Previously in the Darklyverse: Sirius and Emmeline worked together at Scrivenshaft's. Alice and Lily got pregnant. Marlene and Sirius's relationship devolved. Lily and James went into hiding months before Lily's due date. Marlene moved in with her father, though nobody but Lily and Mary knew his true relation to her.
xx
April 7th, 1980
"And then he asked me if it was worth it to me to try to make things right between me and Marlene," Sirius says. "Like that's ever going to happen. How long has she been carrying this grudge against me now? Two and a half years?"
Emmeline leans back and rests her weight on the shelf she's supposed to be stocking. "To be fair, I don't think Marlene has really been mad at you in a very long time," she says. "You're probably right that she doesn't want to be friends, but it's not an either-or situation—it's not like she has to be mates with you and if she's not then she hates you. Getting over it doesn't have to look like hatred."
"It just feels so stupid. I mean—I'm not trying to say that how she feels is stupid, but it's been how many years now, and we can't just forgive and let go?"
"Who's to say she hasn't let go? It's not like she's coming up to you and telling you off all the time."
"No, that's true," Sirius admits. "I guess I just… it would be nice to be able to see her at Order meetings and say hello for a minute. More than that would be nice, too, but I'm not expecting it. But, I mean—our whole relationship didn't just happen in her head. I was there, too. I loved her, too. It's not like I didn't care anymore just because of what I had with Remus."
"Marlene has a tendency of making things seem black-and-white when they're not," says Emmeline. "It's real to her like that, even if it isn't real to you."
"But it's not true."
"I'm not saying it is—I'm just saying that's a concept she has a hard time with, as I'm sure you've noticed."
Sirius doesn't answer at first, and Emmeline listens to the birds chirping outside and the voices of customers walking down the streets. "Thanks for forgiving me," he says finally. "You know, for what happened to your parents."
"It wasn't your fault," says Emmeline. "I shouldn't have gotten angry with you in the first place."
"It makes sense that that's where your head would go," Sirius says quietly. "I just… it makes sense."
Emmeline doesn't say anything. She's more embarrassed than anything by her years-ago attempt to make some sort of sense out of her parents' deaths by blaming Sirius, whose cousin had targeted them on a Death Eater mission precisely because of Emmeline's closeness to him. If she had only seen reason and told Sirius what was going on instead of shutting him out, she could very well be his girlfriend here today—
But it's not worth it to think like that, she reminds herself. She and Sirius are friends now—it's nice having someone to chat with all day when they're stuck working at Scrivenshaft's—and besides, she's with Peter, and Peter is wonderful.
Her only complaint is that she and Peter didn't figure out what they meant to each other years ago, back in sixth year, when Emmeline kissed him in the common room. After that, they'd gone back to being just friends—albeit much closer than they had been before—and Emmeline could kick herself for having passed up the opportunity to have more years building a life with Peter. But it's worked out for her, she reminds herself. They're together now, and closer than they ever have been before, and she's better off for it.
She just wishes that Peter weren't so upset about the double agent infiltrating the Order for Voldemort. He's been hit hard by the idea that one among their number is a spy, and while that's fair—it's not like Emmeline herself isn't worried by it—it's been positively eating Peter up. He hides it well in public, and she doesn't think anybody else has really noticed just how affected he is, but sometimes—sometimes he gets up in the night and stares blankly at the wall, just spiraling in his thoughts, and Emmeline wishes she could save him.
It's not any of the eight of them, she wishes she could tell him, so that at least he wouldn't have to worry about one of his best friends being a traitor. But as much as she believes it's true, she can't say it for sure.
She knows from Peter that Sirius's theory is that it's Remus, and Emmeline really doesn't want to believe this. Why is Sirius accusing him, anyway? Because he was the victim of a poisoning? Who's to say that Remus wasn't poisoned to blackmail somebody else into compliance with the Death Eaters? But she doesn't want to bring it up to Sirius: she's not even supposed to know about it, and anyway, what evidence does she have that she can provide on Remus's behalf? She and Remus honestly aren't even that close these days.
Emmeline wishes that whoever it is would just come forward and own up to it. What are they going to do, burn the spy at the stake? They'd obviously get in trouble with Voldemort for coming clean and stopping working for him, but they could all protect them by putting them into hiding like they did with Lily and James. It's not much of a life, quitting your job (even a job as dull as Emmeline's) and going into hiding, but wouldn't it be better than continuing to hide your evils at your friends' expense?
She expresses this to Peter when she gets home from work, but he just frowns and shakes his head a few times. "I just wish the Death Eaters would have never gone recruiting out of anybody in our ranks," he says, and Emmeline couldn't agree with him more.
xx
July 31st, 1980
Lily and James want Marlene and Sirius both to be there for Harry's birth, so Marlene sucks it up and spends the long hours of Lily's labor in Sirius's company. She was just at the Longbottoms' this morning visiting baby Neville, so when Harry comes out of the womb kicking and wailing, Marlene's sense of déjà vu is strong. "Can I hold him?" she asks once Lily and James have had their turns.
James passes Harry to her, and she cradles Harry comfortably in her arms, remembering what this feels like from Neville and from the births of all of her younger siblings growing up. "He's beautiful," says Marlene, looking into his wrinkly little face.
Sirius comes up behind her and gives Harry his index finger to squeeze. "That's my godson," he says. "That's my boy."
"I'll send Patronuses to Peter and Remus," says James, pulling out his wand. "They both wanted to know as soon as Harry was born."
"I'll get out of your hair, then," says Marlene, turning around so she can pass Harry off to Sirius.
"Oh, no, Lene, you should stay," Lily insists. "You won't be in the way, I promise. I want my son to have some time to get to know his godmother."
There's something soothing about swaddling Harry in blankets and rocking him back and forth—at least, until he starts crying again. "That's for Mum to figure out," says Sirius with a grin as he hands Harry back to Lily. "I'm going to put some tea on. Marlene?"
"Sure," she says, following him out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
It's very weird, being here with Sirius, and gets weirder the longer they stand there not saying anything to each other. More to break the awkward tension than anything, Marlene says, "Amazing that we can be here without it devolving into a fight."
Sirius laughs nervously. "I'll say. Listen, I just want to…"
"I'm sorry," says Marlene. "I was hard on you over things I probably shouldn't have been. I just get defensive and—and maybe a little possessive sometimes."
"I'm sorry you got hurt," Sirius says. "For what it's worth, I got hurt, too."
"I've been doing a lot better now that we don't really see each other at all," Marlene admits, "but I know I can't keep avoiding you forever now that Harry is here. He deserves to spend time with both of his godparents, and it would be just awkward trying to always schedule around each other so that we never—you know—touch."
"We can make it work, if you really want," says Sirius. "Split up the calendar week so that we always know when it's safe to visit."
"Or we can be adults about this for once in our lives and forgive each other."
"Marlene, I forgave you a long time ago. It's been years since I've been angry."
"I don't know if I can say it's been years for me, necessarily, but—I'm not angry, either. Not anymore."
"Well, all right, then," says Sirius with a hesitant smile. "That's someplace to start."
xx
October 31st, 1980
For Neville's first Halloween, Frank and Alice take him to the Potters'. It's not like Neville is old enough to go trick-or-treating, and Alice knows that James especially is upset about not being able to take Harry out for the occasion. While the boys are with their dads in the Potters' living room, Lily tells Alice, "I think the isolation is getting to him. I mean, it's been hard on him the whole time, being cooped up in here, but now that we have Harry, he talks a lot about wishing he could take them to parks and things. And I think it's also hard that he can't even do his own shopping or swing by anybody's flat for tea whenever he wants like he used to do."
"And how are you doing?" asks Alice. "I get the impression that you're just…"
"Cleaning a lot," says Lily with a bitter smile. "I miss going for walks, you know? Stretching my legs. I don't think I really realized how important that was to me until I couldn't do it anymore."
"So what's the first thing you're going to do when you get out of here?"
"Oh, don't talk like that," Lily says. "Thinking that way is dangerous. It gets my hopes up that we have a future outside these walls."
"It won't be like this forever," says Alice. "Harry has to go to Hogwarts and be best friends with Neville. You have to get out of here and go win that Minister of Magic election for real this time."
"How can I? How can we believe that we're ever going to come out of hiding when the Death Eaters are kicking our arses so badly? They just killed Jaime last month, and I'm scared to find out who dies next. What if it's you? What if it's Frank?"
"Frank and I will be fine," Alice promises. "We're going to get the upper hand. We are! Look at how hard they've tried to beat us down and how much torture and murder we've been able to intercept with so few casualties."
But they both know that Alice is being overly optimistic if not blatantly lying. At that moment, Harry starts to fuss in his bassinet, and Lily gets up and shushes him and goes to change his diaper. Alice looks over to where James is playing peek-a-boo with Neville, who is smiling and cooing every time James's face reappears.
"They're so sweet at this age, aren't they?" says Frank from behind Alice, and she turns around and smiles.
"Look at them," says Alice, nodding at James and Neville. "Almost makes you forget that this wasn't the plan all along, huh?"
"Almost," Frank says, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.
Honestly, when Alice got pregnant, she was expecting this whole marriage-and-kids thing to blow up in her face, but so far it hasn't. Really, so far it's been pretty great. Frank is the most loving husband and father she could ask for, and Neville lights up her life every time she sees his sweet, happy little face. Things with her parents and in-laws are good; Auror training is going well—if not for the war, it's like Alice has gotten everything she could possibly ask for.
Things are so perfect that she can't help wondering when and how it's all going to go terribly wrong.
xx
December 24th, 1980
James sulks for about three weeks about being trapped at home for the holiday before he decides to throw Christmas at Godric's Hollow this year. He invites all of the Gryffindors from his year, Cattermole, Frank, baby Neville, and Marlene's Uncle Doc, and he would have invited the rest of the Order if Lily hadn't pointed out that they barely have enough room to host these invitees as it is. Everybody comes on the night of Christmas Eve, and they conjure a boatload of mattresses and scatter them throughout the cottage to make room for everyone to sleep.
It's not exactly the Christmas of James's sixth year when all his friends came to Helene's Manor, back when he wasn't trapped inside his own home and his parents were still alive to share the holiday with him, too. But it'll do.
It's amazing how bringing a baby somewhere seems to automatically guarantee that your guests will be entertained by that baby for the duration of their stay, and they've got two babies in the house tonight. By now, Harry is old enough to be delighted by throwing his food from his high chair onto the ground and to try to mimic James's facial expressions when he looks at him, and Neville is fully babbling and imitating the cooing noises that his parents make when they hold him. They're both old enough to recognize familiar faces, and Neville squeals with joy when James lifts him into the air to play airplane.
That night, James can't sleep—he's too wound up from finally having some proper company over for a change and from having to get up every hour or so to tend to one or both of the babies. Eventually, he gives up trying and heads down to the kitchen, the only room besides the bathroom that isn't jammed with mattresses full of sleeping people.
To his surprise, Doc is also still awake and down there, nursing a cup of tea. "You can't sleep, either?"
"No," says James, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard and filling it with water. "Is there anything I can give you? Food? I see you got into Lily's stash of green tea."
"I did, yeah. No, I'm good for now. I'm happy to help with the babies the next time one of them starts crying, by the way. I do sort of remember how to do those things from when Marlene was little."
"So Marlene was really close to you when she was little, too? Did you spend time with the rest of your nieces and nephews like that?"
"Not as much, no," says Doc. James keeps waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't, and James doesn't want to push it.
Instead, James says, "I just want to be the best man I can be for him—for Harry. If he's got to be trapped in this house with us, I at least hope I can bring him some happiness."
"If you love him, and you show that to him, everything else will fall into place," says Doc. "I promise. It did with… it just will."
James hopes he's right. He'd hate to raise a child who resents James for never letting him be free.
xx
March 14th, 1981
It's Saturday night, and Remus has once again found himself accidentally on orb duty with Marlene. He tells her that she can go back in the bedroom, that she doesn't have to stay up here with him and wait if she doesn't want to, but she says it's fine and makes him and Frank and Alice all a cup of tea.
By the time Alice and Frank go into their bedroom for the night, it's almost midnight. Remus says, "You can sleep first, if you want. I can wake you up in a couple of hours for your turn."
"Thanks," says Marlene, but she makes no move to get herself set up on the couch. Finally, she says, "I think I was wrong."
"Wrong when?" asks Remus.
"Wrong about being mad at you over what happened with Sirius. You shouldn't have kissed him, yeah, but other than that—you were one of my best friends, and now we're strangers. It didn't have to go down that way."
"We're not strangers. You're still the strongest person I know. That hasn't changed."
Marlene purses her lips and shakes her head. "I'm not strong. I'm just stubborn."
"Same difference," says Remus. "And anyway, you got through all those years with Sirius without breaking down. When he and I first broke up, I felt like I was breaking down all of the time."
"So did I," Marlene admits. "For all of fourth year and fifth year and seventh year. Just because I didn't show you didn't mean it wasn't happening."
"But you got through it, didn't you? We're still sitting here talking about this like adults, aren't we?"
"I wonder how much of adulting is just faking it for everybody else," says Marlene, "because I sure as hell don't feel like an adult."
Remus smiles. "Most days, I feel like I'm just playing dress-up. None of this feels like real life, especially not the part where we're risking our lives every night trying to win an un-winnable war."
"It's not un-winnable," Marlene says, and Remus raises an eyebrow. "Okay, our odds aren't great, I'll give you that, but we have to keep trying. I don't know what the point of any of this is if we don't keep trying."
"I think the point is that we save the people we can. We can't save everyone, and maybe we're all screwed in the end, but in the meantime, we do what's in our power, and we count ourselves lucky to have the privilege to help people."
Does Remus believe his own bullshit here? Not necessarily. But it's what he keeps telling himself and everyone around him, because if he doesn't at least try to believe it, he'll feel just like Marlene—like none of any of this has a point—and Remus doesn't know if he can stand to feel that way.
xx
June 15th, 1981
When Rosalie is murdered by Death Eaters on a raid, most of the Order isn't invited to her funeral. Why would they be? It's being organized by Rosalie's brother, and he's got no reason to know that Rosalie is in a secret society or to know the names of her coconspirators. But not having anywhere to pay his respects is making Peter feel unsettled, especially because he could very well have inadvertently contributed to her death.
Oh, that's not to say that Peter was fighting on the Death Eaters' side in the battle that got Rosalie. He wasn't even there when she died, finding out days later from Emmeline, who heard it from Sirius, who heard it from Alice. Still, he feels like every setback the Order faces is an indirect consequence of Peter's unfaithfulness, and he's starting to drown underneath the weight of the secrets he's keeping from everyone around him.
The worst part might be that he remembers what it felt like not to be crippled with guilt—remembers it and misses it and doubts that he'll ever be able to get that feeling back, not for the rest of his life, no matter how much he repents or what good he tries to do. He wonders what it must be like to watch your friends die and not feel like you had a hand in it, because he had a hand in Rosalie's and Wyatt's deaths just as much as he did Elisabeth's and Millie's, even if the reason for his responsibility has shifted.
So he focuses his attention on how angry he is about being left behind by the people who purport to care about him. There's no reason at all for Peter to have been left in the dark about Rosalie's murder for three days after it happened. He can just imagine the others all holed up having a laugh at Peter's expense, like he's not one of them anymore, like he doesn't matter. All Peter ever wanted was to matter, and now he doesn't even that.
(Or so he tells himself. The evidence that Peter matters is right there in every word Emmeline says to him, but it's easier to ignore that than it is to face up to who he's really become.)
In lieu of most of them attending the funeral or the formal visitation, Moody holds an informal ceremony at his house to recognize Rosalie for all of her contributions to the Order and her sacrifice in trying to protect the innocent from the Death Eaters. Peter looks at the waving, happy woman in the large photograph at the center of Moody's living room and marvels at how people can go from this to dead in an instant.
This life doesn't make any sense to Peter. It really doesn't.