“Oh sure,” Marlene agrees, “the whole this is hell thing was ever so rational of you.”

“You try being forced to follow two people tiptoe around one another for days,” Mary scoffs, “my only translator and connection to the world of the living has absolutely no game, and I’m forced to watch you fumble constantly.”

“I–I have game,” Marlene sputters, face flushing when Mary laughs. “I do! Dorcas is just–different.”

“Different?” Mary asks, eyes bright and a smug smile tugging the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah, different,” Marlene says, spinning Dorcas’ ring around her thumb and biting back a smile.

“Bleh,” Mary says, rolling her eyes and fiddling with her braids. “See? Sickening. When I knew I wanted Narcissa, I went for it. None of this wishy-washy, will-they-won’t-they shite.”

Marlene is distantly aware that the name feels familiar in that head-scratching just-out-of-reach kind of way. There’s something about it that Marlene thinks she would know, if she weren’t so desperate to learn everything about Mary there is to know before it’s too late.

“Well, you can’t say that and not spill,” Marlene says, smiling when Mary ducks her head. “Tell me about your renowned game.”

So Mary does.

Hearing Mary recount her time with Narcissa, Marlene is starkly reminded that this woman is real. That Narcissa is out there, somewhere, and likely has no idea what happened to Mary. Marlene decides, as Mary smiles softly as she remembers bits about Narcissa, that she’s going to find her, after, and tell her everything. 

Hopefully, she understands, but from Mary’s account, she doesn’t seem the understanding sort.

Chapter Text

“This is a terrible idea,” Evan says, swiping a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

“It’s an even worse one to be drunk for it,” Pandora counters, snatching the glass from Evan and placing it on another waiter’s tray. 

“It’s champagne,” Evan argues, pouting as Pandora tucks their arms together and tugs him across the ballroom floor to a secluded space between pillars. “It wouldn’t even get me tipsy, honestly.”

“It’s the principal of the matter,” Pandora sniffs, looking through the crowd trying to catch a glimpse of Lily through the crowd. Or Barty. Either of them. She’s equally concerned about both of them. Obviously.

“ It’s the principal of the matter,” Evan repeats with a frustratingly accurate impression of Pandora’s accent. “How long do we have to meander before we can get to the good part?”

“Were you even paying attention when Lily explained the plan?” Pandora asks, slapping Evan’s hand when he reaches for another passing tray of champagne.

“No,” he says, shameless, grinning when Pandora smacks his arm with the back of her hand. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“Please,” Pandora says, rolling her eyes and pulling a tin of mints out of her purse. “Have one of these,” she offers flipping it open and jiggling the collection of mints when Evan simply lifts an unimpressed brow. “Since you can’t drink. It’ll keep you busy.”

“You say that like I’m a toddler,” Evan says, eyeing the mints suspiciously. 

“What? Adults can’t like mints?” Pandora asks, jiggling the tin again.

“Adults don’t get excited over mints,” Evan corrects, finally popping a mint in his mouth. 

“Are those mints?” Barty asks, slipping into the open space beside Evan and grinning at Pandora, eyes bright with mirth. “Can I have one?”

“For fucks sake,” Evan murmurs, and Pandora stifles a laugh letting Barty pick a mint out before tucking it back into the depths of her bag.

“Where’s Red?” Barty asks, crunching his mint like an absolute madman. 

“Isn’t she supposed to be with you?” Evan asks, squinting at Barty.

“What really?” Barty says, grimacing. “I wasn’t paying attention at the debrief.”

“For fucks sake,” Pandora says, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing. “No, she’s coming in on her own. We’re not supposed to meet her until we get the rest of the plan in motion.”

“Why do you keep looking for her then?” Evan asks, a smug smile spreading across his face.

“I’m not,” Pandora lies, dragging her gaze away from the crowd where she was doing exactly that. “I’m just–I’m keeping an eye on the crowd. You know, keeping aware of our surroundings and such.”

“Right,” Barty drawls, visibly biting back a smile.

“It is right,” Pandora sniffs, aiming for unaffected and likely missing by a long shot. “Anyway, you two should be getting into position if we want to get this done tonight.”

“Sure,” Evan says, tucking his hand into the crook of Barty’s elbow and dragging him away from the pillars. “Whatever you say, Pandora.”

Evan snags a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and winks at Pandora over his shoulder, tipping his head toward the upper level of the ballroom that overlooks the ballroom floor. 

Pandora scoffs, frowning as she looks toward where Evan gestured. She’s suddenly incredibly grateful for the dim lights of the party and her semi-secluded position between the pillars, because there, leaning against the rails of the second level and peering down at the ballroom, is Lily. And–

And she’s stunning, in a floor-length gown, a green nearly as deep as her eyes with thin straps, showcasing the collection of tattoos that spread from beneath her collarbones and trail to her wrists in fluid lines. 

And she’s scowling, face set in concentration as she surveys the room, eyes bright and fingers tapping across the banister.

And she’s there, lovely and ethereal and focused like she’s looking for something important.

And–

And she finally looks at Pandora, the weight of her gaze is like a physical pressure. All consuming and utterly devastating. Goosebumps break across Pandora’s skin, everywhere that Lily’s gaze catches and she’s never been so breathless from someone standing so far away before.

At a loss, Pandora waves. A small twist of her wrist, subtle enough that no one would notice if they weren’t paying attention. Lily is though, and her lips turn up into a smile as she waves back.

When they were younger, the first time around, Pandora was constantly catching up to Lily. At the time, Pandora loved the chase, the thrill of trying and trying and trying to capture any piece of Lily she would let her. Fragments of Lily caught between bruised palms, like picking up what Lily left behind. 

In hindsight, loving Lily was like chasing after scraps. 

Lily was never willing to slow down for Pandora to catch up, and, when it came down to it, Lily ran so far that Pandora could never catch up. 

Dorcas is the only one who knows everything that happened between them. Barty and Evan and Regulus are amazing, but when Pandora was heartbroken and tender from the loss, it was Dorcas she went to. Even now, the boys don’t really know what happened between them.

If they did, Pandora’s not so sure they would be so amicable with Lily now. They’re the type to hold grudges. Pandora’s trying not to think about what Dorcas is going to say when she tells her about Lily.

She just hopes this time it won’t be through tears.

Lily winks at Pandora, pushing away from the rail and disappearing into the crowd.

It feels different this time.

Lily feels different this time.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but there’s something settled in Lily’s shoulders that wasn’t there before. Like she disappeared from Pandora’s life and came back whole. Came back new and familiar at once.

Pandora wants to relearn everything about her.

“Hi,” Lily says, suddenly behind her. 

There she is.

“Hi,” Pandora replies, caught in the closeness of Lily tucked between the pillars with her. 

It didn’t feel like this with Barty and Even, though it must have been more crowded with the three of them together. With Lily, the space between them feels charged, like someone connected a string from the center of her chest into Lily’s waiting palms. All she has to do is tug.

“Hi,” Lily says again, biting back a smile as she looks up at Pandora. 

“What’re you doing over here,” Pandora says, voice hushed, though there’s no need with the clamor of the gala around them. “I thought you were meant to be snagging the codes from–”

“Already got them,” Lily says, a smug smile tugging at her lips as she waves a folded piece of paper in front of Pandora’s face. 

Ridiculously, the motion makes heat spread all the way from the back of her neck to her ears. 

“Oh,” Pandora says, taking in the excitement rolling off of Lily in waves. “Well, um, good job. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Lily says, shoulders straightening with the praise and drawing Pandora’s attention to the scattering of her freckles between the lines of her tattoos. 

“Of course,” Pandora says, swallowing back the words that press against her teeth.

Something like:

What are we doing?

Or:

Do you still love me?

Because that would be insane.

“Do you think Barty and Evan will be good with their end?” Lily asks, peering around Pandora at the bustling people just beyond her.

“Oh, for sure,” Pandora says, fondness coloring her words as she thinks of what they’re going to get up to tonight. “They thrive under pressure.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” Lily says, tucking the slip of paper into the corset of her dress. 

Pandora might get incredibly distracted for several moments, mind supplying her with a collection of moments with Lily from beforethat are doing her no favors in pushing down the flush on her face or focussing on the task at hand. 

“Ready?” Lily asks, extending a hand for Pandora to clasp.

“Yeah,” Pandora agrees, pressing their palms together, heart racing and biting back a smile as Lily guides her from the pillars. 

Despite everything, Pandora feels herself getting pulled down, down, down into Lily yet again.

There are worse ways to go.

~

Pandora keeps looking at her, and Lily doesn’t know what to do with it.

Ever since she stepped foot in the ministry, Lily has been buzzing with frenetic energy and fluttering fingers. At first, all of the excess energy was focused on the mission at hand: get the codes, break into the vault, and get the fuck out. 

After she saw Pandora, all soft lines and blurred edges, all bets were off for her focus. 

Peering around the corner to see down the hall, Lily tries her best to be normal when Pandora presses her hand into the small of her back to see over Lily’s shoulder. 

“All clear,” Pandora says, breath ghosting across the shell of Lily’s ear.

“Right,” Lily says, voice rough as she casts a reassuring grin to Pandora over her shoulder.

Or at least, that’s what she tries to do. 

When she turns her head, Pandora tips her face down to see her, breath mingling as their noses brush.

Oh.

“Hi,” Pandora says, a wicked smile spreading across her face, and Lily knows that grin. It’s the same one she had when she–

Oh.

“Hi,” Lily breathes, trying desperately to grasp the thread of what they were meant to be doing. All she can think about is Pandora’s lips and her palm, still pressed to the small of her back, and her eyes, sparkling with something familiar and new all at once. 

If she tilts her head, just slightly, she could kiss her. It’d be so easy, and yet–

And yet.

“We should,” Lily clears her throat, blinking hard and trying to look away from Pandora’s lips with very little success. “We should get going. You know–the vault and such.”

“Right,” Pandora agrees, not moving from where she essentially has Lily pinned to the wall. 

“While Barty and Evan can still do their part,” Lily continues, trying to remember how to breathe. It’s different with Pandora so close. Her lungs expand unreliably in the face of Pandora’s presence.

“Of course,” Pandora agrees, smiling as a deep flush carries over Lily’s skin, undeniable in the harsh lights of the hallway. 

“Yeah,” Lily says, mind whirring.

But they shouldn’t. 

Pandora deserves someone steady, someone, who will sit still with her. Someone who will always be reliable for her. Someone who will always keep their word. Not someone who left her alone after promising to stay. Not someone who will never be able to sit still and wait. Not someone who always has to be moving. 

Not Lily.

Lily is different now than she was then, but she’s still Lily at the end of the day. She’d never leave Pandora as she did before now, but there’s no way that Pandora could ever forgive her for that. Lily never forgave herself for leaving like she did.

So they shouldn’t. 

Because Pandora deserves the world, and Lily is just Lily. 

It’s with that notion heavy in the back of her throat that Lily finds the will to extricate herself from Pandora. Slipping their hands together to soothe the sting of pulling away in the first place.

It’s for the best. 

“Is this the one?” Pandora asks as they stop in front of a nondescript wooden door.

“I think so,” Lily says, frowning as she pulls the paper from her corset comparing the sketch to the hallway they’re in. When she glances over Pandora is flushed an impressive shade of red. “Are you okay?” 

“Hm, what? Yeah, of course, I’m okay,” she laughs, eyes cast to the ceiling as she rubs the back of her neck.

“Okay,” Lily says, drawing out the word hesitantly. “This is definitely the room, so there should be–ah, here we go,” Lily presses against the portrait hung beside the door, which swings open to reveal a panel with a keypad that blinks up at them. “Ta-da,” Lily says, grinning at Pandora before inputting the codes she scribbled onto the corner of the page.

The pad beeps three times before the wooden door swings open with a prolonged creek of aged hinges. 

“Perfect,” Pandora says, pushing the painting so the panel is concealed again. 

They cross into the room, the door slamming shut behind them, and Lily tries to swallow back the anxiety that crawls up her throat at being locked in here.

“Hey,” Pandora says, catching Lily’s hand in hers and squeezing. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Right,” Lily says, squeezing Pandora’s hand back and letting out a long breath. “It should be around here somewhere. Just look for Ravenclaw or the symbol.”

“Should be easy,” Pandora says with a wry smile as she looks around at the rows of books lining the walls and staggered between display cases throughout the room.

“Fair enough,” Lily sighs, starting on the right while Pandora veers left to trace the spines of the books. 

There is a lot to go through.

After some time, Lily finally makes it to the central shelves instead of the rows along the wall. Pandora seems to have made similar progress and Lily watches as she crouches to look at the books along the bottom row of the shelf adjacent to Lily’s. 

Lily might be slightly distracted by the stretch of the fabric over Pandora’s shoulders, so when the door swings open on the other side of the room, Lily barely has a moment to yank her dress fully behind the shelf she’s been looking at before footsteps follow the voices that track into the room.

“Are you fucking insane?” A man’s voice, vaguely familiar, echoes through the room. 

Lily peeks around the corner of her bookcase to see Pandora standing pressed against her shelf holding a small book and pointing at it when she catches Lily’s eye. Lily can’t read lips for shit, but she’s fairly certain that Pandora found the diary. 

“Don’t play stupid with me,” a woman says, tone even in the face of the man’s flashing temper. “It’s unbecoming.”

“ Unbecoming,” he splutters, “what’s unbecoming is you dragging me through the ministry into the fucking vault for a chat. What, got something to say you don’t wanna get caught with? I thought you’d had enough of scandals after the incident with–”

“I’d watch my fucking mouth if I was you,” the woman says, and Lily moves so she can watch them in the reflection from one of the display cases. 

The woman has an impressive dagger pressed to the man’s throat, eyes cold as she watches him squirm for a moment before withdrawing. He rubs at his neck with a grimace eyeing the woman in trepidation. 

“What do you want?” he asks, considerably calmer though he fidgets under the woman’s icy glare.

“Where is she?” 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the man sniffs.

“Maybe you really are that thick,” the woman muses, flipping the dagger between her fingers with familiarity. “But I think we both know you’re just a coward.”

“At least I’ll get out of this shit in one piece,” the man counters, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can’t say the same for you or your little friend.”

“We’ll see,” the woman says, a cold smile on her face. “But you definitely won’t make it out of this vault in one piece if you don’t start talking.”

“Please,” he scoffs, sneering at her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She moves so quickly, Lily doesn’t register what happened until she sees the dagger embedded in the shelf behind the man as he clutches his ear, doubling over.

“How sure are you about that?” she asks, pulling another dagger from the folds of her dress.

“You really are crazy,” he sputters, cowering when she flips the dagger between her fingers.

She laughs. “Maybe,” she says, “my impulse control has disappeared recently. I think you might know something about it.”

“I don’t know what happened to her,” he insists.

“But?” She prompts, all laughter gone from her face as she stares him down.

“But I–well I think it has something to do with the necklace,” he says, in a rush. “Riddle was, well, frantic a week ago. Rambling about the artifact and rats and a new type of experiment.”

“What kind of experiment?” She asks, her voice cold and motions still as she listens intently.

“The kind I’m sure you’re familiar with by now, no matter how much Lucius tries to push you to the sidelines.”

“And was it–did it succeed?” She asks a tremor of fear threaded through her tone.

“What do you think?” He asks, resigned as he scrubs his free hand through his hair. “I wasn’t there when it happened, but you’re a smart girl. You can put the pieces together.”

“Fuck you,” she says, voice cracking significantly.

“Don’t kill the messenger,” he says, sighing deeply. “You wanted to know what happened to her, and now you do.”

“I didn’t–well, I just hoped that–”

“I know,” he says, pulling his hand from his ear and sighing at the blood there. “Look, I get it, I do, but there’s nothing to do about it. You’re in too deep to pull out, just like me. You’ve just got to suck it up and keep your head down.”

“You really don’t know me at all,” she says, swiping at her eyes and sighing heavily. “Get out of here before I change my mind.” He starts across the room, hand on the door before the woman calls out, “oh, and Avery?”

“Yeah?” He asks, tension in every line of his body.

“Tell anyone about this, and I won’t just be giving you a bit of a trim. I’ll take off your whole damn head.”

“There are things worse than death, Narcissa,” Avery sighs, opening the door and leaving without a backward glance. 

“Fuck,” Narcissa says, throwing her other dagger so it cuts into the face of a painting by the door. “ Fuck.”

She slips to the floor, shoulders shaking and the kind of sobs that leave a trail of shivers down Lily’s spine ripping from her throat. 

Lily catches Pandora’s eye, but she just shrugs back, at a loss for what to do now that they’re trapped in the vault with a vaguely homicidal woman.

The door swings open, again, and another woman trails in, looking unsurprised and unimpressed by the spill of Narcissa across the marble floors.

“I saw Avery,” she says, lifting an unimpressed brow. “I can’t keep cleaning up after you.”

“Don’t bother,” Narcissa sniffles, hugging her knees to her chest and curling into herself. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Oh, darling,” she sighs, crouching in front of Narcissa. “I told you–”

“I know what you said,” Narcissa snaps, “I just didn’t–I needed to know for myself.”

“You know, she could be fine–”

“Don’t placate me,” Narcissa says, scrubbing her hands over her face. “You know as well as I do no one walks away from Riddle. I told her–” she stops, taking a heavy breath and standing up. “I’m finishing it.”

“You’re insane,” the woman says, rising with her and following her to the door.

“So I’ve been told,” Narcissa says, her smile all sharp edges as she throws the door open. 

“Every fucking day,” the woman mutters. Trailing after Narcissa at a much more sedate pace.

“Well,” Pandora says, several beats later when it seems that no one else will be bursting into the vault for private conversations. “That happened.”

Lily laughs, incredulous. “Yeah, I guess it did,” they make their way to the door listening at the wood for any footsteps. 

As far as she can tell, the hall is silent. 

“I can’t believe she left the daggers,” Pandora muses, looking at the portrait with the knife sticking out of it. 

“Let’s just get out of here,” Lily says, biting back a smile when Pandora grimaces at her.

“You have the best ideas,” Pandora says, smirking as she pulls the door open, slipping their hands together as they head down the hall. 

And maybe Lily doesn’t deserve it, but Pandora seems to want her anyway.

And maybe that’s enough.

~

“Holy shit, that was fun,” Barty says, falling into the plump couch in Lily’s living room and tugging his tie loose as he grins up at Pandora. 

“ Fun,” Evan repeats, incredulously as he settles next to Barty, methodically rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt and his jacket draped over the back of the couch. “We probably can’t ever show our faces at a ministry gala again, and you call it fun?”

“Well, it was,” Barty insists, nodding at Lily when she passes him a mug of tea. “It’s not every day I get to piss off my dad and start a fire at a ministry event.”

“Which was totally unnecessary, by the way,” Lily points out, dispersing tea to Pandora and Evan before turning back to the kitchen for her own cup. Pandora forces herself to sit down in the chair next to the couch, even as her blood thrums with unspent adrenaline. “We had everything under control. And you could have just pulled the alarm instead of starting an actual fire.”

“Boring,” Barty boos, blowing on his tea and scrunching his nose when he burns his tongue on it. “Our way was much more interesting.”

“Sure,” Lily agrees, rolling her eyes as she settles into the remaining chair on the opposite side of the couch. “At least we got the book,” Lily says, grinning at Pandora.

“It’s not at all what I was expecting,” Pandora says, placing her tea on the coffee table so she can thumb through the diary. “If this is true, then Hogwarts wasn’t just a school when the founders started it. It was also, like, this huge experimental thing. They’d take in kids and try to figure out why some of them were sensitives and what made the gift go away.”

“Cool,” Barty says, wincing when Evan elbows him.

“And Helena was apparently super in it. Her mom was one of the founders and she grew up around the experiments and even did some herself when she was older.”

“I’m sensing a but,” Lily says, sipping at her tea with her legs tucked under her in the chair. 

“But,” Pandora says, smiling at Lily, “she started to have doubts, of the ethical variety.”

“Boring,” Barty interjects, gaining yet another sharp elbow from Evan.

“She ended up destroying the secret chamber they were conducting experiments in,” Pandora says, catching Barty’s attention fully as he straightens in his seat, his tea nearly spilling with the abrupt motion. “Burned it with the founders and the records of their experiments inside.”

“She inherited the school,” Pandora continues, “made it into Hogwarts as we know it today, but she spent most of her time trying to find something to protect people, rather than control them.” Pandora flips the books around so everyone can see the drawing on the page, “There are mixed opinions about it. She says it’s for protection, so echoes can’t reach beyond the veil and hurt you, but near the beginning of the diary, she has a similar symbol that she says is supposed to help transcend worlds.”

“Weird,” Lily says, squinting at the symbol.

“I thought so too,” Pandora says, flipping back in the journal to the original symbol. “But the older one is actually slightly different. See the edges of the triangle? In the one for protection, the corners are inside–”

“But they’re on the outside for the first one,” Lily finishes, tilting her head at the symbol. “Do you really think that’s the difference? Maybe she just realized the symbol had a different use.”

“I dunno,” Pandora says, “Maybe it’s a mistake, or maybe it makes all the difference in the world. The point is, Helena describes the symbol with the same word both times.”

“And that is?” Evan asks, lifting an unimpressed brow. 

“The Hallow,” Pandora says, watching recognition flash through Lily’s eyes. “She called it the Hallow.”

~

Barty and Evan bid their farewells, but Pandora continues to linger with Lily as the sun dips steadily deeper across the sky.

Not that she’s complaining.

After taking a shower and changing into something that is not formal wear, Lily gathers supplies for Pandora–like a good host–and offers for her to use the shower.

“Is this your polite way of telling me I stink?” Pandora asks, eyes sparkling with humor as she takes the bundle from Lily, fingers brushing over the fabric.

“I–of course not,” Lily sputters, knowing her blush is devastatingly visible on her pale skin. “I just–well, I thought you might like to, um, be clean. After everything.”

Smooth.

“Relax, Evans,” Pandora smiles, leaning in to whisper into Lily’s ear, “I’m teasing you.”

And then she goes. 

Lily stands there, in the middle of her living room, and breathes for several minutes willing her blush to die down. She’s considering just standing in front of the open freezer until Pandora finishes with her shower when several hard knocks on her front door pull her from her thoughts. 

Distantly, she’s hoping it’s Marlene. Lily hasn’t seen her in days and it’s just striking her how strange that is that a deep resignation settles in her stomach. She’s probably fine. It’s Marlene.

At the door, is definitely not Marlene.

“Hello,” Lily says, standing in the small crack of her door and watching the woman on her stoop with trepidation. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Lily Evans?” the woman asks, eyes darting around her frantically. 

“That depends on who’s asking,” Lily says, weary about the woman’s frazzled disposition.

“My name is Sybill,” she says, fingers tangled together as she pops her knuckles in methodical motions. “They said you could help me if I ever got into a scrape.”

“Who?” Lily asks, holding the door handle so tight that her knuckles creak against the metal.

“The others on the street,” Sybill explains, stilling to eye Lily warily. “They said you helped out sensitives who lost their gift. Is that not true?”

“No, it is,” Lily assures quickly, pulling the door open and ushering the woman inside. “Sorry, I do. It’s just been a crazy week.”

“I feared as much,” Sybill says, settling into a stool by the island and looking at the cups of tea by the sink like they’ll hurt her. 

“Can I get you something?” Lily asks, already putting the kettle on the stove. “Tea? Food? You can have a shower in a bit once Pandora is done with it.”

“No,” Sybill says, suddenly frantic again. “No, we don’t have time. It’s happening soon. Tonight. We need to get to them first, before–before it’s too late to help.”

“What are you talking about?” Lily says, ice dripping down her spine at the intensity of Sybill’s gaze. “I thought you were in trouble. Who do we need to help?”

“The one who walks between worlds,” Sybill says like it’s obvious. Lily has never been so confused in all her life. “The Death Eaters are moving tonight to do the final sacrifice.”

“The–listen,” Lily says, realizing belatedly that Sybill has probably just been exposed to something psychedelic. That the threats and twitchiness are more likely symptoms of a drug than some strange prophecy. “Why don’t you let me get you something to eat? And you can take a hot shower and into fresh clothes and talk about these, what did you call them? Death Eaters after.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Sybill says, pressing her palms flat against the counter and rocking into them coming nose to nose with Lily.

Unlike the hallway with Pandora, Sybill’s proximity only makes anxiety churn in her stomach, rather than butterflies.

“Okay,” Lily says, spreading her hands in front of her and taking a step back, trying to deescalate the situation. “I’m just trying to understand. How do you know this?”

“Because I heard them,” Sybill says, eyes flicking around the room, chasing shadows. “They thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t. It was so dark and–and I heard them. I heard them, Lily, you have to believe me. No one else–I tried to talk to the ministry, but they tried to arrest me. It’s you. You’re my last chance.”

“Okay,” Lily says again, trying to follow the thread of that statement. “So, the ministry broke you out? So you could get away from the Death Eaters?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sybill scoffs, sitting back in her seat and twisting her fingers together. “The ministry knows, they have to. The Death Eaters are the ministry. No, no I broke myself out.” She slips her sleeves up, revealing scraps of bloody fabric roughly wrapped around each wrist. “They were going to use me, but they have someone else there. They stole her–they, they’re going to use her tonight if we don’t stop them. And we need your friend.”

“My friend?” Lily asks, caught in the clarity of Sybill’s eyes. She doesn’t look medicated. Sybill looks clear-eyed and focused, and that, more than anything else, makes Lily think that maybe she’s onto something.

“The one with the gift,” Sybill clarifies, staring at her hands. “They know about her. They think she’s the missing piece to everything. The one to finally walk beyond the veil.”

“Okay,” Lily says, feeling very much not okay. 

Pandora emerges from the bathroom, steam from the shower rolling behind her as she steps into the kitchen scrubbing a towel through damp hair. 

“Is everything alright?” Pandora asks, stopping next to Lily in the kitchen and glancing between Lily and their unlikely visitor. 

“No,” Sybill insists right as Lily answers in the affirmative. Sybill cuts Lily an impressive glare. “We need to leave.”

“And go where?” Pandora asks, wrapping the towel around her shoulders.

“To Grimmauld,” Sybill says and twists her fingers together again. “Before it’s too late for Marlene.”

The kettle on the stovetop whistles, but Lily’s ears are ringing as she realizes that all of this might be bigger than she thought.

“Okay,” Lily says for the umpteenth time in the past twenty minutes. 

Everything is falling apart, but Pandora cups her face as she struggles to breathe. And maybe it’s not okay, but they’re together.

Maybe that’s all they can hope for.

Chapter Text

At almost every distinct and devastating turning point in Dorcas’ life, Regulus has been there for her in his own Regulus kind of way. When she was eighteen and struggling with adjusting to working with the ministry, Regulus left a set of daggers on her coffee table; specialized and warm where the ministry distributed sets were cold and left blisters on her palms. When she was twenty and heartbroken for the first time, Regulus was there; stilted and uncomfortable but present when no one else noticed she had drifted away. When she was twenty-three and feeling the edges of her gift fading slowly, Regulus sat with her for hours in the ministry library searching for answers they never found. 

Four months ago, when her gift disappeared for good and Dorcas was listless in her apartment, unwilling to push paper for the rest of her life, Regulus found her and forced her up and out. And he rolled his eyes at her glare and whipped the curtains open ruthlessly and told her everyone gets knocked down, Meadowes, be special about it and get your shit together.

Regulus was never, ever, nice, but he was always kind.

Dorcas never knew there was a difference until she became friends with one Regulus Black.

Now, settled at the strangely homey kitchen of Grimmauld Place, Regulus is sitting across from her, scowling, and he is so familiar and so different at once that it has her gripping her tea like a tangible lifeline.

“So,” Dorcas says, thumbing the handle of her mug and trying not to fidget under Regulus’ attention. “A cult, huh?”

“Dorcas—” Regulus starts, a sigh heavy in his tone. 

“I’m just saying,” Dorcas interrupts, lifting her hands in surrender. “That, well, I understand why you never told me and I–just it doesn’t change anything for me. I’m still with you, to the end of the line, right?”

“Right,” Regulus says, lips tipping up slightly, relief spreading through his frame in increments. 

“You didn’t think I’d hate you for it, did you?” Dorcas asks. 

“I wouldn’t blame you if it did,” Regulus murmurs, gaze focused on the grain of the table between them. “I'd hate me for it.”

“Well,” Dorcas says, taking a sip from her mug. “I’m not you. You’d have to do something so—just fucking awful for me to hate you.”

“Worse than joining a cult when I was fifteen?”

“Oh, that’s so tame,” Dorcas says, grinning when Regulus rolls his eyes. “At least try to be a bad person next time. Shit, Reg, it’s not like you had much of a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Regulus counters, voice tinged with regret. Dorcas gets a distinct impression that he’s heard this somewhere before; a repetition of previous disdain.

“Maybe,” Dorcas acquiesces, “but even if you did, I still don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever could.”

Regulus hums noncommittally, and Dorcas wants to shake sense into him and wrap him in a thousand blankets in equal measure. She has this awful habit of wanting to hide the ones she loves from any kind of hurt. 

She can’t, though. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Marlene says, caught in the doorway to the kitchen and looking like a deer in headlights, frozen and wide-eyed. “I’ll come back later. Sorry to interrupt.”

“You’re fine,” Regulus says, looking grateful for the interruption. He’s awful with emotional conversations. “Come on in. Did you want some tea?”

He’s already up and putting the kettle on before Marlene can so much as blink. 

“Um, sure,” Marlene says, entering the room with trepidation. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Regulus says, staring at the kettle like it holds the answers to the universe. 

“How was the chat with Mary?” Dorcas asks, letting Regulus off the hook. For now. 

“It was—well I think we both needed it,” Marlene says, glancing at the empty chair beside her and sighing heavily. “She’s remembering quite a bit more about the months leading up to her, um, death I guess.”

“That’s good,” Dorcas says, but it comes out more as a question. 

“Kind of,” Marlene says, making a so-so gesture with her hand. “She’s remembering— hey,” she snaps, glaring at the seat again. “Fine. She’s just remembering.”

“Okay,” Dorcas says, drawing out the vowels and glancing at Regulus, who simply shrugs. 

He was surprisingly nonplussed about the whole talking ghost thing. Regulus apparently remains unaffected by the strangeness of Marlene talking to someone no one else can see as he focuses his attention back on the kettle. 

“How are you feeling?” Marlene asks chin tipped into her hands as she glances between Dorcas and Regulus.

“Better,” Dorcas says, copying Marlene’s so-so motion and grinning at her. Marlene snorts. “Genuinely though, it’ll be fine. As long as we stick together, we’ll work it out.”

“I guess,” Marlene says.

“Love the confidence,” Dorcas teases, smirking when Marlene rolls her eyes.

“It’s just–” she blows out a heavy breath, clearly frustrated. “I usually do things on my own. I don’t like dragging people down with me.”

“We’re not getting dragged down,” Dorcas says, trying to project the earnestness that comes so easily to Marlene. “I–we chose this. To stand with you, even when there’s weird cult shit happening.”

“Thanks,” Marlene says, eyes distant but smile sincere.

“Reggie?” Sirius asks, stopping in the doorway and scrubbing his eyes as he looks at Regulus. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Reggie,” Marlene repeats, snapping her fingers and eyes bright with recognition. “Oh shit, that’s why you’re familiar! You’re Sirius’ Regulus.”

“What an awful way to put it,” Regulus sighs, fixing a fresh batch of tea for everyone. “And I was invited. Also, this is kinda my house too? I’ve literally been here before.”

“I know that,” Sirius sputters, rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at Regulus. “I just, well, I wasn’t expecting for you to be in the kitchen. After dark. Without telling me.”

“Well, you know now,” Regulus sniffs, setting the mugs on the table without spilling anything. “Sit down before you have an aneurysm, fucks sake Sirius.”

Sirius drags a stool from the island to sit in after Marlene told him it was occupied with several sighs and a put-upon expression. Dorcas sees where Regulus gets his flare for the dramatic.

For a moment, everyone drinks their tea and glances at the tabletop as if it is the most fascinating cut of wood they have ever encountered. The silence is so heavy that the sudden banging on the front door is jarring enough to make Sirius spill his tea across his sweater. 

“Fuck me,” Sirius mutters, dabbing at the spill with his sleeves. Regulus snorts.

“Nice save,” Regulus drawls, a smirk tugging at his mouth when Sirius flips him off. “Very dignified.”

Another series of knocks and Marlene rises from her seat with a sigh. Unease drips down Dorcas’ spine, but she can’t very well stop Marlene from answering the door. She lives here, it’s perfectly normal for someone to knock at, Dorcas checks her watch, 10:46 at night. 

Everything is fine.

Regardless, she finds herself following Marlene into the hall, palming a heavy candlestick from the entryway table. Marlene lifts a brow when she notices it, but Dorcas simply shrugs. Marlene is laughing as she opens the door.

“Oh, hey,” Marlene says, shoulders dropping as she pulls the door wide.

Three women grace the doorstep in various states of disarray, but Dorcas has never seen relief like the kind that spreads across the redhead’s face as she takes in Marlene.

“Thank fuck,” the woman gasps out, surging forward to pull Marlene into a bone-cracking hug. “I thought we would be too late, or you might not be here, and I–holy shit, Marlene, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Hey, hey, Lily, everything is fine,” Marlene says gently tucking the woman’s–Lily?–face into her shoulder and pulling her over the threshold. “Why don’t you all come in? We can put the kettle back on.”

“Thanks,” Pandora says coming out from behind the other, much more frantic-looking woman.

“Pandora?” Dorcas says, blinking at her. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Dorcas?” Pandora says, equally confused. “Wait–how do you know Marlene?”

“I, um, well,” she glances back at Marlene for some kind of help, but she is busy getting Lily to calm down enough to speak. Well, shit. “It’s kind of a long story,” Dorcas lands on.

“Oh,” Pandora says, closing the door behind her as the other woman trails toward the kitchen. “Mine kind of is too.”

Dorcas squints at Pandora. She’s twisting her fingers together and staring at the ceiling with avid interest. 

Wait a minute.

Dorcas thinks of the frazzled woman named Lily Marlene had led into the kitchen and another notorious Lily who happened to absolutely wreck Pandora a few short years before.

“Pandora,” Dorcas says, steepling her fingers in front of her face and projecting calm. “Please tell me you didn’t get dragged into something by Lily fucking Evans, again.”

“Um,” Pandora grimaces, “Here’s the thing–”

“ Pandora.”

“No, listen, it’s different this time,” Pandora says, then groans. “Okay, that sounds super pathetic, but honestly. She’s different this time.”

“Pandora.”

“Okay, well, maybe we’re both different,” Pandora amends, turning pleading eyes onto Dorcas. “And we haven’t even, um, done anything, so it’s not like that at all.”

“Uhuh.”

“I mean, maybe it is a little,” Pandora says, voice quiet. “Give her a chance, please? Just trust me about this.”

“I–” Dorcas sighs, placing the candlestick back onto the entry table. “Fine. But we’re unpacking this later. What the everloving fuck , Pandora?”

“Fair enough,” Pandora says, following Dorcas toward the kitchen. “We have some concerning stuff to tell you.”

Dorcas scoffs, “you are not going to believe the past few days we’ve had.”

“Try me,” Pandora says with a slanted smile.

They settle around the table, a strange mix of barstools and creaking seats, and as they talk Dorcas realizes that this whole thing is even bigger than she had thought only twenty minutes before. 

And, honestly, they don’t have time to unpack any of it.

~

Dorcas is glaring at her, and Lily doesn’t know why. 

Sybill is talking–has been for the past ten minutes–and Lily tunes out the parts she’s heard before to nudge at Marlene, who simply shrugs and elbows Lily tipping her head toward Sybill.

Pay attention, Marlene mouths at her, exasperated. 

Lily rolls her eyes, kicking at Marlene’s ankle next to hers under the table. Marlene immediately retaliates and Lily gets a little caught up in aiming for Marlene’s shins while blocking with her opposite foot.

“Something to share, Evans?” Dorcas drawls, effectively pulling everyone’s attention to Lily’s disgruntled appearance.

Okay, so maybe Dorcas doesn’t like her. 

Great.

“Um, no,” Lily says, clearing her throat and grimacing at Sirius’ smirk.

“Wait,” Remus says, holding his hands up in front of him. “Sorry, it’s just, how did Lily get pulled into this? Actually, what are Pandora and Regulus doing here?”

“Lily was investigating the missing people,” Marlene explains, pointing at her helpfully. “And she brought Pandora and I brought Regulus.”

“Okay, yeah,” Remus agrees, brow furrowed. “But, Lily, why exactly did you bring Pandora into this? I get Regulus, he had to do with the Death Eaters–”

“I was actually brought on as an expert for the necklace,” Regulus helpfully interjects.

“But,” Remus continues, unfazed by the interruption, “Pandora didn’t really…know anything going into it.” 

“Rude,” Pandora sniffs, arms crossed where she’s leaning back in her chair, tipping backward onto two legs.

“Sorry,” Remus shrugs, not looking terribly apologetic. 

“She was helpful,” Lily argues, heat crawling up her neck. “Pandora got us into the ministry and into the party, among other things.”

“Right,” Remus says, “But you could’ve asked anyone. Emmeline has clearance to the ministry and we could’ve helped you with it.”

“We’re wasting time,” Sybill interjects, and Lily has never been more grateful for an interruption in her life. “The sooner we get the big things out of the way, the sooner we can stop Riddle from completing the ritual.”

The truth is–and Lily can admit this now that it’s been a few days and the immediate pressure has eased from the whole situation–Pandora wasn’t exactly a necessity in this investigation. Like, at all. Marlene has been listening to Lily rant about this article for months, and it would have been perfectly acceptable, expected even, for Lily to come to Grimmauld the minute shit hit the fan with Umbridge. 

She didn’t though.

Everything was falling apart, her research had been flushed down the drain, and she was so certain that there was something more she wasn’t seeing. Something beyond the missing people and the nonplussed ministry. Something darker. She was ready to finish the story, no matter the cost.

And the only person she wanted to help her, in that moment, was Pandora.

How pathetic is that?

Years after leaving her alone on that bridge, Lily only wanted Pandora to help. After the leaving and the heartbreak and the distance and the time, Pandora still fluttered to the front of her consciousness as the best option. So much so, that that conviction carried her across town, through familiar doors and a stilted plea for help.

The only thing more shocking than Lily asking for help was Pandora, actually accepting. 

It’d been years . 

And yet–

And yet Pandora still helped.

So yeah, Lily didn’t need to ask Pandora, probably really shouldn’t have dragged her into yet another dangerous case. It’s what Lily does best; she comes in too strong and weighs people down. Asks the wrong things, runs away from the right people; loves too much or too little or not at all. 

She’s Lily Evans, and she’s still figuring shit out. 

And yet–

And yet Pandora still followed her. 

Lily has always been a runner. Ironically enough, she did track at university. Long-distance running. She always loved the adventure of it, the longer path, and the ambiguity of the track. The way that she would go on and on and on and lose track of how many people she passed. How many people she left behind, or how many people were still ahead. She would run and pace herself and, most of the time, she would win.  

Lily was a runner, and Pandora still chased after her, even after all this time.

And yet–

And yet Pandora still stayed.

Lily showed up, years late and worn out, and Pandora came through for her. And maybe she shouldn’t have, and maybe neither of them ever learned to let things go, and maybe Pandora was tired of chasing her. Maybe, just maybe, Lily was getting damn tired of running all the time.

“Okay, yeah, that’s part of what confused me,” Marlene says, raising her hand slightly as if she’s in a classroom and effectively shaking Lily back into the conversation. “So Riddle is in charge of the Death Eaters, but also part of the Hallow?”

“That’s technically right,” Sybill says, lips pursed in displeasure. “Riddle is trying to reconnect with the Hallow described by the story of the three brothers by using Helena’s writings.”

“So he’s making a bridge?” Remus asks.

“More like a conduit,” Sybill says, tilting her head back and forth in consideration. “At least he was before. When I got out, he was talking about transferring the power to him instead.”

“Spooky,” Sirius murmurs, face pinched.

“Exactly,” Sybill agrees, twisting her hands together. “Before, he was only using people who lost their gift to activate it, but after Mary, well, he was talking about pulling active sensitives to do it. Specifically, finding the most powerful sensitive to do the ritual.”

“How do you even measure that?” Lily asks, dread dripping down her spine.

“According to Riddle,” Sybill sighs, “blood.”

“Great,” Remus says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So Riddle is doing another ritual tonight and, for some reason, we’re the only ones who can stop him?”

“Precisely,” Sybill agrees, stoic.

“Great,” Lily echoes, grimacing at Remus. “Break into the cult lair, stop the ritual, and turn them into the ministry. That’s just three things. We can do three things.”

Marlene snorts scrubbing her hands over her face and grinning crookedly at Lily. “We can totally do three things.”

This is fine.

~

As it turns out, even leaving to stop the cult is way more than three steps.

“I’m sorry,” Alice had scoffed, as she shoved a duffle bag full of supplies into Sirius’ arms and caused him to stumble back several steps before Remus caught him. “You just want to barge into their base, no plan, no weapons, just vibes and hope for the best? We’ll leave when we’re ready and not a moment sooner.”

Sybill had trailed after her, fuming, and Marlene had taken that as her cue to slip away for a moment before it all fell apart.

Sitting on the roof, the stars are blotted out by overcast clouds. The heaviness of the sky presses against Marlene’s skin. It smells like rain.

“You left,” Dorcas says by way of greeting as she crawls through the window to settle next to Marlene.

“You came after me,” Marlene counters, blowing her smoke away from Dorcas’ grinning mouth. 

She’d hate to tint her smile.

“Are you scared?” Dorcas asks, solemnity falling across her shoulders.

Marlene takes a moment to sit with the question. Part of her never stopped feeling nervous from the moment she jumped out of the window with Sirius what feels like a lifetime ago. The rest of her can hardly believe the situation she’s found herself in the middle of. 

“A little,” Marlene ends up saying, flicking ash from her cigarette and frowning. “More so for everyone else than for me. Mostly Sirius with all the blood power shit. I almost want to ask him to stay behind, if only so he doesn’t become an easy target.”

“That makes sense,” Dorcas hums, staring at the clouds with her brow furrowed. Marlene wants to smooth the skin there, with the press of her thumb or brush of her lips, to take her worry and soothe it away. She takes a heavy drag from her cigarette instead. “It’s not fair to ask them to go or force them to stay. Your friends are ridiculously self-sacrificing.” 

“If I do recall correctly,” Marlene says, a smile pulling at her mouth. “Your friends are also ridiculously self-sacrificing.”

“Only two of them,” Dorcas counters, smirking when Marlene snorts. “You have a whole battalion running into this.”

“A battalion,” Marlene sputters, “who even says that? What even is a battalion?”

“I dunno, like a bunch of soldiers?”

“Fucks sake,” Marlene sighs, stubbing her cigarette out on the roof tiles and tipping her head to smile at Dorcas. “Sure, my battalion of friends are always ready to go on strange and dangerous adventures. Last year, we all drove two hours to do an unregistered hunt because Emmeline had a hunch. Honestly, this is typical for us.”

“I knew it,” Dorcas shrugs, laughing when Marlene scoffs. 

Lightning streaks across the sky, illuminating the city for one moment followed by the ominous roll of thunder. Glancing at Dorcas–framed in sudden light and eyes bright with surprise–Marlene finds herself calm in the face of the storm. The anxiety that usually simmers beneath her skin is strangely silent. 

“Well,” Dorcas says, scrambling up from the roof when the first drops of rain start to fall. “The timing of the rain leaves something to be desired.”

Marlene laughs, stumbling toward the open window and taking Dorcas’ hand to pull her through. “It usually does,” she says, grinning with their hands still clasped between them in the safety of her bedroom. 

And Marlene realizes that she would do almost anything to keep Dorcas smiling the way she is now. It should scare her more than it does.

As it is, for the first time since her parents, Marlene just feels at peace.

~

Pandora is acutely aware of Lily.

She gained the sixth sense sometime between Lily wandering into her shop years ago now, bright-eyed and skittish, and Lily kissing her in a dark ally after they escaped a group of men chasing them from a tavern. 

She thought she lost it sometime between Lily leaving her stranded on a bridge and Dorcas letting her crash at her place after crying for what felt like hours. 

Despite all of this, a few days in the presence of one Lily Evans has realigned the sense into working order. So, when Lily dips out of the chaos while Sirius and Alice argued at length and with increasing volume–Remus and Regulus standing to the side and sighing in a way that indicates a familiarity in such matters–Pandora became acutely aware of the absence of Lily. 

She gave her a few moments head start, before wandering through the expansive hallways of the house. On the top floor, Pandora realizes there are two staircases, one coming up from the kitchen and the one she used, as well as two rooms. From the one on the right, she can hear the distant voices of what sounds like Dorcas and Marlene. The one on the left is simply an office.

She nudges the door open to slip inside.

It’s a warm room, Pandora can tell it’s been well-loved by someone, with walls lined with books and a large oak desk scattered with papers. The trashcan is overfull of loose crumpled scraps. Hald-written notes and abandoned concepts.

The smell of fresh ink hangs in the air. 

Glancing over the top of the desk, Pandora is surprised to see her name staring back at her, ink still wet and writing thick from a heavy hand. The letters are impatiently large and splatters of ink punctuate the “a” at the end. 

It is with great trepidation that Pandora picks it up and flips it open.

Pandora,

Hi. If you’re reading this, chances are that I’m already halfway to the ministry. I wish I could say there was some grandiose reasoning for my departure, but you know me. I just don’t want you to get hurt. 

I realized something when Sybil was talking that I probably should have put together quite a while ago. It’s just that things are harder to face when addressing it hurts so much more than leaving it alone. So this is me, addressing it, possibly for the last time. I hope you understand what I’m trying to say.

First, I wanted to say I’m sorry. For dragging you into yet another adventure you likely wanted no part in. For putting you in danger, again. 

For leaving you on that bridge.

There’s not a day that has passed since that day that I haven’t regretted it, and regardless of how things turn out today, I am so grateful for the time we had together. 

Second, I wanted to ask, even though I realize how hypocritical this is, for you to stay this time. I know it’s your choice, and you’re stubborn enough to go through with it, but if any part of you wants to go only on my behalf, please don’t.

Finally, I wanted to say goodbye. Or maybe just see you later? That has a more hopeful ring to it, doesn’t it? Hopefully, I’ll make it back before sunrise and all of this will be over and I won’t keep dragging you into messes you want no part in. I’ll stop leaving a mess every time I see you, I promise.

Anyways, I only meant to write a few lines, so this note has gotten away from me a bit. It boils down to this; I’m sorry, stay safe, I’ll see you around.

Yours,

Lily Evans

Pandora stares at the parchment. Reads it again and a third time for good measure before folding it back up and rushing down the stairs faster than she’s ever moved in her life. She reaches the bottom floor right as the back door snaps shut, the blurred impression of red hair visible through the warped glass. 

She expects for Lily to keep moving before she can reach the back door. To slip out quickly and quietly. But Pandora stands there for a moment catching her breath and staring helplessly at the outline of Lily through the backdoor. She’s just standing there, back to the door, and body motionless.

If Pandora didn’t know any better, she would almost say that it looks like Lily is waiting.

Pandora ventures down the hall, steps sure and silent, and opens the door carefully. Sure enough, Lily is standing there, duffle bag slung over one shoulder and staring at the screen door in front of her, still.

“Going somewhere?” Pandora asks, leaning against the doorjamb to the back porch and scanning Lily’s disgruntled appearance lazily. 

“Fucking shit Pandora,” Lily gasps, clutching at her chest and laughing a little breathlessly. Outside, the sky rumbles with the beginnings of a storm. “You scared me.”

“Are you leaving?” Pandora asks, eyeing the bag on Lily’s shoulder and the nervous twitch of her fingers.

“Someone has to set things up with the ministry,” Lily says, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “Marlene said that Mary thought there was something important in someone’s office at the ministry and I was thinking Avery’s might be a good place to start.”

“And you were going to go alone?” Pandora asks, the again hanging heavily in the air between them.

“I–” Lily swallows paleness illuminated briefly by the flash of lightning behind her, casting her in stark shadow and light. “I left a note.”

“I know,” Pandora says, holding the folded-up piece of paper up between two fingers. “I read it.”

“Right,” Lily swallows, “then you understand.”

“I don’t think I do,” Pandora says, voice level as she presses away from the door, stopping an arm's length away from Lily. “I thought you were done leaving me.”

“And I thought you quit coming after me,” Lily counters, jaw clenched and eyes bright. 

“Fuck you,” Pandora snaps, biting back something more scathing. 

Something like:

I hate you  

Or:

I thought you loved me.

It’d be too much, perhaps.

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” Lily sighs, scrubbing a hand through her hair and jumping slightly at the roll of thunder that shakes the room. “It’s been years and I thought–you moved on, didn’t you?”

“Did you?” Pandora counters, twisting her fingers together.

“I asked first.”

“I’m not the one trying to leave.”

“For fucks–” Lily lets out a controlled breath. “No, I guess I didn’t. Move on.”

“Oh,” Pandora says, caught off guard even though she was hoping it was true and dreading it at once. She’s caught somewhere in between.

“Oh,” Lily repeats, flush illuminated by the storm outside.

“I just–I don’t understand,” Pandora says, desperate to know why and terrified of the answer. “Why did you come back? I would’ve gone with you the first time–I told you  that I would go with you–and you left anyways, but then you were here again, and I–”

“I could never stop looking for you,” Lily confesses, wretched and teeth clenched with the weight of it. “All the time. I’d see you in everything, all the time . The second I left I turned the corner and I looked back for you, but you were already gone. I know it’s not fair, but you always followed me and I thought–I thought that you still would. Come back for me. I needed you to stay but I wanted you to chase after me and I can never stop running, Pandora, I need you to understand that. I’m not the kind of person who can settle down and stay in one place forever, and you deserve someone who will do that for you. Someone who’s gentle with you and will stay with you.”

“You idiot,” Pandora says, voice thick with tears and smile cracking at the edges. 

“Rude,” Lily scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest even as the movement causes the duffle to slip down her shoulder.

Pandora huffs and reaches forward, adjusting the strap of the bag and tugging at Lily’s elbows until they release. She catches her hands where they fall and laces their fingers together. Lily’s breath hitches and Pandora simply looks at her trying to memorize the details of her face. The sweep of her lashes over her eyes, the flush of her face over faint freckles, the scar through her eyebrow punctuated by two dark freckles. 

“What are you doing?” Lily asks, voice thready and eyes dark. She wets her lips and Pandora tracks the movement with devotion. 

And Pandora–

Pandora has never wanted to stay put a day in her life. She was always chasing after something. Bigger experiments, interesting people, under-the-table deals. Pandora had a proclivity for finding herself in sticky situations and thriving.

Meeting Lily Evans was another line in a long list of touching something that burned her just enough to keep her attention. Hovering her fingers over the edge of the candle wick and pinching out the flame. Skin smarting and eyes bright with fascination. 

Knowing Lily Evans was another step in her long journey of chasing after things she maybe probably shouldn’t. Running with her down back alleys and side streets and through ambiguous businesses. Following her into danger and buzzing with the thrill of it. Lungs heaving and heart thrumming with excitement. 

Loving Lily Evans was different from everything else. She didn’t fall from curiosity or adventure. She didn’t even fall for the excitement that clung to Lily like a second skin. More still, she didn’t fall in love with Lily for the thrill of it.

Pandora fell in love with Lily in increments and without knowing, until she looked back over the moments they spent together and couldn’t pinpoint where it all began now that she was in the middle of it.

Was it there, pressed into a brick wall with Lily’s hands gripping her hips like a lifeline? Or there, standing in the rain with hands clasped together while they escaped from yet another mob boss? Or there, in a ballroom staring at her from across the room in absolute transfixed adoration? 

Pandora looked back over all these moments, and knew, intrinsically, that she was a little bit in love with Lily through all of them. Pandora looked back over all these moments, and knew, without a doubt, that she would never know exactly when it began. 

Simply that it did. 

And now here she is, Lily caught between her palms like the most precious thing she’s ever held and swaying in her grasp, the storm pattering away behind them.

“I never wanted to stay put,” Pandora murmurs, quiet in the space between them. “I just wanted you.”

And she kisses her, slow and deep and devastating. 

The storm rages on beyond the shaking window frames of the back porch, but Pandora is lost in Lily. 

Pandora winds her fingers through auburn hair and forgets about the cult and the pressure and the leaving. She twines them together with small gasps and gentle fingers and they linger. 

In a minute, they’ll go back inside and explain where they’re going to everyone and make a tangible plan. In a minute, they’ll pack another bag for Pandora to take with them to the ministry. In a minute, they’ll figure everything out.

But for now–

The storm rages on and there are things to do, but for a moment they stay. 

They both stay, and it’s enough. 

Chapter Text

Dorcas has never been in a cult. 

There are a few assumptions Dorcas had about the way a cult operates that are almost immediately contradicted when they make it to the mansion. 

Dorcas had imagined tall dark windowless walls with creeping vines and ominous animals skirting the perimeter. 

Looking at Malfoy Manor, none of these things are exactly true. Standing four stories high, the mansion is undoubtedly tall, but the siding is bright and windows punctuate the space in large frames. 

The only animals that populate the space are two strangely pale peacocks that skitter past them nervously when they cross the fence line. 

They split up when they reach the service entrance, James, Peter, Emmeline, and Alice rounding the building to investigate the east wing while Sirius, Remus, Dorcas, and Marlene enter the west wing. 

When another crossroads emerges, two sets of spiraling stairs, Marlene and Dorcas go left while Sirius and Remus take the right. There’s no time for hugs, goodbyes, or reassurances, but Sirius and Marlene exchange a look that Dorcas takes to mean the same. 

Be safe. 

Once they reach the top of the stairs, her other assumption, that rituals are performed in dimly lit rooms with a circle of people, is proven right as they look into the large room at the top of the fourth floor. 

A narrow half wall divides the inner and outer parts of the room, and a large circular platform takes up the space in front of drapes that cover the bottom row of windows. 

Apparently, Dorcas’ other assumption, that villain monologues shaped cult meetings, is also accurate. 

“Can you feel it?” a man that must be Riddle is saying, arms spread wide and smile slightly manic, showing all his teeth. “The air is different tonight. Perfect for the transference.” He drops his arms, gesturing to the raised circle in the middle of the room where a lonely stool is settled. “Whoever volunteers for the proceedings tonight will gain eternal memory for centuries to come.”

The gathering of Death Eaters shifts with Riddle’s words a wave of movement sparked on one side and carried through the gathering—coordinated discomfort. 

Dorcas gets the distinct impression that they were unaware of their more hands-on participation in the ritual. 

“Bellatrix,” Riddle calls, holding his hand out in the direction of a woman with wild hair and equally chaotic eyes. “The necklace.”

The woman pulls a necklace from her pocket, laying the charm in the palm of Riddle’s hand. It’s an exact replica of the one around Marlene’s neck. Beside her, Marlene is rubbing at her chest where the pendant hangs. 

“Now,” Riddle says, smile sharpening, “who—“

A commotion from the opposite end of the room interrupts his statement, causing Riddle to scowl at the ornate door on the opposite wall from them. Marlene and Dorcas crane in their position to see Sirius and Remus, escorted by two Death Eaters, shoved onto the floor in front of Riddle. 

This isn’t ideal, but Dorcas’ mind is already whirring through possibilities to get them out of this. Maybe they’ll just have to save the total dissolution of the organization for another day. 

Something sours inside her at the thought. 

“Well, well, well,” Riddle says, genuine glee flashing across his face. “If it isn’t the heir to the great and noble House of Black,” Riddle flicks his hand, and Remus is dragged to the sidelines kicking and pulling at his bonds all the way. If they weren’t both gagged, Dorcas is sure that pure vitriol would be spilling from his lips. 

Sirius remains perfectly still, eyes burning where he’s knelt in front of the platform. Riddle starts walking around the elevated edge, gesturing with his words and smiling. 

“Isn’t this fortunate?” Riddle asks, “A volunteer for our great journey. Though, I doubt he’ll appreciate the honor.”

Marlene stiffens beside Dorcas, muscles tensed to move, so Dorcas grips her wrist tugging her down where she started to rise. Marlene looks at her, and she’s all wide eyes and set jaw, fearful and brave in equal measure. Dorcas wants to tuck her behind the wall, hide her from Riddle and save her the pain of watching what’s happening in front of them, save this fragile thing that’s been growing between them from the start. 

But she can’t.

Instead, Dorcas slips their fingers together and begs her with her eyes not to be brave about this. To stay put and wait until they know what they’re doing. To just give Dorcas two minutes to get her head together and find a solution.

There absolutely has to be a solution. There’s a way out of this she just–Dorcas just needs to figure it out.

She can figure it out.

Just give her two minutes, fuck.

“You were a prodigy, weren’t you Mr. Black?” Riddle is asking, some time in the interim Sirius’ gag was removed, but his lips are pressed into a thin line. Dorcas is internally begging him to say something . Appease Riddle now so he can hope for laxity later. 

He doesn’t though. Sirius remains rigid and stone-faced as Riddle paces in front of him. 

Dorcas is struck by the dissonance. Riddle, with innate authority over whether Sirius lives or dies, traces small circles in slithering patterns. Sirius, with absolutely no viable escape from Riddle, kneels defiantly with prideful indifference. Captor and captive in opposition.

For a moment, with the dangerous gleam in Sirius’ eyes, Dorcas isn’t certain which is which.

“I heard about it of course,” Riddle continues, distaste coloring his tone, “when you turned down a perfectly respectable position with the ministry to go your own way.” He grins, fingers slipping the chain of the necklace through his fingers restlessly, “I almost respected the decision, until I discovered your allies in the endeavor.” Riddle clucks his tongue, “Perfectly good plan, muddled by bad stock.”

“Fuck you,” Sirius seethes, teeth bared at the mention of his friends. There’s something wild about him, but Riddle must not sense the danger. He laughs.

“This is what I’m talking about,” Riddle announces, gesturing at Sirius and smiling. “That is passion. Conviction. This is what those with the Gift gain from keeping bloodlines pure. ” He holds the necklace up and tangles his fingers with the chain with something like reverence in his gaze. “Prodigies emerge. The Gift lasts longer and is stronger. The charity cases institutions like Hogwarts entertain only impede and distract from what we have understood from the beginning. What the Hallow facilitated and others were too narrow-minded to comprehend.”

Cold dread drips down Dorcas’ spine. She has seen a lot in her life and fought literal ghosts, but nothing compares to the look on Riddle’s face. The manic gleam shines through like a beacon of insanity. 

“Just look at Sirius Black,” Riddle says, gaze hardening as he looks around the room. “Regardless of his decisions, the Gift remains strong with him. That is blood. That is power.”

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of Riddle’s declaration settling like a physical presence. Grandiose and inarguable. 

Sirius drops his head to his chest, shoulders shaking. 

For a moment, Dorcas thinks he’s crying. 

When he looks up, the whole room stills from the look on his face, even Remus hesitating in his stilted efforts to escape. Dorcas finds herself holding her breath. 

His eyes are wet, but Sirius is laughing . He takes in a shuddering breath of air, and laughs , bright and clear and utterly at odds with the room, the speech, and the circumstances. Sirius Black is facing eminent doom as an experiment in a blood purist’s scheme, and he is laughing.

“You–” Sirius starts before dissolving into peels of laughter again. “You are such an idiot.”  

Riddle, who had been frowning quizzically at the display, scowls in earnest at Sirius’ words. 

“I mean, shit,” Sirius grins, aftershocks of laughter shaping his tone. “I thought that it was the worst thing that could’ve happened to me, but it’s almost worth it just knowing how wrong it makes you.”

“What,” Riddle snaps, fist clenching around his grip on the necklace, leaving impressions of the design on his palm. “What is so funny about this to you?”

“I lost the Gift,” Sirius says, laughter disappearing from his face as he locks eyes with Riddle. “My blood didn’t preserve shit, and you’re a fucking idiot.”

Silence hangs in the air for a moment, thick with the promise of recompense. Riddle’s hands are shaking as the room titters with nervousness, Death Eaters shifting in their positions around the platform in a flutter of robes and anxious glances. 

Sirius returns to his stillness, jaw set and eyes shining with defiant mirth. 

“Prepare him for the ritual,” Riddle orders, voice cold and hands still as he glares at Sirius. 

“But My Lord, you said—“ one of the Death Eaters says, voice shaking with trepidation. 

“I know what I said,” Riddle snaps, turning to the Death Eater that spoke with a scathing glare. 

Lightning flashes through the sky, illuminating the room in stark light for a moment through the windows at the top of the room. The thick drapes that cover the wall behind the raised platform flare with a strong gust of wind, spatters of rain flicking across the floor with the motion. 

Riddle opens his mouth, and thunder claps, shaking the space, and leaving the room with limited light as several torches sputter out. 

“Take him to the pedestal,” Riddle snaps, and the Death Eater holding Sirius in place stumbles to comply. 

The storm rages on, the wind whips the curtains inward, the edges of the fabric touch the rim of the platform and thunder shakes the room again. Sirius is dragged up the platform, Riddle stepping down to mutter something to one of the Death Eaters on the fringe. 

Several things happen at once, and Dorcas can do nothing but watch as the chaos unfolds. 

Remus, breaking free from the Death Eater holding him, stumbles toward the platform, toward Sirius, with his hands trapped behind his back. 

Marlene, rising from her crouch and shouting Sirius’ name with a wretched croak like the noise was torn from the center of her chest. 

Riddle, pivoting from his whispers and staring, slack-jawed at the proceedings. 

Lightning, casting the platform in stark relief. 

And at the center of everything, Sirius, kicking out at the Death Eater restraining him, and tripping on the opposite side of the platform. The Death Eater recoils, gripping his stomach as Sirius continues his trajectory unimpeded but uncontrolled. 

Sirius falls, and Dorcas hadn’t realized how close the windows were to the edge of the platform or that the storm had blown the floor-to-ceiling panes open, leaving an opening into the courtyard below. 

Until Sirius disappeared through the curtain, Dorcas didn’t realize that it was possible for someone to fall through the gap and down the four floors to the ground below. 

Apparently, it is. 

Sirius Black fell through the curtain, and absolute pandemonium unfolded. 

~

Lightning streaks across the sky, sharp and startling as thunder rumbles in its wake. 

There’s a sickness to this sort of storm. Lily tries not to focus on the strange tinge of the sky, and the abnormal lift of the hair on her arms when fresh bolts break through the clouds. Lily jumps, grasping at Pandora’s hand like a tangible lifeline.

Her teeth are chattering in the cold, her clothes are plastered to her skin from the sudden downpour, and it’s the only reason the air isn’t filled with chatter. She wishes desperately–and perhaps senselessly–to push words into the air and press back against the oppressive pounding of the storm. 

If she could talk, then maybe it wouldn’t be so fucking terrifying. 

Lily isn’t entirely certain where they are in the city. Pandora had started to lead her through familiar backroads when they first left Grimmauld, but as the storm grew heavier and the streets became darker, Lily gave up on trying to figure out where they were. 

Pandora knows where they are, and Lily is simply trailing after her. 

It’s a nice change of pace. 

As much as Lily is constantly fighting for control, she finds herself relaxing into letting go with Pandora. If it were anyone else, she would be buzzing with anxiety over their position, tripping over herself to get a grasp on the situation. But it’s Pandora. 

Pandora, who is all sharp wit and soft smiles warm hands with gentle fingers. Pandora, who uncovered the shattered ugly parts of Lily and cradled them with reverence. Pandora, who just kept coming back and who Lily could never let go of. 

Lily has never been able to release control, but it’s Pandora, and how could she ever withhold anything from her now?

Pandora leads her up a set of crumbling steps and under an awning. The cover does almost nothing for the rain since it’s coming at an angle now, but the illusion of protection loosens the tightness that had gathered in Lily’s chest.

Lightning flashes across the sky as Pandora turns to her, backlit, and if Lily didn’t know any better, she would say it was green . 

She needs to get a grip.

“Hey, hey,” Pandora, lovely kind Pandora, says, voice almost drowned by the storm and shaky hands framing Lily’s face. “Are you okay?”

Lily wants to say I’m fine, to dissipate the pressure of the anxiety that is spreading across Pandora’s face. But the words stick in her throat and catch behind her teeth, dry and aching despite the sogginess of the storm. 

“Let’s breathe for a minute,” Pandora offers when several beats pass punctuated only by Lily’s harsh breaths and the roll of thunder. 

Pandora takes Lily’s hands and places them on her shoulders, lacing their fingers together, and breathes deep so their hands lift with the motion. Lily does her best to fill her lungs in the same way.

There’s really no reason that Lily should be panicking. She’s done more high-risk investigations for less, but there’s something in the strangeness of the storm and the flickering nerves in Marlene’s eyes when they split up that rests heavy in her chest. Like the slow and methodical cinching of a constraint across her ribs, stealing her breath in increments. 

It’s fine. 

“Everything is fine,” Pandora murmurs, and it’s different when she says it. Settling rather than invalidating and Lily feels the thundering of her pulse slow as her breaths align with Pandora’s more and more. Lily risks a glance up and finds nothing but care in the slant of Pandora’s smile.

It’s fine.

And Lily actually believes it a little now. 

When the thrumming in Lily’s blood feels more like adrenaline and less like her own impending doom, Lily pulls their linked hands down from their perch across Pandora’s shoulders and releases them with a squeeze. 

“Better?” Pandora asks head tilted and eyes bright with concern.

“Better,” Lily repeats and means it. 

“Good,” Pandora smiles, retrieving a key from beneath a flower pot full of muddy soil and a single wisp of a stem. “Because we’re here.”

They stumble inside, and Lily has never been in this part of the ministry before. They trail down several halls before the floor changes from the tile they had been dripping and slipping across to plush carpets. It soaks up the water much better, and they leave a trail of soppy footprints in their wake. Lily feels slightly bad for whoever has to clean up after them, but they don’t have time to do anything about it.

Doors line the corridor with gilded placards set into the wood. The walls are punctuated by portraits of stern-looking officials glaring down at them as they pass. The deeper they trail through the halls, the more distant the storm becomes until the only sound is their breathing and the squelch of their shoes across the carpet.

Lily is glancing at the nameplates before one name draws her feet to a stop, Gaspar Avery, stares back at her in innocent gold letters. 

The name rings in her head, familiar and foreign in equal measure. She feels with some strange certainty that she knows this. That this is where she’s meant to go. 

“Did you find it?” Pandora asks, turning around from where she’d made several strides without Lily. 

“Not quite,” Lily says because this is not the person Marlene told them about. 

You need to find Mulciber’s office, Marlene had said, hurried and twisting a ring around her thumb in nervous motions, Mary is certain that there was something important there before she–well you know.

And Lily did know, though she was never certain why they danced around the fact that Mary is dead so often. She never met Mary, but there’s a sense of familiarity and affection that Marlene has for her after only a few days that Lily gets the distinct impression they could’ve been friends. 

And this is most certainly not Mulciber’s office, but well Lily’s gut hasn’t steered her wrong yet and there is something about the name that is tugging at her memory. 

Why is it familiar? 

It’s the kind of question that always gets Lily in trouble. The same sort of nagging feeling that drew her to the disappearing people and to Pandora and into countless messes before. Lily can’t quit on something once she gets a feel for it, and this name isn’t going to be the exception, no matter how pressed for time they are.

“I have a feeling about this room,” Lily explains when Pandora draws closer, pressing their shoulders together as she glances over the placard. 

“Avery, huh?” Pandora says, a curious note tucked into her tone. 

Pandora has never been good at giving up on something either. 

Hearing the name out loud, strikes Lily differently, though. Like a key turning in the lock and releasing with a sure click. 

Avery.

Moments from the past few days fall together,

The party, with Narcissa interrogating Avery for information on a missing woman. Avery, who had a strangely familiar voice.

The Blackwood house, with a man that Lily is almost certain, was Avery, complaining about the hallow and the necklace and the ritual. 

Marlene, at the center of it all. 

Below the name in fine cursive print, Department of Inquiries Supervisor. Lily had badgered the same department for months regarding the missing persons being overlooked. The same department Lily investigated with scrutiny for its proclivity of hiring those who lost the gift and not reporting when they stopped showing up for work. The same department Lily had tried to expose with her article. 

Lily drops her duffle to the ground, rummaging through for her lock-picking set. Regardless of what Marlene said or what Mary thought or what they needed to do, Lily needs to figure out what the fuck Avery is doing in the middle of everything. If she could just find the picks–

“What are you looking for?” Pandora asks, Leaning against the doorframe opposite Lily and crossing her arms. 

“My pick set,” Lily says, scowling at her bag as the case remains elusive. 

“Okay,” Pandora says, drawing out the vowel, “but have you considered,” she reaches forward, gripping the door handle and turning it in one smooth unimpeded motion. 

He didn’t lock the door.

“Huh,” Lily frowns, stuffing her bag shut again and throwing it over her shoulder. “I would’ve figured that out eventually.”

“I’m sure,” Pandora agrees, a grin tucked into her lips as she pushes the door open fully. 

“I would’ve,” Lily insists, face flushing as she glances around the office, avoiding Pandora’s bright eyes. 

“Of course,” she says, trailing after Lily and looking entirely too smug about the whole situation. 

There are no windows in the office, and Lily can’t help but think it makes the room feel all the more oppressive. The walls are lined with books, spines uncracked, and dust collecting across the surface, purely a display. The large oak desk at the center of the room is mostly empty, with two plush chairs across from it and a large, ostentatious seat behind it. 

While Pandora trails through the filing wooden cabinet behind the desk, Lily rummages through the desk drawers. Her first dig through them reveals nothing more incriminating than a suspicious ink stain hidden by several scrap notes and a broken pen. She can still hear Pandora digging through the cabinets, but Lily can’t help but feel like she’s missing something.

So, she goes through the drawers again, bottom to top. 

When she gets to the last drawer, the long one that rests at the center of the desk, Lily settles into the over-plush chair and pulls it out as far as it can go. There’s something slightly off about the weight of it, containing only a few fancy pens and a blank pad of paper but feeling much heavier when the drawer rests in her hands. 

Honestly, fuck it. 

She empties it out, scattering the miscellaneous contents across the bare desktop and pressing her fingers into the groves of the inside of the drawer. 

Nothing, just wood. 

She pushes the chair back kneeling in front of the desk and looks at the drawer from the front. Looking at it now, it’s obvious that the drawer is deeper than the part she’s seen and the face of the drawer is engraved with swirling patterns and knobs that follow the grain of the wood. But there, right at the center where the depth of the drawer she emptied ends is a thin line. 

“Pandora,” Lily calls, squinting at the wood, “you like puzzles right?”

“Ooh,” Pandora grins, slipping into a cross-legged position next to Lily, “wooden trick boxes are the best, I think I know what kind of pattern they used for this.”

“Do you think you can open it?” Lily asks, settling back on her hands while Pandora trails her fingers across the woodgrain.

“Do you think you can open it,” Pandora scoffs, smiling when a piece of the wood slips out of place under her careful prodding. “Please,” she says, pressing two notches on the drawer at once and releasing some kind of mechanism so the whole front comes off in one slightly deformed piece. 

“You’re amazing,” Lily breathes, kissing her hard and fast, leaving Pandora blinking up at her with a grin, before pulling out the papers she revealed. 

“Oh,” Pandora says, putting the drawer front on top of the desk and smiling at Lily as she shuffled through the information. 

“Oh,” Lily says, her smile dropping from her face as she takes in the list in front of her. Something cold settles at the base of her throat, clinging and unsettling. 

It’s just—she knows these names. They’re the missing people she’s been investigating and begging for people to pay attention to. It’s all the people whose families she’s spoken to over the past few months, the ones she’s reassured and shared tea with and comforted. 

It’s just—it’s almost like she knows them, after learning so much about them. It’s thirty names, thirty people, that she’s come to care about in some way or another. 

And their names are in a list that’s titled possible tributes in flippant scrawling letters. 

It’s just—Lily feels like she might throw up and isn’t sure how to articulate that in a way that makes sense. 

For the second time today, words evade her grasp. 

“Lily,” Pandora says with the distinct tone of a person who has had to repeat themselves multiple times. 

“Yeah,” Lily croaks, throat catching on the word and hands shaking where they're gripping the paper. 

Pandora covers them with her own and she’s so warm. The chill that had grasped Lily’s bones recedes. Maybe today is just not Lily’s day to be calm, but Pandora seems to be picking up the slack with familiar ease. 

“We need to go,” Pandora says, her voice calm despite the urgency her words imply. “Try to see if we can hit Mulciber’s office too before heading back to Grimmauld. Get as much evidence as possible.”

“Yeah,” Lily says, feeling like a broken record. 

She shakes herself into action, slipping the whole stack of papers into a waterproof case before shoving the whole thing in her duffle. In the meantime, Pandora has replaced the drawer and tidied the cabinets. If it weren’t for the wet spots on the carpet, their tampering with the room would be completely concealed. 

It’ll dry. 

They continue down the hall, checking door placards with their hands clasped together, and nothing is okay but with Pandora with her, it’s easier to think that it will be.

Maybe even soon.

~

The situation is less than ideal.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Mary hisses, voice constrained even though Marlene is literally the only person who can hear her. “I’m trapped with the one person on earth with the self-preservation of a wet paper towel.” 

Marlene snorts and Dorcas nudges her anxiously from beside her, eyes wide and lips pressed together. 

Right, not funny. 

After Sirius–

After Marlene shouted, Death Eaters converged on their hiding spot and constrained them. Riddle had rambled for several minutes about blood and purity and power, but Marlene had just kept staring at the torn curtain and the way water is pooling around the shattered glass on the floor from the rain.

She keeps blinking and hoping he’ll just–appear in the empty space. He always comes back, but they’re on the fourth floor and–

The situation is less than ideal. 

Remus is on the floor to Marlene’s left, body slumped precariously but breath coming steady and even. Mary sits beside him, hands fluttering as if she could do something for the situation and eyes burning with vitriol every time Riddle opens his mouth. Dorcas is pressed against her right, their hands are tied beyond their backs but she’s a line of warmth from her shoulder to elbow. 

Death eaters seem to fill the entire room, somehow feeling like more people than it had seemed from the outside. Trapped in the middle of the circle of people, kneeling in front of the platform, they seem to have multiplied. 

Riddle keeps gesturing with the necklace, and the replica feels like it’s burning where it’s pressed against her skin under her shirt. She’s inexplicably scared that Riddle will just–know that she has it and rip it from her. 

Mary keeps muttering, voice soft and eyes hard where they track Riddle’s movements. She flinches every time he passes. 

Marlene wants desperately to hit him. She could take him in a fight, he’s tall but lanky and pale. Marlene has been fighting ghosts her whole life and spent a significant amount of her adult life sparring with men who were definitely stronger than Riddle. 

Just one good punch would be cathartic. 

“Lots of rats in the house today,” Riddle sneers, scowling at the door.

And there, escorted all in a line and similarly bound, are James, Peter, Emmeline, and Alice. There goes the hope of rescue. The group is shoved to their knees on the other side of Dorcas.

James catches Marlene’s eye, glancing at Remus and the empty space beside him that is usually occupied by Sirius. She shakes her head, blinking back tears. Something shatters and then shutters in his face. Something like devastation, something like rage. 

“No matter,” Riddle says, waving his hand flippantly. “More volunteers for our purposes, I suppose. Which of you has the gift?” 

None of them move. Without even a twitch of indication, Riddle sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Marlene wants to break it.

“Fine, fine,” he says, shrugging, “we’ll just work from one end of the line to the other shall we?” he glances over at Remus and clucks his tongue in displeasure before looking to the other end, where Emmeline sits, chin lifted indignantly. “You’ll do,” he says, gesturing to Emmeline and two Death Eaters step forward to drag her to the chair.

They barely make it to the edge of the platform before Marlene realizes that this is actually happening. This isn’t some dream or nightmare, Riddle is actually, actively going to kill one of her closest friends. Marlene has never been scared like this before, not at a hunt and not with her parents. This is different. 

“Wait!” The declaration echoes through the room and it takes Marlene to realize it came from her own mouth. The room has frozen at her shout, Riddle looking at her with a curious tilt to his mouth. “Just–wait. Emmeline isn’t even–she doesn’t have the gift. Her death would be pointless.”

“A bit of the Gift lingers in everyone,” Riddle says, jerking his chin toward the group and spurring the Death Eaters holding Emmeline to shove her back to the floor. “It’s more…malleable with those that manifest attributes, but her death wouldn’t be for nothing. There is something learned in failure.”

“Tonight isn’t about experimenting though, is it?” Marlene asks, pieces clicking together in her mind. She stands up, and Riddle lifts a hand, halting the Death Eater that had lunged for her with the movement. “The veil between worlds is especially thin. If you wanted to create a bridge, this is your only chance.”

“Create a bridge?” Riddle laughs, clasping his hands behind his back and coming to stand in front of Marlene on the platform. Marlene has to crane her neck to see him, and she glares as he smirks down at her. “Is that what you think I’m doing? My aspirations are quite different from that of the original Hallow, though I do appreciate their insights.”

“Then what–” Marlene starts, stifling a shocked gasp when lightning starts to streak across the sky. 

“There are greater goals in the world than complete convergence,” Riddle says with a sigh. “A messy business, that. No, I only want to enhance the gift me and my followers already have. The Gift is wasted on those with little ambition. Those who might shy away from it. Why should it be wasted on those who don’t even want it, when it could be given to those who can actually use it?”

“At the cost of their lives?” Marlene asks, aghast and sick with the thought of all those that came before her and may have knelt on this very floor and died in this very room.

“All great thinkers take risks,” Riddle says, “no innovation has been made without the way being paved with the bodies of those not strong enough to bear the weight of greatness.”

Mary scoffs, rising from her place on the floor, and starts to circle the platform. There’s a frenetic energy about her, something unhinged and sparking.

“Mary isn’t weak,” Marlene finds herself saying. “The people you sacrificed aren’t some foundation for your own narcissism. This isn’t about preserving power,” Marlene scoffs, “you’re losing the gift, aren’t you?” Marlene asks and revels in the drop of Riddle’s smirk. “How long did it take before the fear of obsoleteness broke your sense of morality? How many people who lost the gift have you killed for the sake of your own ego? Can’t you see yourself in them? Or does that make it easier to kill them, when the reflection of your own inadequacies stares you in the eye and begs you for mercy? Your genius is nothing more than sickness bolstered by the anxiety of people even weaker than you. Your aspirations are as shameful as those buried beneath Hogwarts and you’ll die with the same anonymity as those that came before you.”

Thunder rolls through the room, shaking the panes of glass and tugging at the ripped curtains. Adrenaline is thrumming through Marlene’s veins and the silence of the room is stark in the aftermath. 

“How do you know about Mary?” Riddle asks, eyes dark as he glares at Marlene. 

“I–” Marlene blinks, glancing at Mary standing to Riddle's left, and shrinking back at the look on his face when she looks at him again. 

“You can see her,” Riddle says, expression caught between delight and disdain. It’s an interesting exhibit of duplicity. “It worked , it should have–” He lifts the necklace in his hand and stares at it hard before whipping around to glare at the woman who handed it to him before. “Is this the necklace?” 

“My Lord–” the woman starts, frantic eyes skittering around the room.

“Is this the necklace?” He repeats, shaking the chain and walking across the platform to stand in front of her. 

“No,” she admits, jaw set and eyes hard as Riddle seethes in front of her, “it’s not.” 

Riddle turns away from her returning to the platform before pivoting and throwing the necklace at her. It barely grazes the top of her head before hitting the pillar behind her, the metal pendant caught in the concrete. 

“Bring her to the platform,” Riddle snaps, fingers flexing on empty air and knuckles cracking with the motion. 

“Me?” The woman asks, aghast, as two Death Eaters grab her.

“What? No,” Riddle says, anger making his motions jerky as he gestures to Marlene. “Her.”

Protests ring out as Emmeline and Peter start shouting, Dorcas lunging for one of the Death Eaters that come to grab Marlene with such accuracy that he falls to the ground before kicking out at her, and James and Alice try to stand and fight but are tackled back to the floor. 

When Marlene catches the flash of a blade, she realizes that this isn’t a fight everyone is going to come out of unscathed. Sirius already–

“Stop,” Marlene says, and then louder, “Enough!” When everyone stops struggling, Marlene sighs, trying to find the words that will get them out of this. 

Riddle lifts an impatient eyebrow, lightning casting him in an eerie light. 

“If I do the ritual,” Marlene starts, swallowing heavily when the weight of her words settles across the room. “You let them all go.”

“And why would I do that?” Riddle asks, squinting at Marlene.

“Because you only have one shot anyway,” Marlene reasons, “if it works, then you have the weight of a success to undercut the cost of lives to get here. If it doesn’t, well, I don’t see either of us walking out of here. Power transference is messy and if you fuck this up, neither of us ever leave.”

Riddle hums, “I could kill them either way and you’d never know,” he says, smirking at her and Marlene’s stomach drops. “But I respect your grit. Very well, if you do the ritual, I’ll let them all go.” 

His word means absolutely nothing to Marlene, but there isn’t much more she can do. 

“No fucking self-preservation,” Mary mutters trailing beside her as Marlene steps onto the platform. “Please tell me you have some sort of plan.”

Marlene settles onto the stool, facing the broken window and shivering as a gust of wind blows across her, and shakes her head in response. 

“Fucking fantastic,” Mary sighs, scrubbing her hands over her face before twisting her braids together, finger frantic and frenetic energy still clinging to her frame. 

Marlene has only known Mary for a few days, but she’s not sure she’d rather have anyone standing up here with her. If anyone understands and empathizes with what is about to happen to her, it’s Mary. 

Riddle is rambling, her friends are begging her to fight, and Marlene is twitching to do something, anything, to fix this. 

At the end of the day, Marlene is not Lily, who would have escaped the bindings and fought back. Marlene is not Dorcas, who is still shouting and spitting obscenities at the whole situation. Marlene isn’t even Mary, who is pacing the length of the platform and trying desperately to save her. 

At the end of the day, she’s Marlene McKinnon, and she is so very tired of fighting. 

~

They almost made it out.

Lily’s hand in hers, a bag stuffed with documents, and laughter caught in her throat. Pulling the door shut behind them and tugging Lily into motion down the hall and–

They almost made it out, is the thing.

They were so close, leaving behind the foreboding portraits and intricate placards. Pandora turned a corner, looking back to catch the smile spreading across Lily’s face, and then–

Almost. 

“What are you doing here?” A man asks, blocking the hallway and glaring at Pandora with considerable concentration. 

“Um,” Pandora says, looking down at their soaked clothes, stuffed bags, and suspicious circumstances. “We’re cleaning?”

Lily looks at her, incredulous for a moment before shifting her expression to one of indifference. 

“You’re cleaning?” The man repeats, tone flat as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Of course,” Lily affirms, looking at the man like he’s absurd for questioning it. “We got caught in the storm before we could come in. Had to leave most of our supplies in the van. We were just waiting for a break in the storm to try to get home.”

“Right,” he says, shifting, and Pandora realizes he’s not even security. He’s dressed in dark-wash jeans and a black sweater, his baseball cap emblazoned with Sunny Side Catering in golden letters. 

“What are you doing here?” Pandora asks, squinting at him suspiciously. 

“I–um,” he starts, face flushing.

“Stan,” another man calls, voice carrying from the other end of the hall, “did you find them?”

Pandora glances at Lily, who simply shrugs, and perhaps they aren’t the only ones here without permission in the middle of a storm. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be stealing files from the offices, would you?” the man asks, sounding tired and shoulders slumping when Pandora and Lily stare at him, caught out and too stunned to lie adequately. “Oh, well fuck me. I guess I have to take you in?” He says, uncertain and looking put out by the whole ordeal. 

“You could at least say no next time,” another man huffs, coming up beside Stan and huffing slightly from exertion before taking in Pandora and Lily’s presence. Lily waves slightly from beside her and Pandora sighs pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oh fuck, you two aren’t here for the files are you?”

“Oh, just tell them what to steal, why don’t you,” Stan scoffs, glaring at the other man.

“Just clarifying,” the other man says, lifting his hands in surrender before dropping his bag to the floor and pulling out a bundle of zip ties. “Sorry about this, but you two are gonna have to come with us.”

Pandora takes a tentative step back, judging the distance between here and the end of the next hallway. She knows from experience that they can run pretty fast, but the duffle bags will be tricky. They should have worn backpacks.

“And if we don’t?” Lily asks, clearly weighing their options as well.

Stan sighs, somehow even more put upon by the question, before pulling out a gun and thumbing the handle with familiarity. “I guess I’d have to use this. He didn’t say to bring the thieves in alive, per se, but I’d rather not have to clean the blood out of these carpets.”

Pandora is willing to risk a lot, but never Lily. Never like this. 

“Fine,” Pandora says, dropping her bag to the floor and lifting her hands, Lily following suit with considerably more trepidation. 

Pandora gets it, really, it’s her whole story in these bags. All those people she was trying to find or hoping to save. Proof of involvement within the ministry. But the hard truth of the matter is that those people are dead, and Pandora would love to give them peace, but she’d rather keep Lily alive. 

“Sorry about this,” the other man says, gathering Pandora’s hands behind her back and fastening her wrists together, repeating the process on Lily. 

He’s surprisingly good at it, tight enough that there is no chance that Pandora can wiggle out but not so constricting that she loses feeling in her fingers. Who the fuck are these guys?

“Right,” Stan says, gathering the duffels with one hand while keeping the gun steady in the other. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

The other man leads them down a service corridor to a garage and into the back of a nondescript black sedan. Overall, it’s the most polite method of kidnapping that Pandora has ever experienced. 

The duffles are thrown into the trunk and Stan settles into the passenger seat, gun loose in his fingers, as the other man starts up the car. 

They almost made it out. 

But not quite. 

Chapter Text

Riddle is rambling, but Marlene couldn’t give a fuck less. 

Mary is still pacing in front of her, and Marlene thinks that shock or something must be setting in because it almost seems like the lightning streaking across the sky is reacting to the twist of Mary’s hands through the air. 

Bright arches reflecting flippant fingers. 

Marlene might be losing it a little. 

“And I do believe you have something of mine,” Riddle says, suddenly filling Marlene’s vision as he crouches in front of her, long limbs folded under him. 

“I think the fuck not,” Marlene says, tone even despite the bubbling anger in her chest. 

“The necklace,” Riddle replies, equally flat, and tilts his head at her. “It’s strange that you had to do absolutely nothing to benefit from the labor of those before you. The least you could do is return what you stole.”

“I could do less,” Marlene sniffs. 

He might kill her, but she’s never been known for holding her tongue. Her mother called her obstinate . Marlene likes to think she’s just tenacious . 

“Oh, my mistake,” Riddle purses his lips, “I was under the impression you wanted your friends to leave here alive .”

Marlene swallows. Right. If it was just her life on the line, it would be different. Marlene has always been much more careful with the well-being of others than herself. 

“Don’t—” Mary starts, but Marlene is already talking over her protests. 

“I’m wearing it,” Marlene says, teeth aching with the admission and the sting of bile aching in the back of her throat. 

“You fucking idiot,” Mary sighs, with much more gentleness than the words imply.

“Was that so hard?” Riddle asks, slipping the necklace from around Marlene’s neck.

It takes every ounce of self-control she has left not to lash out at him. 

Riddle continues to speak, something about the ceremony, something about honor, something about blood. And then something in a language Marlene doesn’t recognize. Mary recoils as Riddle continues to project the words into the room behind them. Marlene can’t see him, just the raging storm outside, but the harsh click of his shoes across the platform punctuates his presence. 

Marlene is trying not to focus on the way rain has started to seep into the edges of her shoes–there’s nothing worse than wet socks–when she feels it, a shift somewhere behind her ribcage. 

At first, it’s just uncomfortable, but the longer Riddle’s words permeate the air the harder it is to ignore it. It’s–different, from anything she’s felt before. A clinging stretch from the inside, like there’s something reaching in and pulling. It’s starting to burn.

Marlene’s eyes are watering, and the blurred image of Mary crouching in front of her seems to almost glow as she murmurs, those anxious hands fluttering around her. Lightning cracks behind her, a moment of clarity, and Marlene is taken aback by the fury alighting Mary’s features. She’s never seen rage like this, clinging to Mary and seeming to shimmer in the air around her. 

Marlene might be losing it a little. 

The ache in her chest twists suddenly, ripping a shout from her throat unbidden, and the room shakes, knocking Marlene to the floor with the force of it. When she blinks back the stars from her eyes, Riddle is sprawled on the floor across from her, staring past Marlene with something like awe on his face. Beyond him, most of the Death Eaters and Marlene’s friends are also strewn about the floor and looking behind her.

It’s becoming difficult to keep her eyes open, pain flaring from her ribcage through to her fingertips. Feeling fuzzy, she tips her head in the opposite direction and grins. 

Mary, backlit by the raging storm and shrouded in gentle light, is glaring at the room at large. Righteous fury threaded through her movements as she steps between Marlene and Riddle.

“It worked,” Riddle murmurs, scrambling upright from his sprawled position. 

“Not quite,” Mary counters, tilting her head at Riddle and cracking her knuckles, thunder rolling with the motion. 

“I can see you,” Riddle says, rising from the floor and circling Mary, eyes ravenous. “I can hear you. How is this not a success? I’ve made history.”

“You didn’t make anything,” Mary counters, tracing Riddle’s movements with a frown, “you don’t even understand what you did, do you?” She grins, sharp and demeaning, “Everyone can see me right now. Once again, you remain unimpressive among your peers and predecessors.”

Riddle stops, fingers tangling in the chain of Marlene’s necklace and eyes flickering between Mary and the collection of Death Eaters scattered behind him, anxious. 

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking,” Mary says, walking down the platform and trailing her fingers through the curtains, Marlene has to blink several times at the sight because it almost seems like the fabric ripples under her touch. The storm has quieted, but Marlene’s head is still spinning. “After you killed me,” she clarifies, tipping her head toward Riddle, “about why I lingered, why Marlene could see me, why it had to be me out of all those people you killed in this room, on those steps. It was different for me, though, wasn’t it?”

“What–”

“You didn’t mean to,” Mary interrupts, “all that careful planning, predetermined tributes, and it was only by fucking accident that you managed to get something right. And you still don’t even know what it was.”

Riddle seethes, jaw clenched, while several Death Eaters shift uncomfortably at the declaration. 

“Do you want to guess?” Mary asks, hands clasped behind her back and her smile positively scathing.

“I–” Riddle starts, swallowing harshly, and darting his gaze between his followers. “I don’t–”

“I didn’t think so,” Mary sighs, crunching glass as she returns to the center of the platform. “It’s about intention.” Mary clucks her tongue at his confused stare, “Honestly, think if you can. The Hallow, the three brothers , Helena and Hogwarts. The gift manifests and dissipates through intention. You treat it like currency, something to give and take, but it’s not. It’s inherent, it grows and changes with everyone throughout their lives. Everyone has a bit of the gift in them, but you already knew that part,” she glares at Riddle, cutting, and thunder rumbles with the clench of her jaw, “you funneled the remains of the gift from those between changes, where the gift was unstable in them. You weren’t able to collect strength from those who didn’t deserve it, you drew the life force from people with unstable energies.” 

“That’s not possible,” Riddle argues.

Wind rushes through the room, biting and abrupt, and blows out the remaining torches in the room. Marlene shivers against the onslaught, unable to shift when every twitch sends renewed pain through her chest and the increased weight in her bones dragging her down. The room remains illuminated by the burning glow surrounding Mary and the consistent flashes of lightning outside. 

Mary steps toward Riddle and he flinches back, “You know nothing of possibility,” Mary says, voice cold.

The pain in Marlene’s chest slams through her again, seeming to latch on to every nerve in her spine and yank. She might scream, but it’s hard to tell over the sudden increase of noise in the room. Bright spots are spinning through the room, anguished voices and yells ringing through the room, and walls shaking with the rumble of thunder. But then again, maybe Marlene is just hallucinating.

She’s kind of hoping that she’s dreaming. That she passed out and this is all some strange nightmare.

“Marlene,” and, yeah, Marlene’s probably dreaming because that’s Dorcas, warm hands trailing over Marlene’s shoulders and cupping her face. “Hey, hey, I need you to focus on me. Can you hear me?”

“Hm,” Marlene says, biting back a shout of pain that the movement of her mouth causes. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Dorcas rambles, eyes bright with worry and hands shaking. “Maybe not talking then, just keep your eyes open.” 

Marlene tries, but her eyes get heavier and heavier the longer that Dorcas rubs soothing circles into the back of her neck. She’s tired , okay? And Dorcas is there. 

It’s fine.

“That’s enough,” Riddle snaps, voice shaking. “You’ve proven your point.”

His voice seems to ripple through the room, words watery and falling into each other. Everything is starting to seem blurred at the edges, dreamlike and distant. Riddle’s words echo through her head, hollow and so, so far away.

“Who are you to determine the cost of my suffering,” Mary counters, her voice different from how Marlene’s ever heard it before. Frigid and bitter and far too calm. 

The room is becoming a watercolor of space, curtains and floors and people spilling together until the whole image is muddled beyond comprehension. Everything spins, and Dorcas begs her to stay awake.

But Marlene is tired. 

She slips into the darkness, quiet and undisturbed by the chaos. 

~

It’s not the first time Pandora had been kidnapped—it’s not even the first time she’s been held under duress with Lily —but it is the first time it’s been under such…unique circumstances. 

“Well, I’m not going to interrupt the ritual,” Stan says to his companion, ostensibly whispering but in reality, it’s just a very muted shout. “You saw what happened to Blackwood. I’m new but I’m not stupid.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” the man murmurs, scratching the side of his neck and sniffing. 

Stan scoffs, vividly offended, and the two dissolve into intense whispers and aborted gestures. 

Pandora takes a cautious step back. The men remain engrossed in their bickering. Lily grins at her, slowly coming to stand next to Pandora while they continue to argue. 

The storm is still raging outside, having picked up in intensity as the night wears on. Pandora is wary of going into it, lightning seems to strike the earth in random intervals, but the alternative is looking less and less survivable as Stan gestures with his gun with a scowl. 

The real question is whether they can get the duffles out of the trunk unscathed. 

Lily looks at her, and Pandora doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the certainty in her eyes, the adoration when she lifts a brow and grins, a small sacred thing. Lightning flashes, casting part of Lily’s face in bright light through the crack in the door, and Pandora is just a little in love. She bites back a smile, taking another careful step toward Lily, toward the door.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Stan says, their argument cutting abruptly as both men turn to face them. 

Their luck could not get any worse.

“Nowhere?” Lily says, voice lilting on the end like a question. 

“Right,” Stan sighs, striding across the room and corralling them to sit on the ornate steps of the entryway. “Just–stay there and let me think,” he rubs his temples and shushes the other man when he starts to talk. 

For a few moments, the only sounds in the room are Stan’s careful breathing and the storm pounding against the building.

“Alright,” Stan says, finally, clapping his hands together. “We’ll just wait until it sounds like they’re done and pop in. Easy peasy.”

“Right,” the other man drawls, crossing his arms. “And how will we know that?”

“I think we’d just–know, you know?”

“Fucks sake, Stan,” the man sighs, “we’re gonna have to–”

The rest of his statement is cut off by a truly impressive clap of thunder followed by screams echoing from the top of the stairs down to their perch. A shiver climbs its way down Pandora’s spine, and she tries to think rationally even as fear weaves its way through her ribcage.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Lily sniffs, glancing up the stairs, expression nonplussed. 

“The girl’s right,” Stan sighs, clapping his companion on the shoulder, “thanks for taking one for the team, you’re the best.”

“Me?” the man scoffs, jerking his shoulder out of Stan’s grip. “It’s your turn to go into the creepy room alone.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stan gasps, “I went into the ministry first alone! It was a whole thing, it’s your turn.”

“I have seniority,” the man says, pursing his lips.

Stan guffaws in offense, clapping a hand to his chest and rambling on in his defense. Pandora rolls her eyes and turns to Lily instead.

“Are you okay?” Pandora murmurs, warily tracking their captors’ movements. 

“Who me?” Lily asks, grin sharp, “Just peachy.” Lily knocks their shoulders together, her smile softening around the edges, “and you? How are you holding up with…all of this?”

“Who me?” Pandora echoes, grinning, “Never better.” She leans her temple against Lily’s shoulder watching as the two men break into a rather intense rock, paper, scissors match. “Any plans rattling around in that brilliant mind of yours?”

“Not as of yet,” Lily sighs, squinting as Stan throws his hands up, crowing in victory, “I think we work best when we just sort of–wing it.”

“Sure,” Pandora agrees, pressing her smile into Lily’s cheek before sitting up straight. 

Stan approaches them, his smile beaming as the other man steps around them on the stairs, mumbling curses the whole way to the top. It’s a long way up, so Pandora is begrudgingly impressed by his dedication to the bit.

The door creaks, long and loud, when he opens it, and the distress within the room multiplies as unintelligible shouting carries down the stairwell. 

Lightning flashes, making all three of them jump, as the front door bursts open. 

“Barty?” Stan asks, stunned. 

“Evan?” Pandora murmurs, squinting at the figures in the doorway. 

“Regulus,” Lily says, grinning as she takes in the trio. “What're you doing here?”

“Wait,” Stan says, gesturing between Pandora and Lily and the trio drenched from the storm lingering in the door. “How do you know each other?”

“How do you know them?” Pandora counters, taking in Barty’s nervous shuffle and Evan’s sudden interest in the ceiling. “Are you two smuggling? Again? After what happened with the boat?”

“The boat was a total anomaly,” Evan defends, catching his non-confession a beat later. Pandora lifts an unimpressed brow. “And, um, no?”

“We haven’t smuggled to him in any case,” Regulus sniffs, crossing his arms and eyeing Stan critically. “How do you know Barty?”

“Um,” Stan says, flushing a brilliant shade of red and fiddling with the buttons of his coat. “It really doesn’t matter—“

“Wait,” Regulus says, squinting between Barty and Stan. “I do recognize you. You’re from—“

“Anyway,” Barty interrupts, clapping his hands and studiously avoiding Evan and Regulus’ glares. “We didn’t come here for social graces. We’re here for the ladies, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah,” Stan says, scratching the side of his face with his thumb. “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he sighs, hand falling to the gun tucked in his belt. 

“And I’m afraid we won’t be leaving without them,” Regulus counters, squaring his shoulders and scowling. 

The strange standoff hangs in the room, Stan nervously toying with the safety of his gun while Regulus stubbornly stands his ground. 

The door at the top of the stairs slams shut, muffling the distress of its occupants, and everyone stills. 

“What’s going on up there?” Evan asks, eyes flicking between Stan and the stairs nervously. 

“Ritual,” Pandora says over the clamor. 

“A ritual,” Regulus repeats, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Great, are we going to stop it or wait around in the lobby?” 

“I’m for stopping it,” Lily shrugs, squinting at the winding staircase above her. 

“Great,” Barty says, slightly too enthusiastic, “Let's do that.”

Stan lifts his hands up in a calming gesture as one would with wild animals, and Lily gets that look in her eye she always does before doing something ridiculously stupid. 

“Don’t—“ Pandora says, too late. 

Lily launches up from her seat on the stairs, knocking Stan over and lodging the gun between his hip and the floor. 

The screaming upstairs intensifies and the storm seems to match, rumbling through the room with such strength that the lights flicker out, casting them in darkness. 

Somewhere to her right, Lily cries out in pain, while the boys seem to be trying to find a light of some sort in their bags. 

A gunshot rings through the room, and Pandora’s ears are ringing from the close quarters. 

And the not knowing. 

“Lily,” Pandora says, voice hushed even though the room is loud with the storm and the screams upstairs and the boys clamoring for a flashlight. “Lily,” she repeats, louder, her voice fraying at the edges. 

Pandora bends her thumb at an odd angle, pain lacing through her hand but her wrists finally free as she scrambled across the stone floors. Her whole arm is throbbing as she puts pressure on it, but she bites back any sound feeling across the floor to find—the harsh edge of a boot. 

“Lily?” she says again, gripping up the shoe to find a leg and body until she’s rolling the heavy weight of Stan to the side and frantically feeling for Lily. 

Everything is wet and warm and Pandora can’t see. 

“Did you find her?” Regulus shouts, metallic sounds carrying from his end of the room. 

Pandora means to say yes or I think so or I can’t tell but could you please get a light on for the love of all that is good and pure but the words get clogged up in her throat. Teeth catching the half-formed sentiments and eyes burning. 

It’s just that loud, boisterous, obnoxious, vibrant Lily is absolutely stone silent, and Pandora doesn’t know what to do with that. 

It’s just that Lily was meant to be okay, and Pandora can’t tell what’s wrong with her. 

It’s just that Lily promised they’d make it out, and Pandora believed her. 

The room is bursting with chaos but all Pandora can focus on is the gentle lift of Lily’s ribcage beneath her hands, lungs filling with air, and something unspools in her chest. 

Everything is falling apart, but Lily is breathing and it’s enough.

It has to be enough.

~

All things considered, Dorcas is doing pretty fucking fantastic, thanks ever so much. 

In general, though, the situation has effectively gone to shit. She’s trying though. 

“Marlene, c’mon,” Dorcas says, the edges of hysteria creeping into her voice, cracking it along the edges. “I need you to wake up, please.”

Dorcas ducks as an echo swoops particularly close to her, tucking Marlene’s face into her shoulder and closing her eyes against the onslaught. 

She had thought that she’d never have to deal with this again, seeing ghosts, but the room is swarming with them and there’s a woman on the pedestal that’s glowing and watching the chaos with glee. Dorcas isn’t sure what went wrong with the ritual, but everyone suddenly seeing a plethora of echoes seems pretty off the mark for whatever Riddle had been attempting.

Fucking typical.

“Are you seeing this?” James shouts, sliding into the space between Dorcas and the open window and getting drenched almost immediately. She’s grateful for the reprieve anyway. 

“The echoes?” Dorcas clarifies, grimacing when a Death Eater gets thrown into the far wall by a particularly savage specter. “Or the glowing woman?”

“Both, I guess,” James says, gripping Marlene’s wrist and feeling for a pulse, “it’s getting weaker.”

“I know,” Dorcas snaps, tension sharpening her words. “Sorry,” she says, wincing at James’ anxious expression, “I just–we need to get out of here.”

“You can say that again,” Alice says, crouching on Dorcas’ other side and placing her coat across Marlene’s shivering frame. “The door’s not budging though. Emmeline and Peter are trying but–”

“It’s sealed shut,” Peter gasps, hands on his knees as he catches his breath at the base of the platform. “I’m thinking the window’s not a terrible idea.”

Dorcas winces, recalling just how awful the window really is as an option for escape. Honestly, it might be a blessing that Remus is still unconscious at Peter’s feet. At least he doesn’t have to deal with–all of this. 

“Also,” Alice says, raising her hand and pointing to the glowing woman behind her, “I think it’s fair to say that’s Mary.”

Dorcas squints at the woman–a feat made more difficult due to the fact that she’s glowing quite impressively–and considers. She’s seen a lot of echoes, but none that lingered with the poise and ruthlessness that the woman holds. Dorcas shrugs, acquiescing to the point.

“Doesn’t really help us if she’s lucid,” Peter points out. “She seems pretty focused on Riddle.”

A little too focused, in Dorcas’ opinion. 

Mary is the very image of vengeance on the pedestal, staring down at the people who wronged her light burning from her form and fingers twitching with power. 

She’s terrifying. 

And it’s hard to rectify the image Marlene has painted—sharp, fidgety, witty Mary—with the angry woman that towers over the room. Even harder without Marlene to introduce them with a grin. Even harder with Marlene twitching under her fingers, growing increasingly pale as the seconds tick on. 

The echoes increase in their screeching, swooping across the room and swiping out at Death Eaters. It seems vengeful, and Dorcas realized all at once that these aren’t just any random echoes. 

They’re the previous victims. The ones who died in this very room. 

Well, that complicates things a bit. 

Dorcas has trained with the very best, though, and she’s racking her brain for how to resolve this. The first thing she learned at Hogwarts was echo containment. The first step?

Locate the source. 

“Alice,” Dorcas shouts, mind racing. If she’s right about this—well, for once, Dorcas is hoping she’s wrong. “Does it almost seem like Mary’s—“

“The source?” Alice finished for her. 

Dorcas blinks, caught off guard by the abruptness of Alice’s response. Okay, great. So Dorcas is right. 

Shit. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” James says, words tumbling together in panic. “I didn’t think that another echo could be a source? I thought it was like—an emotionally charged, like, thing.”

“It is,” Dorcas says right as Alice insists, 

“It’s not.”

They blink at one another for a moment, caught. 

“Okay,” James says, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses. 

“It’s not like we can toss a net over her though,” Peter says, rubbing his hands together nervously. 

There’s not even the whisper of a net, chains, or knife in the room that could help. Which is just fucking fantastic. Dorcas is considering the benefits of ripping the candelabras off the walls to see if they’d help at all when the door finally bursts open. 

“Oh, fuck,” a man murmurs, paling considerably as he takes in the room. 

The panic in the room multiplies as Death Eaters surges toward the door, stumbling under the grasp of echoes and tripping over one another. It’s a shockingly slow-going migration. The screams increase and Mary waves her hand lazily, lightning streaking across the windows with the motion, and the door slams shut again, several Death Eaters knocked back with the motion.

Marlene convulses in Dorcas’ grip, and something clicks in her head. The ritual, the echoes, the spread of the gift. It was a transference ritual for fucks sake. Mary isn’t the conduit, she’s the receptor. And she’s being fueled by Marlene. 

“Mary,” Dorcas shouts, her heart thrumming when Mary turns to her, eyes cold and jaw set. “Mary please, you have to stop.”

The echoes flicker for a moment, shifting from bright to translucent in bursts of motion. Mary blinks, torn.

“After everything he did?” Mary asks, voice steady but eyes trembling with something dangerous. 

Riddle isn’t even awake, trampled partially by his frantic followers near the base of the platform. Mary keeps glaring at him like her ire alone will bring him back to wakefulness. It hasn’t, yet.

“And them?” Mary says, the sky flashing behind her as she sneers at the Death Eaters in the room. “They watched. They laughed and fed into his delusions as we died at the altar of their cause. And for what? No, it’s not enough. It can’t be enough–they have to know what it’s like.”

“What what’s like?” Dorcas asks, eyes skittering over the room and catching on Emmeline’s panicked face as she struggles with the door. 

Thunder rolls and Marlene gasps and the echoes scream in agony. Fear, unlike anything Dorcas has ever experienced, lances through her–from the base of her skull through to her fingertips. All consuming and inescapable. 

“Terror,” Mary says, eyes flashing, “If they get to live, they have to carry this with them.”

Dorcas tries to swallow around the weight of that and finds that she can’t. Eyes burning and throat tight, Dorcas breathes and attempts to manifest a coherent plan.

“Please,” Dorcas begs, fingers trembling where they cling to Marlene, “you’re killing her.”

The room seems to narrow, Dorcas meeting Mary’s eyes and hoping she understands. James is shouting and Alice is murmuring to Peter and echoes are wreaking havoc, but all Dorcas can see is the flicker of doubt in Mary’s gaze. The way her fingers flutter nervously through her braids as she looks down at Marlene. The way she swallows at the sight of her.

“Oh,” Mary says, and the echoes dim the curtains fluttering down where they’d been rippling through the air with the gusts of wind from the storm. A level of stillness overtook the room that Dorcas hadn’t thought possible.

Dorcas didn’t realize how loud the room had gotten until silence slipped through the space. 

Marlene coughs, eyes blinking open, and Dorcas cups her face grinning down at her even as wetness gathers in her eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Dorcas says, softer than she’s ever found herself able to speak before now, “you’re back.”

“You stayed with me?” Marlene croaks, blinking rapidly and tipping her face into Dorcas’ hands. 

“Of course,” Dorcas says, swiping at the incriminating tears as they fall, “of course I did.”

“Marlene?” James says, peering over Dorcas’ shoulder to see her. “You okay?”

“Never better,” Marlene coughs, smile crooked and wonderful.

James laughs, a quiet tumultuous thing, and Dorcas pulls back, letting James check Marlene over better. 

The echoes have dispersed, nothing but wisps of memory slipping around the edges of the room, and Dorcas sniffs relief flooding her veins. Mary is stooped in front of her, looking at Marlene and smiling gently. She’s not glowing anymore, and the lack of luminescence distracts Dorcas from realizing what’s actually happening. Mary grins at her, fluttering hands twisting her braids together and shoulders slumped as she looks over Marlene.

“Thank you,” Dorcas says, anxiety slipping between the slats of her ribs as Mary tips her head at her, outline blurring. 

“Make it mean something,” Mary says, catching Dorcas off guard. It’s happening far too much to Dorcas in just the past few hours. “It has to have meant something, what happened to us.”

“Okay,” Dorcas agrees, feeling the weight of responsibility settle around her shoulders like a familiar coat. “I will.”

“I know,” Mary says, glancing at her hands and watching as they fade. 

“That’s new,” Marlene says, voice still catching on her consonants as she shakes the feeling back into her hands. 

“Yeah,” Mary agrees, “I think it’s gonna stick this time.”

“Oh,” Marlene says, blinking harshly as Mary continues to disappear in increments. “You–but what about–”

“You’ll tell her, won’t you?” Mary interrupts, “What we talked about before, only her–no one else.”

Dorcas gets the distinct impression Mary is operating as one would on their deathbed. Who could possibly tell her no? She’s disappearing before their very eyes, and Dorcas wants to collect every part of her and keep it safe even as it dissolves into nothingness. 

“Of course,” Marlene says, something frantic in her tone as she spins the ring on her thumb around and around. “You just–I’ll miss you, you know?”

“I’ll miss you too,” Mary laughs, split down the center and smiling through it. “Even if you were the worst translator.”

“Fuck you,” Marlene says, smiling and crying and twitching with the incoherence of it. “I did my best.”

“You did great,” Mary assures, humor dancing in her eyes. 

Dorcas blinks, smiling and hoping to save some part of Mary’s countenance to memory, and she’s gone. Empty air where Mary once crouched. 

Marlene chokes, shoulders shaking and Dorcas holds her close through the tears and the trembling and the pain. 

The sky is quiet and Emmeline has finessed the door open and everyone else is working to contain the Death Eaters trying to slip into the corridor. Dorcas can’t stop staring at the space that Mary should be filling. 

But Mary was never really there, was she?

Marlene befriended a ghost and Dorcas is just realizing the finality of it all. How it was over before it ever even began. 

Mary is gone, but she always was. Marlene is mourning someone long dead and Dorcas can’t quite breathe right. 

Dorcas feels like it should be raining still, gloomy clouds lingering in respect of the mood, but the weather has no such inclinations. 

Dawn breaks, bright and warm, through the gaps in the curtains.

~

After a catastrophic event, there is a moment when nothing feels real. 

Sitting on the front steps of the manor with a shock blanket clinging to her shoulders, Lily finds it difficult to feel much of anything at all. 

“So,” Marlene says, dropping onto the step next to her, matching blanket crunching around her with the motion. “What did you learn?”

Lily sighs, blinking at the sun and resenting its brightness. “Never trust a person working for a catering company.

“And?” Marlene prompts knocking their shoulders together. 

“Um, never let them take you to a secondary location,” Lily says, closing her eyes.

“You should already know that one,” Marlene snorts.

“Hm,” Lily sighs, taking in the shadows under Marlene’s eyes and the twitchiness of her fingers. “Fine, don’t tackle people when they have a gun.”

“Good,” Marlene agrees, pulling a piece of gum from the depths of her blanket and holding it out to Lily like a reward. “At least that’s something.”

“And what did you learn?” Lily asks, taking the gum and fidgeting with the wrapper before popping it in her mouth. 

“Don’t get emotionally attached to a dead person,” Marlene sighs, looking like she’s aged ten years in one night. Heaviness clinging to her frame and eyes shrouded with ghosts.

Lily pauses, unsure what to say in response. They sit together in silence instead, shoulders pressed together and chewing their gum in relative peace. 

There’s movement all around them, people bustling in and out of the manor and ministry cars spread across the yard, ripping up the manicured grass. They’d arrived soon after sunrise, and it had taken Lily longer than she’d care to admit to realize that the woman from the vault–Narcissa–was at the front of the operation. Every so often, Lily can hear the sure snick of her heels across the pavement as she directs arrests and medical help. 

Lily hadn’t even known Sirius was hurt until he was wheeled past her on a gurney, face pale and strangely still. Remus had trailed close behind, though he likely should have been wheeled away himself, bruised and disoriented as he tripped across the grass with James and Peter supporting him.

Emmeline and Alice are sharing a blanket, sitting on the trunk of one of the ministry cars, and giving a colorful statement to an incredibly harrowed-looking man in a suit. Pandora is standing with Barty, Evan, and Regulus near the entrance to the manor, but Lily has caught her glancing over nervously every few minutes. Lily had slipped off to be alone not too long ago, waving off Pandora’s concerned murmurs and settling within earshot of their conversation. 

It was comforting. The cadence of Pandora’s voice had washed over her as Lily curled into herself on the stairs. Lily hadn’t felt particularly suited to be good company.

Marlene blows and frankly impressive bubble with her gum, letting it pop with a satisfying snap. 

Maybe being with someone isn’t awful if it’s Marlene. 

“Honestly,” Marlene sighs, squinting at the sun thoughtfully, “that could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Oh really?” Lily snorts, shaking her head incredulously as Marlene grins. 

“Um, duh?” Marlene says, gesturing around them, “No one died that wasn’t already dead. Take a win, Evans.”

“Sure,” Lily agrees, feeling amicable. “I could’ve been shot.”

“That’s the spirit,” Marlene says, nudging her shoulder. Lily rocks with the motion, smiling. “Everything could have gone a whole hell of a lot worse.”

“Yeah,” Lily says, drawing out the word. “And since it didn’t?” Lily asks, feeling adrift and hoping for something to grip onto. “What do we do now?”

“I’d kill for a shower,” Marlene sighs, grinning when Lily nudges her. “But actually? I dunno,” Marlene admits, “Anything we want, I guess.”

“Anything we want,” Lily echoes, heart stuttering with the incomprehensibility of the statement. 

Lily’s been caught between stories for months now, trapped in a cycle of productivity. Research, write, publish, rinse, and repeat. Staring down the opening of opportunity feels more like the headlights of a train than the promise of sunlight, but Lily is trying to feel settled with hope. 

Lily can do anything she wants now. 

It’s just that anything feels like everything , and Lily just wants some sense of direction. 

She glances back at Pandora, who is already looking at her and smiles. Pandora grins back, waving. 

Maybe she doesn’t need to know exactly where she’s going. Lily knows who’s going to be with her, and that feels more substantial somehow. No matter where they end up or what problems they stumble into they’ll be together.

For now, that’s enough.

Chapter Text

I always thought we’d have more time , Narcissa had admitted, eyes distant and lips pressed into a thin line. 

You were always supposed to, Marlene had said, throat impossibly tight. 

It was strange, talking to someone who actually knew Mary. When she was alive. In a way, even months later, Marlene feels robbed of something incomprehensible. The weight of an almost heavy in her chest. 

Marlene had given her the necklace, it felt wrong to keep it after everything, and Narcissa looked equally relieved and resentful to have it in her possession. At the end of the day, it’s not Marlene’s problem anymore. She held up her end of the promise she made to Mary. 

Narcissa can throw it in the ocean or wear it every day, there’s nothing more Marlene can do. 

She’s done. 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Dorcas says, leaning up against the wall beside her. 

Marlene bites back a smile, flicking ash from her cigarette and tucking her free hand under her chin. 

“You following me around the ministry now, Meadowes?” Marlene asks, smirking at Dorcas and reveling in the flustered cough she gains for her efforts. 

“You walked right past my office,” Dorcas scoffs, eyes bright and the sun casting her face in a swirl of shadows. “Did you want to be alone?”

When Marlene had started climbing to rooftops to think, the entire point was being alone. Since Dorcas has started permeating her rooftop time, Marlene’s found the same sort of peace she found by herself with Dorcas at her side. 

So even though the answer is kind of yes, Marlene simply says, “No.” And releases the breath that had been clogging her lungs since she first saw Narcissa that morning. 

“Cool,” Dorcas says, settling more comfortably against the ledge. “You wanna talk about it?”

And Marlene–

Marlene is still tired. 

Everyone has moved on, laughing easily, sleeping well, and eating their vegetables. Doing all of the things they’re supposed to. It’s been months, but Marlene still jolts awake in the middle of the night and struggles to breathe normally throughout the day. 

She saw a woman with braids just like Mary’s in the grocery store last week, and she spent thirty minutes in a bathroom stall trying not to cry. 

Emmeline got the grant for her research she’d been fighting for before–everything, and Marlene had been happy for her, really, it’s just–

Everyone is fine, but Marlene still feels raw from the pain of it all. 

At least Narcissa is doing poorly too, dark smudges punctuating painfully piercing eyes and still in all the ways that Mary was moving. Marlene could see it, sitting across from Narcissa, all the ways they had complimented and contradicted one another. Maybe it’s morally ambiguous to take comfort in someone else’s pain, but something in Marlene settled at the grief apparent in every line of Narcissa’s body. 

“Not really,” Marlene sighs, stubbing out her cigarette. She’s technically not supposed to be smoking, Marlene and Lily quit together in solidarity, but it’s been a shitty day to top off a shitty week to round out a shitty few months. 

“Okay,” Dorcas says, in that painfully patient and unbelievably kind tone of hers, “Did you hear about the sign dispute Barty and Evan are having?”

“No,” Marlene says, smiling slightly, “What happened?”

And Dorcas does.

Marlene relaxes at the cadence of her voice and the dips and turns of her storytelling. In another life, Marlene thinks she would be an amazing author. In this one, it’s just Marlene who benefits from the tales that Dorcas’ mind spins out of the most menial of narratives into poetic prose and sharp sarcasm. 

She could listen to her talk forever. 

Through the depths that Marlene has been wading through in the past year, Dorcas has been a bright spot of relief. Where her other friends pester and prod Marlene into talking, Dorcas sits with her and tells her silly stories and waits until Marlene can speak around the clenching in her chest. Until Marlene comes unspooled into Dorcas’ careful palms. 

There’s a lull when Dorcas finishes talking, laughter lingering in the air, and Marlene breathing easily again. Marlene must make a face because Dorcas hums in concern, and Marlene finds the words coming to her slowly. It’s a stilted business, articulating the heaviness of her soul, but Dorcas is patient. 

She waits.

“It’s just,” Marlene starts, twisting the ring around her thumb instead of looking at Dorcas’ bright eyes, liquid gold in the summer sun. “It seems so unfair. That Mary had so much to do and so little time to do it, and I–all I have is time, Dorcas, and I haven’t the faintest clue how to spend it.”

Dorcas hums, nudging their shoulders together and smiling when Marlene glances at her. It thaws something in her.

“James has been asking about what I want to do,” Marlene admits, the thought of a drastic shift in the near future curdling something in her stomach. “Since everything with my parents went through–I could do anything, I guess.”

It’s bizarre. Marlene’s parents had been pretty fucking crystal clear about her losing her inheritance, and yet–Not even her perfect cousin Marcus got a dime. It’s all Marlene’s, every damned bit of it. 

“That’s great,” Dorcas says slowly, clearly not getting the horrific aspects of this news.

“Dorcas, I could do so much with it,” Marlene says, all at once, words blurring together, “I could open a coffeeshop or start a nonprofit or adopt a million dogs and move to the countryside–anything. I don’t know what to do with anything.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to do everything,” Dorcas says, smile crooked and fingers tapping on the ledge. 

“I want to try everything,” Marlene sighs, watching a flock of birds flutter from one rooftop to another. Back and forth. “But I’m just–tired too. Of everything.”

“Ah,” Dorcas says, nodding sagely and tipping her head at Marlene, curls catching on her necklaces with the movement, “That complicates things.”

“Yeah,” Marlene agrees because it does, “I just–wish things would slow down.”

“You have time,” Dorcas says, not unkindly, but it presses against the fresh pain of talking to Narcissa and Marlene can’t quite hide her wince at the similarities. Mary, too much to say and never enough time to say it. Marlene, too little to say and too much time to fill in the interim. 

“Yeah,” Marlene agrees, itching for another cigarette. She’s constantly wasting and limiting the time she has. It is genuinely her worst enemy. It trickles in slow increments and then washes over Marlene all at once.

Fickle bastard.

“Just start with the where,” Dorcas says, squinting at the sky, “Everything else will come together eventually.”

“The where?” Marlene asks, having thoroughly lost the thread of the conversation.

“Where you wanna start,” Dorcas says, all soft eyes and careful hands. It’s a strange juxtaposition, knowing that Dorcas has a reputation for ruthlessness in the ministry when she’s so gentle with Marlene. “Location first, purpose after.”

“Location,” Marlene repeats, settling into the scope of the step. 

“Is the countryside truly calling your name?” Dorcas asks, lips quirking.

“Shut up,” Marlene flushes, bumping their shoulders together.

“What about the dogs?” Dorcas asks, biting back a smile when Marlene glares at her. 

“Okay, maybe more like two,” Marlene says, refusing to give Dorcas the gratification of a grin, “And somewhere with a yard.”

“There you go,” Dorcas says, “Not the country then?”

Marlene remembers the hollow landscape of the Rockwood farm and the bite of glass in her palms from Malfoy Mansion and the miles and miles between her and any form of help. 

“Definitely not,” Marlene sniffs, shaking off the shadows and staring at the sun until she has to blink blotches from her eyes. 

“Not the city center either,” Dorcas continues, thoughtful, “If you want a yard.”

Marlene keeps waking up in the middle of the night from the flash of headlights across her ceiling and the shouts of pedestrians on the pavement just a little too similar to that of the Death Eaters. 

“Yeah,” Marlene agrees, “I’m getting a little sick of it here.”

“Lovely,” Dorcas says, “Just outside of city limits then, best of both worlds.”

Marlene’s never lived just outside the city before. Maybe it’s the kind of change in scenery that James has been not so subtly hinting at for the past month. 

Marlene smiles at Dorcas, letting herself sink into the moment more than she has in weeks. “Thanks,” she says when the silence starts to feel harsh instead of comfortable, “For, you know, following me.”

“Of course,” Dorcas says, biting back a smile and jerking her thumb toward the entrance to the rooftop. “Wanna get out of here?”

The birds are too far away now to see, having skipped from ledge to ledge until it’s just the distant sound of fluttering feathers that indicates their existence. The whisper of life on the wind. 

Marlene has so many things to do now. A list of objectives takes shape in her mind even as Dorcas drops her hand and lifts a brow. A part of her wants to rush through it and get everything done now that she has a direction to go in. Take off and breathe when it’s all over. 

But Dorcas is here, sunlit and smiling indulgently at her, and Marlene remembers that she can breathe now, instead  of the uncertain and far off, later .

“Yeah,” Marlene says, a beat too late and feeling flushed, “I’d love to.”

Dorcas beams, taking her hand and leading her through the door, talking about coffee shops and pet stores and warm weather.

Marlene might not know what to do with all of it, but she has time to figure it out. Everything might not be perfect, but it’s getting better. 

The rest just takes time.

~

Lily is so lost in her own head that it takes several beats for her to realize the incessant buzzing is coming from her own pocket. 

Grimacing apologetically at the elderly woman across from her, who has been glaring at her the whole time with unmatched dedication and disdain, Lily pulls out her phone and swipes to answer without checking the name.

“Hello,” she says quietly, trying to be polite about taking a phone call on the tram.

“Holy fucking shit,” Marlene bursts out all at once, Lily can practically see her buzzing with excitement. “You are not going to believe what just happened.”

Lily snorts, thinking of the meeting with McGonagal that has clouded her mind for the past hour, “Oh really?”

“Um, yes,” Marlene says, tone giddy, “Wait, how’d you’re thing go? The one with the lady at the place?”

“Do you mean the interview I had with the best journalist since the turn of the century?” Lily asks, grinning and turning away from the withering gaze of the woman across from her. 

“Yep,” Marlene says, popping the P with gusto, “That one. You’re very official adulty news. Tell me all about it and I’ll regale you with the wonders of home renovations.”

“Okay,” Lily says, grinning.

Lily would never say it out loud, but she’s so incredibly relieved Marlene bought the dubiously rickety house on the outskirts of town. It’s close enough for comfort and far enough for privacy, and despite its poorly kept exterior, Marlene keeps insisting it has “good bones” and waxing on about her projects. Marlene smiles quicker now, and Lily is so ephemerally happy for her.

It’s nice. 

Even when Marlene comes to lunch with scraped palms and weird bruises, there’s something relaxed in the shape of her spine and the tilt of her mouth that tells Lily it’s okay. Marlene is building something for herself. 

“It was okay,” Lily says, woefully downplaying the whole thing fantastically. It was quite possibly the best professional meeting of her career. 

Marlene snorts, “Bullshit.”

“How is that bullshit?” Lily coughs, biting back a grin.

“Um, you totally have that whole,” Marlene clears her throat, pitching her voice up significantly, “Everything is super chill and fine and there’s no reason to get excited about it, thing.”

“That is not a thing,” Lily argues.

“It totally is,” Marlene counters, a shuffle, and clang punctuating her words, “You just did it.”

“Fine,” Lily says, “Maybe it is. It was awesome.”

“I knew it,” Marlene says, smugness radiating in her tone. “What made it awesome?”

“It was just–she was so cool,” Lily starts, thinking back over the interview, “And she loved my work. I’ve never had someone be so passionate about the projects I was passionate about, like in a professional setting.”

Marlene hums in acknowledgment.

“And you can’t tell anyone,” Lily starts, fidgeting with a fraying thread on her jacket, “But she, like, offered me a job. A real, solid, investigative salary with her paper. I–it’s insane. She wants to send me to France , Marlene.”

“Holy shit,” Marlene says, “Are you gonna take it? What did you tell her?”

“I told her I’d think about it,” Lily says, all in a rush, “That I’d get back to her–but I haven’t wanted something like I want this job in–forever.”

“You talk to Pandora yet?” Marlene asks, strangely the voice of reason.

“I’m on my way to meet her now,” Lily sighs, excitement and trepidation mixing dangerously in her stomach. “I can’t make her leave, but I really want her to come with me.”

“Just say that,” Marlene suggests like it’s easy. 

And maybe it is.

“Yeah,” Lily agrees, grinning at her feet and snapping the spare thread. “Okay, yeah. I will.”

“Good,” Marlene says, “nice, my turn.”

Lily snorts, “Okay, shoot.”

“Okay, you know how I just repaired the fence around the backyard?” Marlene asks.

“Uhuh,” Lily says because the fence issue was an absolute nightmare to deal with.

“Awesome,” Marlene says, words muffled by several thumps and a hollow metal clang. “Well, I think it’s going to be put to use a lot sooner than we thought.”

“Holy shit,” Lily says, giddy, “Tell me you didn’t get a dog.”

There is a damning bark that echoes down the line.

“I didn’t get a dog?” Marlene says, wince audible in her tone.

“Marlene,” Lily admonishes, laughing. “We were gonna pick one out and everything. We made charts, did the charts mean nothing to you?”

“Technically,” Marlene argues, “I didn’t get the dog, it just–showed up. How was I supposed to turn him back to the streets, Lily? He has the saddest face and I already can’t deny him anything, he’s so precious.”

Lily is still smiling when she gets off at her stop, bidding Marlene and her new best friend goodbye, and starting for the coffee shop she’s meeting Pandora at. And everything is different from how it was before, but it doesn’t terrify Lily so much anymore. Anxiety and excitement intermingled in her chest until it flourished into steady confidence. It’s new. 

It’s nice.

Pandora grins at her when she settles into the table across from her, and Lily can’t believe she used to run from this. The steady warmth of Pandora’s hand in hers and the tangibility of her support for her. 

They leave, hours later, hand in hand. They’re going to France together. 

The sun breaks through the clouds, and Lily smiles, kissing the back of Pandora’s hand as they walk together. And everything is breathtaking and terrifying and beautiful and theirs . 

It’s theirs.

~

“I come bearing gifts!” Dorcas shouts into the echoing front hall. 

There are several loud thumps, a heartfelt fuck, and enthusiastic barking that follow her announcement, trailing down the staircase. Dorcas bites back a smile, shuffling the box into one hand so she can balance while she toes her shoes off at the door. 

“We’re upstairs!” Marlene calls back. 

Dorcas follows the uncoordinated thumps to the upstairs sitting room. Marlene is sitting on the floor, surrounded by what appears to be an Ikea bookshelf. Or at least it will be when Marlene finishes sorting all of the little pieces into meticulous piles, a task made infinitely more difficult by the curious dog sniffing at her elbow. 

Dorcas sets the box down on top of the rickety stool that Marlene drags into each room she’s working on. It’s wobbly and a hazard, but Marlene insists it helps her think. Dorcas is inclined to believe it has more to do with the fact that the damned thing was the only piece of furniture in the room when Marlene had her first breakthrough–literally destroying a wall–with the house. 

She’s sentimental like that.

“Having fun?” Dorcas asks, grinning while Marlene glares at her from under her fringe. 

“Hardly,” Marlene huffs, glancing between her piles of screws and the diagrams on the first page of the guidebook. “I think I maybe should have left these in their little baggies.”

“Because the bags are labeled?” Dorcas hazards, stepping carefully over a stack of shelves and settling next to Marlene on the floor. The dog shoves his cold nose directly into Dorcas’ ear. She intentionally does not react with something insane–like punching an abused dog in the face–but it’s a near thing. 

“Because the bags were labeled,” Marlene confirms, sighing as she flops the manual on top of a spare board. “Wanna help?”

And Dorcas does. 

They spend the afternoon bickering over instructions and putting it together before disassembling it and doing it all over halfway through. It’s a mess. By the time they're finished, the bookcase leaning slightly to the left but otherwise functional, Dorcas is flushed and laughing and shoving the dog away when he tries to lick her face. 

“You figure out a name yet?” Dorcas asks, scratching behind the dog’s ears while he pants in her face. He’s ridiculous and too affectionate and perfect for Marlene.

Marlene groans, “Not yet,” she sighs, scraping her hair up into a bun. Dorcas focuses on the dog, but he looks smug somehow. “Nothing seems right, you know?”

Dorcas hums, but she doesn’t quite understand. It’s been a few weeks since the dog trailed into Marlene’s life, and he remains nameless. Dorcas would call her on it, but Marlene knows about the store cat, so she doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

They carry on, trudging down the stairs and into the kitchen. They make lopsided muffins and crack jokes and drink tea. Marlene laughs more now, and Dorcas is relentlessly charmed by the sound. Proud for drawing the sounds out of her. 

By the time people start showing up, Dorcas has forgotten all about the box. 

Emmeline and Alice show up first, carrying in several boxes of pizza and making cooing noises at the dog for several minutes before actually settling in the kitchen. They’re followed closely by Evan and Barty and Regulus and even more food. The rest of their friends trail into the house in waves until Lily comes in last, citing some issues with the tram and shoving a box of cookies into Marlene’s hands. 

It’s hard to hate her now that she knows Lily outside of what happened with Pandora before. 

Even harder with the way that Pandora positively glows when Lily is around. It’s impossible, though, because she’s Marlene’s best friend. So Dorcas may not hate Lily Evans anymore, but she certainly doesn’t have to let her know it. She has a terrible feeling Lily knows anyway because she grins when Dorcas glares at her, and winks when she catches Dorcas staring at Marlene for too long. 

It’s fine. 

They settle in, Barty starting up an intense game of poker on the floor in the living room, with Sirius, Peter, and Gideon getting way too invested from the get-go. From the relaxed slant of his shoulders, Dorcas would put money on Peter, if she were a gambling woman. She’s not, though, so she just chats with Kingsley and kicks at Barty when he gets too rowdy and grins at Pandora when she settles in beside her. 

Marlene and Emmeline slip upstairs— you built a bookshelf? Without casualties?— and Dorcas gets caught up flicking paperclips into Regulus’ hoodie when he’s not paying attention. She’s at ten, and Pandora is stifling her laughter into Dorcas’ shoulder as she squares up for another shot. 

“What’s this?” Marlene asks, appearing at Dorcas’ elbow and making her jump so hard she drops the paper clip. 

Marlene grins. 

Dorcas used to have reflexes sharper than…knives or something. Domesticity and desk jobs seem to have worn away her edges. Strangely, she can’t find it in herself to be angry. She’s…softer these days. 

She smiles back at Marlene, reflexive. 

“Well?” she asks, shaking the box she’s been holding. Dorcas may have been a bit distracted. Maybe. 

“Oh,” Dorcas says, heat creeping up her neck and viciously regretting not doing this in private. Evan is already smirking at her from across the room. “Um, it’s for the house. When you’re ready to, I dunno, decorate more and stuff.”

“Oh,” Marlene says, looking down at the box and grinning to herself. “Can I open it?”

No , Dorcas wants to insist. Not in front of my friends, who are awful, and will never let me live this down in this lifetime. 

But Marlene is smiling, eyes dancing with excitement as she looks at Dorcas imploringly and—and how is Dorcas supposed to say no to her? 

“Sure,” Dorcas finds herself saying, internally bolstering herself for the teasing that is bound to come. 

Marlene bites back a grin, pulling the flaps of the box open and lifting the frame out. Dorcas had spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at different shapes, sizes, and colors for this picture. She ended up choosing a simple black frame—easy enough to match with whatever design Marlene pursues, but distinct enough to be eye-catching on its own. It’s a strange line to walk. Anyways, the frame isn’t even the stressful part she’s more worried Marlene will think it’s—

“It’s—is this from Grimmauld?” Marlene asks, eyes bright when she tears her gaze away from the picture. Emmeline smirks at Dorcas over Marlene’s shoulder until Alice jabs her with her elbow.

“Um, yeah,” Dorcas says, flustered, “it’s from—“

“The rooftop,” Marlene finishes, smiling. 

“Okay,” Lily says, clapping her hands decisively, “I just remembered the thing. In the yard. That everyone must now help me with.” A beat passes. “Like, now, please.”

Dorcas is distantly aware of the room becoming a flurry of motion as everyone trips over themselves to scramble out the backdoor, and the distinct and familiar tones of Pandora and Barty arguing as they file out. She bites back a smile at their antics, looking at her hands rather than the intensity of Marlene’s gaze. 

“When did you even take this?” Marlene asks, smiling at the canvas, eyes bright and cheeks pink. Dorcas feels some kind of way about it. She’s certain now that the kind of way is more than curiosity or determination like she’d tried to convince herself at first. 

“The morning after,” Dorcas says, heat flaring up her neck at the implications of that particular phrase. “I mean–after the, um, thing with Riddle and the Death Eaters–we went back to Grimmauld. I took it–after that. Happened.”

“Oh,” Marlene says, flush spreading up to her ears. It’s impossibly endearing, and Dorcas wants to tuck her away and bite her at the same time. It’s complicated. “I didn’t realize you had a camera.”

“It’s an old hobby,” Dorcas shrugs. Once upon a time, she wanted to be a photographer. That was before the gift manifested in her and everything changed. “I hadn’t actually done it in–years, I think. No time.”

Marlene looks supremely displeased by this admission. “Holy shit, Dorcas,” she says, tone disbelieving, “this is–amazing. You’re amazing, I–thank you.”

Marlene is so very earnest and kind and wonderful and and and–

Marlene McKinnon is a series of continuations, always more and brighter and better than anyone thinks of her. Dorcas is desperate to know everything about her and thrilled every time she finds new depths to the miracle that is Marlene. And what is Dorcas meant to do with that? With the ever-expanding understanding of Marlene and the insane, impulsive need to know more. She could listen to her talk for hours, and has, and wants to do it again today and tomorrow and for as long as Marlene will have her. 

And–it’s a lot.

“Of course,” Dorcas says, mouth dry and her heart full with the smile spreading across Marlene’s face. 

Of course, because Dorcas would give Marlene anything to see her smile like that again. Of course, because that rooftop means more to Dorcas than she knows how to express. Of course, because Dorcas was always going to try to give Marlene everything, and it’s just a picture. Just a part–a fraction of what Marlene means to her. Of what she’d like to mean to Marlene, in a perfect world.

“Oh, please,” Marlene says, placing the frame back into the box and setting it on the floor behind her with more care than Dorcas could have anticipated. She steps closer to Dorcas, and something lodges in her throat, pulse rabbit fast and entirely captivated by the glint of light off of the ring on Marlene’s thumb as she laces their fingers together. “You would say that wouldn’t you? Like it’s inevitable.”

“What?” Dorcas breathes, proximity clouding her ability to think critically about–whatever Marlene is saying. 

“You wonderful, ridiculously oblivious woman,” Marlene says, and Dorcas watches the words as they form in her mouth, helpless and slightly dizzy. Marlene squeezes their entwined hands, pulling them up and brushing her lips across Dorcas’ knuckles. Something in Dorcas’ chest fizzes and pops and the motion, electricity zinging across her skin. 

“I feel like I should be offended by that,” Dorcas murmurs, utterly caught by Marlene resting her chin above their clasped hands. 

“Be as offended as you like,” Marlene says, equally quiet as she tips her face up to Dorcas. “Just so long as you don’t leave me like this.”

“I always find you,” Dorcas counters, drawn in despite her contradiction. 

“I know,” Marlene grins, leaning up to press the smile against Dorcas’ lips.

In some far-off place, Dorcas can hear their friends cheering obnoxiously and the distinct crash of someone breaking something to the admonishment of literally everyone else. But Marlene cups her face and tilts into Dorcas and–well. She doesn’t think of anyone else for quite some time.

~

“I’ll miss you terribly,” Sirius is saying, genuinely looking near tears. Pandora grimaces as she skirts around where Sirius and Remus are standing, Sirius tucked beneath Remus’ chin and entwined together in an embrace. 

Alice has no such qualms, and Emmeline trails after her with a put-upon sigh.

“It’s a two-hour road trip, Sirius,” Alice sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Not some dramatic farewell before you’re sent off to war. Get it together.”

“And who are you to define the depths of my circumstance?” Sirius counters, crossing his arms and leaning back against Remus’ chest, who looks equally exasperated and endeared. “You get to spend the whole trip with Em. You rigged this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sniffs with the air of someone who most definitely knows something. 

Sirius shouts in indignation, arguing with Alice at increasing volume as Remus and Emmeline slip away from the situation entirely, splitting a bag of chips Emmeline pilfered while they watch the fight devolve from a distance.

Pandora bites back a grin at their antics, scanning the chaotic mess of people for a familiar flash of red hair.

No luck.

“You’re late,” Dorcas says, sidling up next to her and resting her elbow on her shoulder. Pandora is not that much shorter than her, but Dorcas abuses the mere inches between them relentlessly. “Evan and Regulus had a bet going on you.”

“What kind of bet?” Pandora says, slipping out from under Dorcas’ arm, causing her to stumble. 

“About how late you’d be,” Dorcas says, regaining her footing and scowling at Pandora. “Regulus won, I think. Down to the exact second.”

“Spooky,” Pandora sighs, Regulus has a proclivity for gambling with their friends about asinine things no one could possibly get right. He’s obnoxiously good at it.

“Yeah,” Dorcas sighs, adjusting the strap of the camera around her neck, expression peeved. It’s insanely hot for a spring day, but Pandora tries to bask in it. She has mixed success, mostly because the sun hates her.

“Hey,” Marlene calls, draping herself over Dorcas’ shoulders with a grin. If it were anyone else, Pandora is certain they would be flat on their back. As it is, Dorcas slumps her shoulders a bit so Marlene can settle more comfortably. “What’re you talking about?”

“Gambling,” Dorcas and Pandora say at once, grinning at each other. 

“Fun,” Marlene snorts, setting her chin on Dorcas’ shoulder and lacing her hands in front of her. “Do you know which van you’re riding in yet?” 

“Nope,” Pandora shrugs.

“We don’t get to choose?” Dorcas asks, brow furrowed as she rests her hands around Marlene’s arms like a strangely shaped backpack. Pandora is ridiculously happy for them. She’s never seen Dorcas so soppy and gentle with someone in all the time she’s known her. It’s made for some truly fantastic blackmail.

“No,” Marlene says, “There’s a whole spreadsheet situation. I rigged it for us though, so we can ride together. I had to boot Sirius to the other van, but I think it’ll be fine.”

Pandora laughs, covering her face with her hands when Dorcas and Marlene look at her with twin expressions of confusion. 

James wanders into the little circle they’re forming, grinning reflexively when he catches Pandora’s eye. “Well, good morning,” he says, tugging Marlene’s braid and dodging when she strikes out at him. Marlene hisses at him but remains draped over Dorcas. “Ready for the greatest road trip of your life?”

“It’s past noon, James,” Marlene huffs, rolling her eyes fondly. “You’re not driving one of the vans, are you? I’d rather like to get there alive, thank you.”

“Ha ha,” James intones, crossing his arms and bumping shoulders with Pandora amicably. “I am a fantastic driver, thank you. I don’t even speed.”

“I bet you stop at every crosswalk too,” Pandora scoffs.

“Aren’t you supposed to?” He asks, frowning in thought.

“Oh my– no , James,” Marlene says, laughing.

“Wait, really?” Dorcas asks, “What if you, like, hit someone?”

“You don’t even have a license, darling,” Marlene counters gently before frowning at James again, “You only stop if there’s someone on the walkway.”

“No way,” James says, “You stop in case someone comes by. Otherwise you just–ram people over. What if you don’t see them coming?”

“Well, you don’t speed through crosswalk sections,” Marlene argues, “I drive through carefully, I just don’t stop every two seconds for people that might not even appear.”

“And you say I’m a worrisome driver,” James sniffs indignantly.

“It’s just logical–”

“But the children, McKinnon. What if you bulldoze over toddlers? It would just feel like a speed bump in that giant truck of yours.”

“Fucks sake, James, I don’t run over children–”

Pandora slips out of the argument while Dorcas casts her gaze heavenward, Marlene still wrapped around her. She salutes at her in support before trailing toward the vans. 

“You can’t just–stuff them in there,” Regulus is saying, one hand on his hip while he gestures with the other in exasperation. “There’s like a method to it.”

“Why not?” Evan and Peter say at once as they shove various duffles and suitcases into the vastly overfilled trunk. 

“Sweet mother of mercy,” Regulus sighs, templing his hands in front of his face with his eyes closed. “This is very clearly not working.”

“Sure it is,” Peter says, poking the straps of a backpack deeper into the mass of bags. “If one of us just slams the trunk right when the other pulls their hands out–”

“And which one of us is going to do that bit?” Regulus scoffs, throwing his hands in exasperation. “We should just start over, put the weirdly shaped bag in first–”

“It’ll be fine,” Evan insists, elbowing a bag deeper into the trunk with minimal success. “It just–”

“Holy fuck, how have you not broken something? I can’t believe–” 

“We just need to time it right–”

“I swear it’s working–”

“Have any of you seen Lily?” Pandora asks, cutting through the argument. Evan freezes with his hands buried in the trunk while Peter continues to poke various straps into unlikely spaces and Regulus slumps rubbing at his temples. 

“Can you please tell them this is a disaster waiting to happen?”

“Would you mind holding the bags while I close the trunk?”

“She was talking with King about the route by the picnic tables last I saw her.”

“Thanks, good luck with,” Pandora gestures vaguely at the mess of bags in the trunk, pointedly not mentioning the backpack still sitting on the curb they clearly forgot about, “All of this.”

Regulus grumbles something unintelligible and Pandora winces in sympathy as Barty comes around the van to lean on it. As she turns toward the tables, she catches a glimpse of Barty helpfully shoving his hands into the trunk while Peter grips the base of the trunk, something slightly manic in his eyes. Regulus and Evan watch idly by, tired. 

Pandora purposefully decides it is not her problem, even as disgruntled shouts increase behind her the farther she walks away.

“Heya,” Lily calls from her perch on a picnic table, Kingsley flipping through maps beside her muttering to himself. “Did you walk here? I thought Dorcas was giving you a lift.”

“I walked,” Pandora confirms with a shrug. It’s a nice day outside for once, “I felt like walking, so I told her to come early if she wanted.”

“Oh great,” Kingsley says, glancing up at Pandora with a stressed smile. “I heard the main is closed for the next–like two weeks, so the route I planned is absolute shit. And Lily is no help.”

“Hey,” Lily protests, “I told you to take the back way. The one past the old factory with the tree.”

“Street names, Evans,” Kingsley emphasizes with the air of a man who has said the same thing several times already. “I don’t know where the fuck that is.”

“I don’t know street names,” Lily says, reaching beneath her to coax Padfoot out from under the table with a piece of jerky she acquired from somewhere in the depths of her pockets. “I just know places.”

“And I love that for you,” Kingsley affirms with a sigh, “But I need names. So,” he says, drawing out the vowel and gesturing at Pandora with both hands. “Pandora. Please, for the love of all that we hold dear, help me.”

Pandora shrugs, scratching behind Padfoot’s ears and pressing a kiss to Lily’s cheek as she passes them, “I’m decent with maps,” which is an understatement Lily snorts at, “Where are we going?”

“You don’t know where we’re going?” Lily laughs, bright and easy, her hands full of overexcited dog. 

“I…knew it was a weekend trip?” Pandora says, rubbing the back of her neck. “Not much else.”

“Holy shit,” Lily says, “Did you bring a swimsuit? Do you even know what we’re doing?”

“Um, yes, actually,” Pandora says, thinking, “And absolutely not.”

“Yes, yes, no one knows what’s going on,” Kingsley says, clapping once decisively. “Maps. Please.”

Pandora settles at the table next to Kingsley, translating Lily’s obscurely specific landmarks to paper and marking the route in hot pink marker. By the time they’re finished, the rest of the group has filtered onto the surrounding tables, chatting amicably as Kingsley explains the route to James and Lily gets Padfoot to do tricks at the price of their travel jerky. 

“Wait,” James says, scratching the back of his head and frowning at Lily’s antics. “Where’s Padfoot riding?”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Regulus groans, burying his face in his hands.

“Someone’s gonna have to ride with him in their lap,” Peter suggests, disinterestedly picking at his nails while Barty glares at him from behind Evan, still smarting from the trunk incident.

“I think Sirius should,” Alice suggests, grinning wickedly.

 “Why in the fresh hell should I do it?” Sirius sputters, crossing his arms and pouting. “There’s less bags in the other van, so Marlene should do it.”

“Excuse me?” Marlene blinks, having been thoroughly distracted by weaving a bracelet with frankly impressive skill. Dorcas helpfully holds one end for her, but otherwise stays out of the fight. Pandora’s slightly jealous of the way she can tune out disputes such as these with ease and just enjoy herself. Pandora always gets a little too caught up in it. “He’s your dog! I am not spending the next two hours spitting dog hair out of my mouth, thank you.”

“He’s not my dog,” Sirius protests, even as Padfoot nudges his face under his hands, hopeful for pets. “He’s like the Grimmauld dog. We all take care of him, he’s the house dog.”

“And you’ve got narrower hips,” Alice points out, dodging when Sirius aims to elbow her. “What? You do. It’ll make sharing with the dog easier.”

“Oh for fucks–” Sirius starts, as the three of them start to talk over one another while the rest of the group watches with varying levels of interest. 

“We could always leave him at home,” Lily tries, arms crossed as she pops a piece of jerky into her mouth with a shrug.

“That’s a great idea,” Alice affirms, her grin wicked. “Then Padfoot can ride shotgun instead of Sirius.”

“You little shit,” Sirius gasps, lifting a hand to his chest as if mortally wounded. “How dare you–”

“I’m just offering valid solutions–”

“There’s just no winning,” Lily sighs as fighting devolves among the group again. “They’re like children.”

Pandora smiles, settling onto the picnic table with her and tipping her head to the side to rest it on Lily’s shoulder. “Yeah,” she agrees, wincing when James gets caught in the crossfire. “I like them though. Keeps things interesting.”

“Hm,” Lily says, resting her head on top of Pandora’s, “Not just saying that because we’re a package deal?” 

“What, you and your gaggle of misfit friends?” Pandora clarifies, grinning when Lily swats at her half-heartedly. “No, I’ve grown quite fond of them in recent months. They’re…sweet.”

Lily snorts, probably because Alice has Sirius in a headlock while Peter and Regulus exchange money behind them, but it’s true nonetheless. 

Their friends might play rough and talk shit, but they’re good, sweet, people at the end of the day. These people, who rally to help one another with a fervor and devotion Pandora has only ever seen in her own friends. She thought they were unique in that kind of ride-or-die commitment, but she’s glad she was wrong. 

She’s glad Lily found that on her own too. 

Padfoot jumps in on the fight, playfully nipping at Alice’s sleeves and yipping when Sirius shouts. It’s messy and loud and ridiculous and–sweet. They’re sweet. Pandora can only hope that they keep finding these kinds of semi-sweet moments together.

Twining their fingers together, Pandora presses her smile to the back of Lily’s hand. 

As pandemonium rises around them and laughter permeates the air, Pandora realizes they have all the time in the world to figure things out together. Problems–like where to put the dog or how to pack the car–aren’t so serious in the grand scheme of things. It’s about friendship and love and connection. 

It’s about them.

The sun beams down on them, and already Pandora can feel the telltale sting of a sunburn setting in. But Emmeline passes her a bottle of sunscreen with a wink and Alice starts pointing people toward the cars and Padfoot trails along happily after James. Lily tugs her toward the van they’ll be riding in with a grin. 

Pandora follows her. 

And everything is somehow lighter at that moment than she’s felt in years.