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Chapter Text

6th June 1978

Marlene McKinnon is completely and utterly fucked.

For three reasons.

The first is that she's currently absolutely flat-out drunk in the back of a taxi, her forehead pressed against the window- this will probably make an ugly red mark on her temple but she's beyond caring- and her blonde hair is a complete mess, her mascara and eyeliner smudged and running down her cheeks and her mind in ten billion places at once.

The second is that she was just at a big get-together at the new bar that Sirius started working at (they all went along and forced him to make incredibly elaborate and difficult drinks), and after she did about six shots of plain vodka (plus a sip of James's disgusting concoction), she started crying. Not just normal tears, oh no. Full-on snotty, soggy, embarrassing sobs. This led to her being sent home by Peter, who called a taxi for her and paid for the driver to see her inside safely.

The third reason is that she is completely and utterly in love with Dorcas Meadowes, the girl she spent her entire time at Hogwarts fighting and arguing with. There's a fine line between love and hate, and apparently it was too fine to notice because she stumbled right over it. Of course, it's not entirely unexpected, since she's spent the entire summer sneaking over to Dorcas's house and climbing through her window. They sort of have an "I hate you but you're hot" thing going on, which Marlene supposes is the enemy equivalent to friends with benefits. The disgustingly embarrassing thing is, every time they're together , it means more and more to her.

She and Dorcas have never really been on civil talking terms and yet they've had several conversations that made Marlene realise that Dorcas does, in fact, have many more layers than being a cruel bitch.

Marlene has learned many things from being Dorcas's secret hookup. She knows that Dorcas's bedroom walls are painted a dark purple and have been that way for exactly four years. She knows that Dorcas is artistic, that she paints her art on her walls as often and as she can, and her parents never really entered her room over the years so the prospect of being caught was never a big issue. She knows that Dorcas has a collection of stuffed animals that she hoarded over the years, that despite her tough, implacable exterior, she has first and last names for each one. She knows that Dorcas has an array of freckles on her back that look like her own personal constellation. She knows that Dorcas plays bass, and sometimes writes songs. She knows that Dorcas is the eldest of three girls, and she looks after them like a mother.

The worst thing she knows is that she is in love with Dorcas.

No, scratch that. The worst thing she knows is that Dorcas doesn't love her back.

The taxi pulls up outside her house, the driver twisting in his seat to glance back at her with a faintly amused and definitely concerned expression. She raises her eyebrows at him. A few seconds pass in awkward silence.

"Oh." She unsteadily leans forward out of her seat to poke her head through the space between the seats into the front of the taxi, digging around in her pocket for change. "How much is it?"

The driver smiles in a sympathetic way at her slurred speech. "Tenner." 

Marlene finds a crumpled ten-pound note in her pocket and hands it to him. She gives him a lopsided grin and salute as she clambers out of the car. The driver squints at her through the dark, the orange car light illuminating his face.

"Stay safe, girl. It's a dangerous world out there, y'know?"

Marlene nods, her smile faltering slightly as she is reminded of the rumours of a war starting. It had sounded like something out of a story when she first heard it, a tale for young children on Halloween, told to scare them when they wouldn't go to bed. She'd heard it from James first, who had heard it from his parents. Euphemia and Fleamont were involved in the Ministry, which meant they had eyes and ears on the inside. Effie was in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and so she got a front row seat to all of the people who were brought in and questioned about their involvement with this "Dark Lord" who lured people into his army and scarred their forearms with deadly ink to bind them to him.

Effie had told Marlene (after she swore herself to secrecy) that the Ministry was secretly preparing for something big to happen, something dark and dangerous. Marlene had passed it off as rumours, the same as most people, but now she was beginning to think it might be more. Maybe it was just that it had gotten a little colder lately, not just in the weather, but in the atmosphere as well. People felt more sharp, more wary. Marlene guessed that her friends had begun to feel a similar sense of foreboding, and that was why they'd organised the shindig at the bar.

So really, it was the world's fault that she was drunk on a Friday night and wandering idly towards the house she'd told herself she would avoid at all costs.

The thing is, Dorcas is between sides at the moment, having trouble deciding where her loyalties lie, making the choice between two paths- whatever you want to call it. Her parents aren't supportive of the "Death Eater" movement (apparently that's the best they could come up with for a gang name) but she has friends whose parents are completely different. Marlene hasn't really met them but she saw them around back at Hogwarts.

Regulus Black, the spare heir to the figurative throne of the Black family. Sirius had told her a lot about him and she had a bad impression of him for most of her time at Hogwarts. It was only in her sixth year that she caught a glimpse of him without his air of cold calm. He didn't look dangerous, or emotionless, or any of the other things that Sirius had said he was. He was sitting in a corner of the library, his eyes glazed and his lips pressed together. Marlene had three older brothers; she learned how to move quickly and quietly, mostly when she wanted the last Digestive biscuit. She had hidden behind a bookcase and watched him for a few seconds. He was digging his nails into his left wrist and rubbing his eyes desperately, trying not to cry.

Evan and Pandora Rosier. Dorcas had told her about them; the twin heirs for the metaphorical Rosier throne. Dorcas had explained how Evan had agreed to take the mark so that Pandora wouldn't have to. Pandora had been livid, cursing Evan for ruining his life for her. Marlene hated her own brothers, but only because that was the thing to do. She'd fight them for entering her room uninvited but she'd give up a lung if one of them needed it. Deep down, she knew she'd do the same thing for all three of them, but she couldn't imagine parting ways with her own blood forever. Becoming a dark wizard was an utterly awful thing to do, but it was for a good reason, and Marlene hoped that Pandora understood that despite her anger at her twin.

Barty Crouch Junior. This one was harder to see the good in, but Marlene had a knack for this sort of thing. Dorcas said how he wouldn't leave Evan and Regulus, how he'd promised to stick by them until they all died. Dorcas had expressed her severe disapproval of his decision, and Marlene had agreed that it was a shit thing to do. Secretly, she knew she'd do the same for her friends, if they needed her. Mary and Lily were her sisters, blood be screwed. She'd love them forever, she knew it. James and Peter were her oldest friends and if any one of them asked it of her, she'd comply. Because that's what friends do. They stick by one another no matter what.

So maybe she should hate them. And she does, a little bit, on Dorcas's behalf and on Sirius's behalf and James's and Lily's and Peter's and Mary's. But she knew why, and she understood. She doesn't think she'd be able to forgive them for it, if she was Dorcas, but she could understand.

Dorcas.

She'd wandered into her neighbourhood without thinking. A summer of creeping through garden gates and windows will do that to you.

Marlene sighs heavily, her eyes drifting closed. No. No. She has to stay awake. She has to get to Dorcas's.

Somehow she finds the right house, driven there by either the god of love or the god of chaos, she can't decide. She manages to open the gate with her unsteady hands, the bolt sliding out of place with an ominous creak.

She finds the wheelie bin that she climbs on every time she sneaks into Dorcas's room and somehow manages to clamber on top of it. She wobbles and throws her arms out to steady herself. This, incidentally, only messes up her balance even more, and she topples off the bin with a loud crash and a stream of words that her mother would raise her eyebrows at and mutter about her acting supremely unladylike and improper.

The loud noise creates a fair bit of disturbance outside the window and Marlene raises her eyes, squinting at the open window from where she's sprawled on the damp ground.

Dorcas.

Dorcas.

Dorcas.

"McKinnon, what the fuck are you doing?" Dorcas hisses, brushing a long dark braid behind her ear and staring at her with wide eyes. The nickname makes that familiar warmth ignite in her chest.

God, she's divine. The words flit through Marlene's head before she can stop them and slap herself for how ridiculously lovestruck she sounds. She forgot how Dorcas's dark skin practically glows in the moonlight, how her eyes light up whenever she talks about something she likes. Mostly politics. Marlene had never been interested in the law before she met Dorcas, but the way she talks about it makes Marlene want to listen forever.

Marlene opens her mouth, but no words come out. Dorcas looks vaguely concerned.

"You okay?" Dorcas's voice is softer this time, and the warmth in her chest sparks into a flickering flame.

"Yeah. M'fine. Great. Fantastic." She blurts, her words slurred. She reaches out to grasp the wheelie bin, pulling herself up on it. She manages not to fall on her arse for a second time.

Dorcas seems to hesitate, her eyes scanning Marlene's messy hair and smudged lipstick and running mascara and she sighs heavily. "I'll come down. You need to get inside, it's fucking freezing."

Marlene tries not to let that mean too much, but it's too late. Dorcas is gone from the window, and Marlene feels cold without her gaze on her. But it's okay, because a few minutes later, she's there, her arms around Marlene's waist, brushing her skin, Dorcas's eyes running over her face, that adorable crease between her eyebrows that shows that she's worried. Worried about her.

Marlene can't help but stare, and perhaps it's due to the drunken haze that she seems to have acquired at some point in the bar, maybe it's the fact that she's tired beyond belief, or maybe she's just in love with the woman in front of her. Marlene thinks she'd be okay if she died now, because what better way to die than in the arms of the person you love?

"-and you can't be out here, it's not safe, McKinnon. You can't just- are you even listening to me?" It hits her that Dorcas is talking. She blinks.

"What?"

Dorcas sighs in an exasperated way, but Marlene can sense a hint of fondness in the way she looks at her. Merlin and Morgana, she could drown in those eyes.

"Come on. let's get you inside." Dorcas mutters, her voice soft in a way that makes Marlene's heart do embarrassing things in her chest. She can only nod.

Dorcas's house is warm and quiet, and Marlene stares around as Dorcas leads her up the stairs. She's only been in Dorcas's room, not the rest of her house. It's nice, in a strange way that makes Marlene think of summer. The walls are yellow and soft and she brushes her hand against them without thinking, as if the colour will crawl off the wall and wrap her in its sunny warmth.

Dorcas's hand is on her waist and it's all she can think about as she opens the door, as she stumbles inside, as she flops dramatically onto the bed she has grown to call a second home. She knows this is stupid and dangerous and reckless, but when has she ever been someone who stops and thinks? When Marlene loves, she loves fiercely. With teeth and claws and with her whole heart and she doesn't know how to be any other way. She doesn't want to be any other way.

Dorcas walks over and gingerly sits on the bed next to her. She's too quiet, too calm, too calculating, and Marlene doesn't like it. Wants her to be smiling that soft smile she gets sometimes when she's rolling her eyes at one of Marlene's bad jokes.

It's a long pause before she speaks. "Marls, what are you doing here?"

Marlene tilts her head to get a better look at her face. Her face. It takes her a second to reply. "I... I don't know."

Dorcas considers this, her brow furrowed. Marlene watches her. She likes watching her. "Are you here to shag? Because-"

"No." Marlene cuts her off, shaking her head. Her movements are too slow, too sluggish, and she can't pry the right words from her burning heart.

Dorcas stares at her, still frowning. "Then... why did you-"

"I wanted to." Her voice is too small, too soft. She hates it. Hates Dorcas for making her like this. Except she could never hate Dorcas for anything.

"Oh." Dorcas's voice is small and soft too. Marlene doesn't hate it in the slightest.

"I just... do you ever think we're supposed to be different? That things are supposed to be different?" Marlene sits up and immediately regrets it, her head spinning. She squeezes her eyes shut, and Dorcas's hand is on her back, steadying her. She leans into the touch without thinking, but Dorcas is there to hold her.

"You're not making sense, McKinnon." Dorcas's voice is quiet and neutral, like she's thinking about her words carefully before she says them.

Marlene sighs (dramatically, Mary might say- though she's the biggest drama queen of them all) and then, without thinking, she takes Dorcas's hand in her own, intertwining their fingers. Their hands fit perfectly together. Dorcas stares at where they're touching, and Marlene holds her breath, about to pull away before Dorcas does, and then... she doesn't. She lets it happen. Lets them be close.

That was her mistake, really.

Because Marlene is surging forwards and cupping Dorcas's gorgeous, gorgeous face in her free hand and her lips are on hers and-

Oh.

Oh .

Their lips fit together too, like they were made for each other, and Marlene thinks she might have been made for Dorcas. She's kissing Dorcas, praying that she'll kiss her back, and then she does.

She does.

And it's like the summers have all come swirling together in a haze of mine, yours, mine, yours, mine, yours. Forever yours .

Dorcas's hands are back on her waist and she hums into Marlene's mouth and Marlene wants to bottle this moment. She mentally scratches out her earlier thoughts. This is how she wants to die.

And then Dorcas pulls away. Not completely, but still far enough that Marlene's hands reach for her, trying to pull her back. Back to warmth, and summer, and stars and galaxies.

Dorcas's eyes are soft in a way that makes Marlene want to crawl inside whatever it is and never climb out. Teeth, claws, heart . "McKinnon, you're drunk." Her voice is quiet, and too steady, too calm for whatever just happened. Marlene swallows thickly.

"McKinnon?" She murmurs, her eyes never leaving Dorcas's face. She smiles weakly. "What happened to Marls?"

She loves the blush that makes its way over Dorcas's cheeks. "Okay, then. Marls, you're drunk."

She doesn't reply, simply humming in agreement. Dorcas sighs. "Why'd you kiss me?"

Marlene's breath hitches. Here it is. The chance to say it. Say the things she's been feeling all this time. But apparently the bravery that got her into Gryffindor is stuck somewhere, or held up by the alcohol, so she only manages, "I wanted to."

Dorcas rolls her eyes, because despite the strange circumstances, she's still Dorcas, and she's still exasperated by everything the blonde girl does. “ Why, though? Why'd you want to, if you don't just want to shag me?”

Marlene swallows thickly, her mascara itchy on her face. She scrubs at it with her hand, to try and diffuse the tension. It doesn't work, predictably. She sighs. “I just… I don't want to shag.”

Dorcas frowns. “Like… at all?”

Marlene's eyes widen and she shakes her head quickly. “No- no- I don't just want to shag.” The words are the closest thing she's ever done to admitting that she wants Dorcas. More than just kissing, and more than just shagging, and more than the occasional brush of hands or foreheads when they accidentally fall asleep together. She wants everything. Teeth, claws, heart .

“You don't… I'm not following.” Dorcas sits back on her thighs, her legs crossed prettily as she looks at the blonde. Marlene wants her to look at her forever.

“I want to… I want… I love you.” Her throat is dry and her hands are trembling but she doesn't care anymore. Two years, she's waited for this, and something deep in her core tells her that if she doesn't reach out and grab it now, it will flit away forever. Out of reach. Where she can't hold it and touch it and keep it safe anymore.

Dorcas looks just as starved of words, just as tired, and suddenly Dorcas is pulling her in with a sudden lunge that might make her flinch if it was anyone else. Marlene wraps her arms up around the taller girl's neck just as they sink into a kiss. 

It's different than all the others, perhaps excluding the one from a few minutes ago, because the others were filled with lust and pain and other aching things that make Marlene want to scream. This is better , in every sense of the word. Soft, and all-encompassing. Firm, and decisive. Like Dorcas knows her teeth and claws and heart and is choosing her anyway.

Dorcas . Her lips are soft and her hands are cool against Marlene's flushed skin, and Marlene wants this until the day she dies.

When they pull away, it's with heavy breaths and proximity, and a ache of feelings in her stomach that also make her want to scream, but in a shouting-from-the-rooftops kind of way. It's better.

“I love you too.”

Marlene can't help the grin that tugs at the corners of her mouth and she presses her lips to Dorcas's gently. It's chaste, and soft, and it's everything .

It's Marlene that breaks the silence. “So… friends?”

Dorcas's nose scrunches up in a way that makes Marlene want to kiss her again and she rolls her eyes. “Merlin and Morgana, you're insufferable.”

Marlene pokes her, still grinning. “You love it.”

There's a pause, filled with everything and nothing. “I do.”

Chapter Text

10th August 1981

Dorcas Meadowes is completely and utterly fucked.

Her forehead is pressed to the smudged glass of her bedroom window, her house overlooking the quiet road. The amber street lamps flicker slightly, and the air is filled with a tension so thick she could slit its throat.

There was always a small part of her that knew she was marked for death. It wasn't a secret that Order members were more likely to die, but she'd never actually thought it would happen to her. Even if she didn't have her friends anymore, she had her mind and her wand, and surely that would be enough.

She knew she would lose Regulus from the day she met him. He was irredeemable. She knew she wouldn't be able to save him. She knew he didn't want her help, or anyone else's.

She knew she would lose one of the twins. She didn't know which, because their love for each other was something fierce and untouchable, like one soul split into two bodies. She knew they would have made the sacrifice for each other at a moment's notice. It just happened to be Evan.

She didn't expect to lose Barty, but she did, and she hated him for it, because he didn't have to. He was under no real obligation to join the Death Eaters. There was no pressure from Regulus or Evan. They discouraged him, even. And yet he followed them over the edge. She was forced to watch his morality rot away, as he marked himself for death the same way every dark wizard did. She was forced to watch the decay of their friendship while unable to do anything about it.

Pandora had somehow gotten lost along the way, her mind wandering, wavering, wilting, until she left home with Xenophilius. Pandora had never joined the Order, because she didn't want to have to fight her own brother. Despite her rage at his choice, killing him was the last thing she ever wanted to do. So she'd left, and Dorcas couldn't blame her for wanting an out. Wanting freedom.

The one person Dorcas never wanted or expected to lose was Marlene. Marlene, who was bold and obnoxious and utterly unafraid, with her bleach-blonde hair and too many ear piercings and wild smiles that somehow managed to make Dorcas feel electric. Marlene, who fought like a wild thing for anyone she loved and wasn't afraid to stand up for what was right. Marlene, who pushed her to be intelligent and witty and challenged her in ways that no one else ever could. Marlene who kept coming back, kept climbing through her window, kept being there.

Marlene.

Marlene

Marlene .

Marlene, who was so full of life that no one expected her to be one of the first to die.

When Marlene died, Dorcas stopped caring. She stopped with morality and etiquette and expectations. She stopped with being good. She saw someone with the Dark Mark and they were dead. It was as simple as that. She knew it wasn't right, but she honestly didn't care. They should have expected this, she thought; they should have thought about it before they took her people away. Regulus. Evan. Barty. Pandora.

Marlene.

Marlene.

Marlene .

The street lamps are still flickering. Someone should fix that, she thinks. When everything else is broken, the bloody street lamps should work. It's the least the universe could do for her at this point.

The road is still quiet. Some might say deathly quiet, but Dorcas knows death. She knows deathly quiet better than anyone. She knows rattling breaths and drowned screams and pure, undiluted rage. She knows it all, and it consumes her.

Dorcas is still watching. She feels as though that's all she does, now. Watches. Waits. Listens. Like a snake, waiting to strike. How fitting, that she was put into Slytherin.

Then, the road is no longer quiet, a hooded figure Apparating from nothing and walking down the pavement. Dorcas watches intently, because this is the rattlesnake's tail. The warning before the kill.

She knows who this is, before they reach the door.

She heads downstairs, her eyes narrowed, her shoulders set, and she exits out of the back door. Walks around the side. Wand raised. Eyes dead. Heart hard.

The man is standing on her doorstep, but before he can flick his wand to open the door, she speaks.

"Voldemort."

The man stops, the silence stretching between them before he turns around. His face is ghastly pale, his eyes sunken and his cheeks hollow. Dorcas can tell he used to be handsome once, and somehow that makes his appearance all the more unsettling. Haunted eyes and high cheekbones, raven-black hair and an expression of plain distaste.

"Dorcas Meadowes. I assume you know why I am paying you a visit." He tilts his head.

"I know perfectly well." Her tone is flat and her eyes are empty. The rest of her feels empty too.

"Ah. That makes my job much easier." He smiles, and it's an eerie thing, all too-white teeth and cracked lips. "We can't let you go wandering around, killing all my Death Eaters, can we?"

"Every dirty little coward you've coerced and manipulated into working with you deserved what they got." She shrugs, unblinking, gaze never travelling away from his face.

"That is where you and I disagree, Dorcas." Using her first name and everything, like he knows her. "I am cleansing this world, creating a fresh slate for like-minded Purebloods to thrive in-"

"Why?" She cuts in, and he stops. Stares at her.

"Whatever do you mean, why? For purity. To protect the true wizards from scum like-"

"Like me? Like the thousands of Muggles, Muggleborns and Squibs you've brutally murdered?" She steps forward.

Voldemort's eyes glint with malice. "You talk of murderers, when you have taken the lives of just as many of my followers. So really, what is the difference between you and I, Dorcas Meadowes?"

The air is cold, but her anger is scorching, and she's burning up, withering and growing at the same time. "I'm not afraid of you, Voldemort. I have never been afraid of you, because you aren't worth being afraid of. You want to know the difference between you and I?" She's close now, too close, and her eyes are burning into him. She hopes it hurts. "The difference is that I know love, and you never will. And it will rot you from the inside out."

When Dorcas Meadowes died, she did not fight back. She did not fight back because she had nothing to fight back for. She'd done what she wanted to do, said what she'd wanted to say. 

She'd embedded a seed of doubt in Voldemort's mind, and that was enough for her.

She'd weakened his army, and that was enough.

She'd had friends, and that was enough.

She'd loved and been loved in return, and that. That was more than enough.

So when Dorcas Meadowes died, she did not fight back. Her wand fell to the floor like her body did. She may not have fought back, but she did frighten Voldemort that day.

She frightened him, for all of the Muggles and Squibs and Muggleborns who had been wrongfully killed, for all of the children who had been bent and twisted into unfeeling soldiers, to all of the people she had loved and lost and grieved for.

She frightened him because what he'd done had frightened her. She frightened him for Regulus, for Evan, for Barty, for Pandora, and for Marlene.

Marlene.

Marlene

Marlene.

She did not fight back when he killed her. She smiled. A devilish, wicked thing, crawling up from spite and hatred and the knowledge that she had done more than enough in her lifetime, while Voldemort had not, and that he never would.

It would rot him from the inside out.