[a/n — written for hogwarts forum, women's history task 7. word count: 1288. i have made marlene a muggle-born for this fic, and also, i was not sure if or how sirius would introduce her to his parents, but it was the premise i'd chosen and this is what i've done with it, even if it does divert slightly from canon :)]
[damage]
The motorcycle glides to a stop a few streets over, Sirius muttering something about needing fuel.
Marlene can hardly step off fast enough, barely listening as he prattles on. "I can walk from here," she says airily, turning away. It's about a half-mile walk, not that the distance would make a difference. The less time she has to spend with him on that bike, arms wound as loosely as possible around him — solely to keep from flying off —the better.
His protests start almost immediately, but they're to Marlene's retreating back. She's already long gone and beyond caring, as his worthless i'm sorrys remain unheard. The slap of her boots against the pavement serve as a definitive sign that this conversation is over.
She's not sure if he's following her. She's not sure she cares.
Her anger is a palpable thing, a red-hot flame inside of her that blooms crimson on her cheeks, making her trademark lipstick stand out like blood. She hears the hum of the motorbike, puttering at a snail's pace behind her, and resists the urge to turn around and spit out some sort of vulgar comment.
She's been surprisingly silent this whole time, but a dark, humourless smile graces her lips as she realizes how much more unnerving that must be for him. Though it's quite a struggle to bite her tongue, to not say a damn word —
It's paying off.
She wonders how long he'll last.
Perhaps it's a tad cruel of her, but Marlene doesn't care at this point.
Because what Sirius has done to her?
Beyond cruel.
She knew he had his qualms about her meeting his parents; she was . . . unconventional, to say the least. But he was also Sirius, the boy who promised to love her no matter what, the boy whose eyes lit up every time he saw her, whose kisses burned with the passion of a romance that would never die.
Lies, lies, lies.
Like the lie he forced her to play, the harried apologies that meant nothing.
You don't understand, Mar. My parents wouldn't like . . . Just pretend. Just this one time. Okay?
And like a lovesick fool, she had. She wiped every trace of mascara from her face, she donned the dress robes she borrowed from an older student for a ball ages ago, and she even took off her coveted combat boots and traded them for flats.
Fine. That much, she would do for him.
Appearances weren't everything, after all.
But then he approached her, with just one last thing — Can you not talk about your family? Or yourself really? Or if they do ask, just, I dunno. Dodge the question. Change the subject.
And of course, she demanded to know why she would do such an absurd thing — the whole purpose of this meeting was for them to get to know her, wasn't it?
He hadn't answered.
She forced herself to accept that, to keep playing along.
But sitting in front of his family, legs crossed, arms folded, smile demure, and hearing his mother say, We're so glad Sirius has found such a lovely girl from such a lovely family. We'd hate for him to associate with some of the low-lifes you see at Hogwarts. They allow Muggle-born students there, can you imagine? If I were headmistress I'd be ashamed my school did such a thing.
That was the final straw. Flats kicked off, left somewhere in one of the dozens of parlours at the Black manor, hair unwound from the tightly coiled plait she'd woven it into — Marlene made it nearly a mile before the gravel against her bare feet broke the skin, blood seeping out onto the pavement.
She'd never admit it, but the pain was so sharp and stinging she was on the verge of collapsing when Sirius approached her on the motorbike, and as she perched herself on the edge of the seat, as far as possible from him, she saw a deeper gash on the ball of her foot. A puncture wound, probably from a nail or a screw.
He brought her her boots and offered a ride home, both of which she took wordlessly, her only thank-you the slightest nod.
Now, begrudging as her gratefulness might be, she's infinitely thankful to have them. She can feel the blood soaking through the worn leather, but it's better than being barefoot.
Besides, the pain is a dull thing compared to the blazing anger that scorches her heart and soul.
Sirius, who looks at her as though she's an angel down from heaven (though she often likes to joke that she's no angel — rather, the devil who'd crawled up from the bowels of hell), who kisses her fingers with promises, whom Marlene could swear is the first boy she's ever truly loved —
Is ashamed of her.
So ashamed that he lied to his family, told them she was a pureblood, set her up for that horribly humiliating conversation —
"Marlene. Marlene. Please. Just, hear me out."
Marlene isn't sure exactly why she finally relents, whirling around to face him.
Perhaps it's the gentleness in his voice.
The slightest flicker of the boy she loves.
"What?" she snaps, and even she can't help but wince at the hardness of her own voice.
"I'm so sorry. I was just worried. Of what they'd think of you, of what they'd say— "
"Why, Sirius? Do you expect me to just play along? I don't give a damn about your shame, not when you expect me to just parade around like someone I'm not." She's livid. Everything she's been holding back, the silence she's forced herself to keep, is gone. The floodgates have opened, and she has to bite her lip in order to let him speak.
"That was a mistake. Okay? A mistake. And I'm a damned idiot, Mar. It was an awful thing for me to do."
She arches a brow, lifting her chin.
"Because, I don't want you to be what they expect. And I don't know how to tell them that, so I figured it would be easier to just give them what they want."
"And that worked out great, didn't it?" Marlene spits, though the harshness of her tone as dissipated ever so slightly.
"Dammit, Mar. It went bloody brilliantly, now didn't it?" There's a rueful grin on his face, the smile that Marlene loves so much — though now it's eclipsed by regret and desperation. "We can go back right now. Tell them the truth. If you want."
"If I want." Marlene echoes, and she scoffs.
"What, pray tell, do you want?" There's a cold derisiveness to her tone as she speaks.
The fire in his eyes is alight now, too. Perhaps she's overstepped.
She's already gone too far to go back, though, so she stands her ground, planting her hands on her hips.
This is how their fights always are. Explosive, chaotic, two warring infernos, each trying to douse the other before realizing all they're doing is igniting it.
Though as he stumbles for words, face crumpling, Marlene wonders if she's gone too far. She sees an echo of that same thought etched upon his face for the briefest of moments before the fire streaks across it. "I want you to try and see my side of things! You know how afraid I was of what they'd think of you?" he retorts, hardly missing a beat
"Your side?" Marlene's voice is shaking. There's a part of her that wants to apologize, to make amends —
That part of her is weak.
Though she wavers as she does it, Marlene storms into the house, slamming the door behind her and not once looking back.