Le gasp! I can actually write something serious and thought provoking and OC-less! It's a miracle!
Nah, just the result of too many Christmas cookies and reading Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson for my book report. So therefore, here is a one-shot about Marlene McKinnon, written for JPLE's "As Life Flashes Before Your Eyes" competition. Enjoy!
The house still smells like blood, even though she's scrubbed it top to the bottom in the last two weeks. The smell invades every single room, whispering, beckoning to her, choking her until she can't breathe. But she can't die. Not yet.
So she keeps herself barricaded in the only room where death doesn't echo through the cracks and spaces between the walls, sitting on the floor, her head leaning against the bed and her eyes closed.
It doesn't stop the whispers, the hands that reach for her, tug at her clothes, caress her hair, whispering, whispering.
Come.
Come.
Not yet.
She loved to sing. Such a sound is so rare now, but she used to sing every day, songs made up in her head and presented to the world.
So, at eleven years old, what she loved about her first day as a real witch was not the Sorting Hat. It was a simple process, really, just put on the hat and hear the voice of a friend fill your head, trying to put you in a box and send you on your way.
No. It was the song that had her head spinning, walking as though in a dream throughout the castle to bed, her tiny elf body swaying in exhaustion and excitement. People had stared, now that she thought about it, but her head had been too filled with the sound of the thousands of voices joining a chorus of tunes to notice. A broken, disjointed song, but together nonetheless.
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts, teach us something please," she whispered in her dreams.
But that was a long time ago, back when she could dream and before the whispers and ghosts of lives lost came back and nested in her head at night, before they came along and ripped the notes from her mind with teeth and claws and smothered her voice forever.
She can hear them now, their cloaks swishing along the sidewalk, crunching leaves beneath their feet. She could leave now. She knows she can. Her wand is within an arm's reach. She could fight, run, do everything to survive. It would probably work. She is smart. If she wanted to live, she could.
No. Not live. Exist. If she wanted to exist, she could. This is not living, this hiding from ghosts and keeping in the words that threaten to spill out and destroy her fragile world like acid. She is the last one, anyway. What is the good in being the last one?
This is not living, and she buries her head in her arms, counting the breaths until the iron-wrought gate creaks open in their sad attempt to be discreet.
She barely even exists.
Hogsmeade in the winter was the most beautiful thing she had even seen in her thirteen years, and she twirled around in the snow, like a dance, shaking the white snowflakes from her hair. This, certainly, was life, independence, freedom.
This was the air she breathed, the path she walked. This was cold winter nights spent in front of the fire and mornings spent dancing in the snow. She was drunk on beauty, blurring her vision at the edges and sending tiny shards of light spinning.
"Oi, you dizzy yet?"
She stopped, and there was a girl with laughter in her brown eyes and a home knitted cap resting on her chocolate locks. How long had she been standing there, watching her make a fool of herself when she thought no one was watching?
But Dorcas was quiet. Dorcas was always quiet when she wanted to be, that faint Irish lilt in her voice making her words sound elegant, a single whisper against the wind.
Fiery Marlene and Quiet Dorcas. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, oh what a pair they made. People whispered and people stared, what an anomaly, what a shame, because two girls so different can never turn out right.
Still, Dorcas was always there. Right behind her, every step of the way, whether it be saving lives against the Death Eaters or watching a small girl on matchstick legs dance badly in the snow.
She can't breathe.
The air is choking her, hands wrapping around her throat.
Come.
Come.
It is your time, they whisper, familiar voices that frighten her, warped and twisted. They run their spider-fingers over her arms, their breaths tinged with frost. Come with us, Marlene.
No.
No, her mind screams, fighting against them, tearing away, tightening her eyes as she hears them coming up the walk. If she listens, she can hear their hushed whispers, their breathing behind those silver masks that hide their humanity from the world. If you were to tear them away, what would you find? A sister, a cousin, a beloved-to-him-or-her, perhaps.
People are always scarier in the dark.
And she's so scared of the dark.
People whispered about him from the moment he stepped foot in the school, my, my, my, James Potter, he's a pureblood you know, family as old as time, even older than her own. And goodness, isn't he so strong/handsome/smart/perfect. Quidditch player, Head Boy, favorite of Dumbledore's.
And certainly he'd want to marry within the wizarding community, oh yes, because we must keep the blood lines pure otherwise there'd be none of us purebloods left…
And the sixteen year old Ravenclaw with blue eyes heard all this with a smile, not believing a word of it until she watched him on the Quidditch pitch / in the hallway / in Charms, just watching him and never thinking for a moment he was all that special.
But James – god, James – he was special. He made her head spin and her heart flutter and did he know what it felt like when she watched him chase after that Evans girl, the one with a fiery temper to match her hair. Did he know how she wanted-wanted-wanted something so bad, something that could never be hers and how much it hurt, like someone was stabbing her with a white-hot knife, it hurt when Lily finally said yes?
And she couldn't stand to see them, in the Great Hall / on the Quidditch pitch / everywhere she turned. Dorcas always told her she had it bad – she never knew exactly how bad.
Still, she wished, every time she passed him in the hall, every time he asked her what was homework in Transfiguration, every time she watched him steal the Quaffle and score, that one day he'd wake up and see how much she wanted him.
And as horrible as it sounded, some days she wished that Lily Evans would just jump off a cliff.
They're at the door now, straining and struggling to keep quiet, but they're doing a bad job at it. She raises her head faintly to listen to the voices that float through the air.
"She's in there."
"You sure about that?"
"Yes, I'm sure, not like last time."
"Last time, what a shame."
"Yeah, well, Dolohov got a few of them anyway."
"No one's going to miss this one. Little Marlene McKinnon, all alone. Bet'cha she doesn't even have a wand with her."
"I hope she screams. I love it when they scream."
Her fists clench, her knuckles white. She shuts her eyes tight and stars explode in her mind, wishing upon each and every one of them. All she can think is that they killed him and him and her and him and them and all of them going round and round like a glass carousel she's afraid to break.
They're trying to break down the door now, and the glass horses shatter and embed themselves in her skin.
Her hands tightened around her glass, the tiny little girl's body replaced by a slender young witch with a small mouth boys would have died to kiss. But her voice was full of venom as she glared at Gideon Prewett, that trademark smirk still on his face. "Don't call me Marley."
Eighteen and fearful, time and tribulations and the deaths of her mother and brother had forced her to take on a bitter cold shell, become someone new she despised, hated. But he was twenty, red-haired and bold and so annoying, because no matter what, he wouldn't leave her alone.
"Touchy, are we?" He sat down at the spot opposite her, ignoring the fact for the moment that they were nearly strangers, and that unforeseen circumstances have forced them and a jumble of other near-strangers into a small room, waiting for a man who may or may not have them all signing their death warrants by the end of the night. But that's the risk they all took, because death was better than a world taken hostage by a Dark Lord.
She could see his twin, Fabian, talking to Edgar Bones. Dorcas was near the door, attempting to flirt with Sirius Black – poor girl, you can't rely on that man for anything. And there was Dedalus Diggle, all of a flutter, wearing his stupid little hat, funny how she could only recognize the weird ones.
But once upon a time she used to not care, didn't care what anyone thought of her. Then the real world tore her into a million tiny pieces, taking advantage of the innocent little girl she used to be and leaving a broken shell behind. That was what gave her the strength, the only thing that forced her to join the godforsaken Order, because that was all she could do, because the pain that tore her apart could only make her stronger.
Before it gets better it's gotta get worse.
It's gotta.
And that was what kept her in the meeting for the rest of the night, as Gideon Prewett sat across from her and told her that her smile was broken.
Alohomora won't work. She's not going to make it that easy, they've got to earn the right to barge in here and take what isn't theirs. She can hear their frustrated hisses as charm after charm fails to work, and laughs a little inside, because the solution is so simple.
Ha. Laughing in the face of death is easier than it seems, and she tilts her head to look at the ceiling. Facing death. How many times has she done that? Too many times to count.
But never alone.
She never thought she'd be alone.
"It's only temporary, Marley. Don't get your wand in a knot."
"Don't call me Marley!"
He just smiled and continued walking down the path, seemingly unconcerned that it was taking all of her willpower not to curse him all the way to Bolivia. Missions for the Order of the Phoenix could sometimes be boring, with Death Eaters disappearing without a fight. Battles rarely ever took place. It was only 1978. It had only just begun.
Still, Dumbledore didn't want any unnecessary casualties. He made sure every member was assigned a partner on missions. Older veteran members were paired up with newer members, resulting in her having to deal with Gideon for that evening. Even so, Marlene had a feeling she'd be the one picking up the slack.
"Lighten up, will you? It's gonna be a long night."
Marlene rolled her eyes as they approached a local Muggle neighborhood. A few Death Eaters had been sighted lingering around one of the houses a few minutes ago, but most had dismissed it as an empty threat. A warning, meant to distract the Order members from the important jobs that had to be done. After all, no other disturbances had been reported.
"Nice house," Gideon remarked as they stood on the porch, watching as the wind whistled through the chimes hung from the roof to welcome intruders home. Small talk, meaningless talk, words that didn't comprehend in her mind. Not completely. Maybe she was ignoring him because he was so frustrating and annoying and just…so…she couldn't even think of the words.
She muttered under her breath, and the tip of her wand lit up, filling the porch with light. Frowning slightly, she angled downwards, trying to make out the faint shadow near the bottom of the door.
Gideon swore loudly, seeing it before she did, and pulled on her arm, quickly leading her away from the house, heading back the same way they had come. But it was too late, and the silence between them was uncomfortable. She almost wished he'd talk to her, just to get her mind off of the blood that had been seeping through the door.
A crash downstairs tells her they've broken through. Surprise, surprise. She can hear their excited whispers, thinking they're so clever and smart and god she hates them, all of them.
The ghosts are still there, she can see them out of the corner of her eye, can hear them and smell them. They sit next to her, lean their heads on her shoulder, and tell her stories that she already knows.
"Once upon a time, there used to be a little girl named Marlene McKinnon. Then the big bad wolf came and ate her up. The end."
They laugh, knowing that time is ticking and she'll be with them soon. Death is in her kitchen now, listening for the grandfather clock to strike twelve and the magic to disappear.
Come with us.
Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong.
She heard it from Dorcas, two weeks later, how the bride was decked in white, how the groom drank too much firewhiskey at the reception and lit his trousers on fire. How Sirius was the best man and how much Lily missed her, say Marlene, why didn't you go?
She just nodded smiling a fake smile over a mug of butterbeer. She told Dorcas her cousin contracted spattergroit and how much she wanted to go, and it was a shame she missed it. She didn't tell her about how she had thrown the invitation in the trash the moment she got it and how she cried herself to sleep that night.
"You know, Marlene, wouldn't you say it's about time you found a man?" Dorcas grinned, her fingers tapping against the table to the beat of the song playing in the Three Broomsticks. "I mean, it's a war. Who knows if we'll live to see tomorrow?"
She just shrugged. "We're only nineteen, you know. So what if Evans and Potter decide to get hitched? Doesn't mean we should all follow the example. Besides, I haven't found anyone, and don't plan to."
Dorcas rolled her eyes. "Su-ure. Like you haven't noticed the way Gideon looks at you every time he shows up at your house for a mission?"
Marlene froze for a second, her hands clenched around her mug of butterbeer, feeling the heat seep between her fingers. "What are you talking about?" Good god, what did Dorcas mean?
Her best friend seemed pleased to be the source of such juicy information, and studied her fingernails innocently, enjoying the attention. "Well, you know, you have been spending a lot of time together, and considering the fact you're over James now…"
No. Not over. Never over.
The door to the room crashes open, and the ghosts disappear into the air. She looks up from her hiding spot into the silver masks, their wands held up and ready.
Someone cackles. "Well, well, well, looks like we've got the mouse trapped in her little corner."
The smell of blood is thick. It snuck in like a thief and wrapped around her throat, cutting off all the air from her lungs. She cannot breathe, cannot speak.
"The Dark Lord will be so pleased," One of them says, and through the haze in her mind she counts the number of them, trying to find the right one. Five in all, too skinny, too tall, too short, not left-handed, wrong mask…
She looks over at her wand, not recognizing a single one, none of them the one she wants.
They all laugh, clearly enjoying her distress. She hates them hates them hates them…
"Did you really think you'd be able to kill any of us? You're just a little girl."
Little girl. Little girl.
She stopped being that long ago.
She was in between Peter Pettigrew and Edgar Bones, a smile pasted onto her face. Hestia was behind the camera, telling Benjy to move to the left, Sirius and Dorcas to stop snogging, and Fabian to stop acting like a five-year old.
"Do you want this to be a picture or a mourning session?" He responded, causing everyone to laugh and Dedalus's hat to fall off.
Hestia just rolled her eyes like Marlene used to, and took her spot with the rest of the members. "All righty, one, two, three."
They all raised their glasses in a toast to an unknown person as a bright flash went off, capturing that single moment for all eternity. Cheers, laughs, smiles, these all belonged to people in another world without worries, without a war, without the threat of You-Know-Who.
Yet here they all were, all awkwardness that had existed three years ago between them gone, everyone talking and laughing without a care in the world. It was an odd feeling, something she hadn't felt in a long time. She couldn't tell if she liked it or not.
"Alright everyone, sounds like Harry's awake," Lily put her glass down and walked over the crib near the wall, pulling out of a tiny bundle. James looked on proudly as everyone gathered around his wife, cooing and telling him how handsome his son was.
Marlene didn't join them. She stood off to the side awkwardly, not quite sure how to move or get her lips to speak. She took a sip of wine just to be able to do something. It tasted like lost lives and bitter memories and what-could-have-beens.
"Cute kid," Gideon remarked, suddenly standing right next to her, watching the crowd of their friends. "I'm just glad he didn't throw up over me. How about you?"
She looked away, not quite able to meet his gaze. "I'm not good with kids."
"You were fine with Frank and Alice's son."
"Yeah, well…" She couldn't think of anything else to say. Instead, she set the glass on a nearby table and grabbed her cloak off the pegs on the wall. "I gotta go, it's getting late." Better run away, better to get away from the questions, the stares, the wondering why she doesn't want to see the baby, god she hates that baby…
"Marley."
She stopped, torn between getting away and throwing something at him for calling her that ridiculous nickname. The hesitation gave him a chance.
"I thought you were better than that."
No. She suppressed a laugh. She was horrible, really, and selfish and egocentric and scared.
But Gideon didn't see that. Instead, he looked over at Lily and James and Harry, a happy little family in the middle of a war. Had she once been a part of something like that? Would she ever be?
"Its kids like that we're fighting for, you know." He said. "Not us. It's too late for us. But that kid still has a chance to grow up without You-Know-Who. Don't you want to see what you're fighting for?"
The unspoken words hung between them like a spider's thread, swaying back and forth. Who wanted to be the first to break it?
And it's funny, when Marlene finally did get the courage to face little Harry Potter, he smiled a genuine smile only for her. Like she didn't love his father so much it hurt. Like she couldn't help but hate his mother, no matter how kind she was.
Those tiny little things didn't matter though, as she looked at him ("He's got his father's looks, but his mum's eyes, doesn't he?"). She didn't see Lily, and she didn't see James. She saw the future, in the hopeful eyes of that little boy.
Don't you want to see what you're dying for?
"Where's Dolohov?" Dolohov has to be there, she swore she'd kill him, after all that he had done. She told everyone that she'd take down as many as she could. Swore it on Dorcas's grave, promised it to Lily and James.
They all just laugh again, because she's so small and helpless once again, a fly against an elephant, and wouldn't she give anything just to be eleven again, in an elf-girl body safe and protected by a parent's arms.
"Dolohov isn't here," One of them says, taking off his mask. She can see his face now. Travers. He leers at her, mocking her. She wishes she could reach forward and scratch out those hateful eyes, the same as everyone else's, watching, judging her.
She keeps her entire body still, not revealing anything in her face. Her fists are clenched tight, digging her nails into her palm until they bleed. But she still doesn't reach for her wand, still doesn't let them see how scared she is.
God, she's never done this alone.
"Dolohov has to deal with some…mistakes he's made." Travers says, eyeing her the way a wolf would look at a lamb he's about to eat. "You see, the Dark Lord was not pleased when he found out the Dolohov had killed the wrong target."
"Wrong…target?" She repeats, not quite understanding. They all laugh again. She's getting so sick of that sound.
"You. You were the target, Miss McKinnon. Not them."
Marlene McKinnon. Pureblood. Talented witch. Member of the Order of the Phoenix.
Targeted for death.
(they didn't have to die…)
He showed up at the house the day after Dorcas's funeral. She refused to open the door, even though everyone said being alone wasn't good for her health. She didn't care, she welcomed the madness, the voices of people long gone tearing off bits of her heart and devouring it slowly.
"Marley, open up!"
She couldn't stand it.
"I swear, if you don't open the door…"
She wanted it to end.
"One…two…"
She had to get away.
It took her a moment to fully comprehend that the door was wide open and he was standing in front of her, looking as though she was a porcelain doll he was afraid to break."You okay?'
She scowled. "I'm fine."
"What are you doing?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning, staring at the suitcase she was sitting on.
She stood up, wishing more than anything she could just punch him in the face and make him go away, fade away like a cloud of smoke. Instead, she controlled her temper and turned away. "I'm leaving. I'm going out of the country. I'm not coming back."
"Why?"
That simple question pushed her over the edge as she turned back to him and the words started, all the hate and worry and every-single-bloody thing she had ever felt spilled out like the rain falling from her eyes that she didn't bother to wipe away.
"Because I hate it here! Because we're all going to die anyway! They've won, don't you get it? You're so stupid, he's won! He's won, there's nothing we can do!"
Because I can hear every single one of them. Because Dorcas visits me in my dreams and tells me I'm next. Because this house smells like blood, because I'm motherless and brotherless. Because I'm so scared that we won't make it out of this. Because I'm scared.
I just want to survive.
Gideon just stared. Was that disgust? Pity? Sympathy? She couldn't figure it out. She never would be able to.
"Funny how you're the only one who thinks that," He finally said in a cool, even tone she had never heard before. "I don't see Lily and James running for the hills. Dumbledore's as old as the dinosaurs, but he's not leaving. I'd rather die as a hero than live as a coward forever."
"Well, good for you!" She shouted. "In case you haven't forgotten, Gideon, I'm not a Gryffindor! I'm not bloody brave or noble or any of that! I'm just…I'm just…"
"You're what, Marley?"
"I'm just Marlene McKinnon, goddamn you!" She grabbed a picture frame off the wall, the picture it once held already folded up and placed carefully in her pocket. In one motion, she turned around and hurled it at him. "Not Marley, Marlene, do you hear me? Get out of here! Get out!"
He dodged the picture frame and quickly moved closer as she reached for the next thing she could reach. Just before she could smash the lamp over his head, he grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him as the tears poured down her face.
When was the last time someone had hugged her like that? When was the last time she had truly felt safe, like everything else in the world was miles away?
I hate you I hate you I hate you leave me alone I hate you…
"There's been reports of Death Eaters in Surrey." He said, one hand pushing her hair back and the other taking hold of the lamp and setting it aside, studying her face, memorizing it. "I told Dumbledore that Fabian'll check it out with me instead of you so you don't have to go. Just thought I'd let you know."
I hate you I hate you leave me alone go away I don't need you but god I need you I want you to stay I hate you I love you so much.
They found the bodies two days later. She saw Fabian's but didn't want to see Gideon's. He couldn't be dead. She could still hear him a week later and could still taste his last good-bye on her lips.
She's the reason they'd dead. They're the reason she's not alive. Surviving, not living.
So she smiles for the first time and tilts her head, a laugh escaping from her lips. She can see them now, all standing behind the Death Eaters. Dorcas, with her sparkling brown eyes, her brother, long dead but still looking like he could carry the world on his shoulders, Fabian, with a smile that is never serious, her mother, beautiful, confident and bold. And god, there's Gideon too, brushing away her tears and kissing her good-bye.
She knew all along she was going to die. The only difference is Marlene is no longer afraid.
The Death Eaters are tired and impatient, but she doesn't see Travers raising his wand and whispering the deadly words. She sees a little girl singing her heart out and dancing in the snow, a heartbroken teenager crying over her brother and mother's grave, a scared young woman joining a war she doesn't know or understand, a tired veteran who just wants it to end, and she hears them, all of them, whispering that it is her time, and for once she doesn't resist.
Come. Come.
She sees innocence and trust and broken hearts and baby boys with the future in their eyes and empty picture frames and laughing over butterbeer and all the things she'll miss and all the apologies she never gave to Lily, all the letters she never wrote.
She sees a green light fill a room somewhere far below and a hero (not a coward, never a coward) falls to the floor, a smile on her face as the ghosts race forward with open arms to welcome her home.
"Hey, Prewett,"
"Hmm?"
"Do you think we'll die in this war?"
"Probably."
"Are you scared?"
"Of course I am, Marley."
"Then why don't you act like it?"
"Because why should I act scared all the time when it's coming sooner or later? Why not just enjoy life now?"
"Oh…"
"Besides, there are things in life that are worth celebrating, whether or not you're facing certain death."
"Like what?"
"Like the fact that I called you Marley five seconds ago and you haven't thrown anything at me."
"…"
"I was just kid – hey, put that chair down! Benjy, she's trying to kill me!"
"I'm just enjoying life, Gideon. Just enjoying life."
fin
Thank you for reading!