The living room cleared out as the Order members drifted into the entryway, chatting and wrapping up plans before they Flooed home or stepped outside to Apparate. Marlene eyed the clock over Moody's shoulder, willing him to stop bloody talking so she could go home and open a bottle of wine. If she hurried, she could catch Rob in flat three before he headed to the pub for the night. She liked his silky hair and the tattoo that covered his muscled bicep, and after sex he always brought her a tall glass of ice water – she appreciated that, too, because he had a knack for making her very thirsty.
"Got that, McKinnon?" Moody asked, arching his scarred brow.
Marlene stopped imagining Rob's wicked grin as he reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. "Got it. Now can we get going? It's Friday night, Alastor. I'd like to get drunk or shag someone – preferably both." She winked and added, "Would you like to join me?"
Moody shook his head and strode toward the door. "What've I told you about trying to pull every bloody member of the Order, McKinnon?" The sound of his exasperated laughter followed him out of the room.
As Marlene slung her purse over her shoulder, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw Dorcas sweeping up the crumbs from the ginger biscuits Peter had baked for everyone.
"I don't know what's worse." Dorcas shifted aside a chair to clean the crumbs scattered underneath it. "Dung dropping half a biscuit on the floor and not bothering to clean it up, or Moody keeping you late to go over a report you already discussed half an hour ago."
Marlene rolled her eyes. "They're both unforgivable offenses, in my book. Sometimes I think Moody likes keeping me late as payback for me always flirting with him and making him uncomfortable."
"I don't see what he has to complain about," Dorcas said, sweeping the crumbs into a pile and Vanishing it with a flick of her wand. "I'd be flattered."
Marlene studied Dorcas's face, trying to decipher her mild tone and friendly, detached smile.
"Anyway, I'm going to make some hot chocolate and listen to the Puddlemere United match." Dorcas gestured at the corridor behind them that led to a cozy sitting room. "Would you like to join me? Unless you have plans, of course."
Marlene thought of the bottle of elf-made wine sitting on her kitchen table, and of the musky scent that clung to Rob's skin and lingered on Marlene afterwards. She opened her mouth to decline, but found herself agreeing and following Dorcas into her kitchen. A cheerful bunch of flowers stood in the center of the small, circular table, and white eyelet curtains decorated the windows. Dorcas took milk, sugar, and cocoa powder from a pantry and poured everything into a saucepan, then set it to simmer on an old fashioned stove. Marlene hesitated in the doorway, then took an empty seat at the table. Yesterday's Prophet sat beside an opened letter and a trowel encrusted with dirt.
"Sorry." Dorcas gestured at the trowel and flashed Marlene a sheepish smile. "I meant to bring that back out to the greenhouse. Michael used to tease me and say I left a trail of dirt wherever I went."
Marlene ached with sorrow at the mention of Dorcas's husband. He had disappeared years ago – presumed dead at the hands of the Death Eaters, although his body had never been found. Dorcas brought him up freely, without apology or discomfort, keeping his memory alive and gently reminding the rest of them what they all stood to lose. Marlene respected the hell out of her for this, but she also felt incredibly sad when she imagined Dorcas going to bed alone night after night, forced to confront the loss of her husband without even the closure of a funeral.
"That's alright." Marlene cleared her throat and tried to match the casual expression on Dorcas's face. "A bit of dirt doesn't bother me. I've been to Dung's flat."
Dorcas chuckled and turned back to the saucepan. "God, you're brave."
Marlene mulled this over. Brave wouldn't be her first choice of adjectives, but she appreciated the compliment.
"Is that cinnamon?" Marlene asked as Dorcas shook something into the saucepan.
Dorcas held up the spice bottle, grinning. "Nutmeg. Sorry, I should've asked if you minded. I added some once on a whim – it turned out alright, but Puddlemere played their best match in years that day. Now I make hot chocolate with nutmeg before every match – even in the summer." She took two ceramic mugs from a cupboard and filled them with steaming hot chocolate. "You think I'm mad, don't you?"
Marlene shook her head, curling her fingers around the mug Dorcas set in front of her. "Course not. I wear the same pants and bra every time the Harpies have a match." She blew on the hot chocolate and smirked. "I was wearing them when the Harpies won the league three years ago. It was all I was wearing."
Dorcas threw her head back and laughed. The light caught the delicate threads of silver in her hair, and there was something mesmerizing about the lift of her lips. Marlene gazed at her until Dorcas picked up her hot chocolate and nodde at the door.
Marlene followed, clutching her hot chocolate. "Is it luckier in the other room?"
"Nah, the chairs are just more comfortable."
Marlene settled on a plush loveseat while Dorcas turned on the wireless. When Dorcas sat down beside her rather than in the armchair, Marlene was absurdly, unexplainably pleased. Dorcas's trousers rode up, revealing socks patterned with fire-breathing dragons. Marlene smiled, delighted by the unexpected whimsy. They sipped their hot chocolate, listening as Puddlemere United allowed the Tornadoes to score five goals in as many minutes.
"Fucking hell," Marlene said as Dorcas covered her face with her hands. "Maybe the hot chocolate has lost its luck. Want me to dump mine out?"
Dorcas smiled wryly and shook her head.
"Or maybe I'm the unlucky one," Marlene continued. "I can leave."
Dorcas touched her arm – the briefest, barest touch, yet it flooded Marlene's body with heat. "That's kind of you to offer, but I'm pretty sure it's because their Keeper is injured and the reserve is bloody useless." She cast a disgusted look at the wireless, then flicked her wand to silence it. "The Harpies play tomorrow, yeah? I hope they have better luck."
Marlene wiped a drop of hot chocolate from her upper lip and grinned. "Thanks. I suppose I should wash my lucky bra and pants." She glanced at the clock on the wall and groaned. "Ugh, I'd better go if I'm going to do laundry. I've got to start my patrol at six tomorrow morning."
Dorcas laughed. "Told you – Moody's punishing you for your flirtatious ways."
"God, maybe I'd better stop telling him he has a nice arse." She stood up, reaching for her empty mug and knocking a book to the floor. Dorcas bent to pick it up as Marlene attempted to do the same; Marlene felt another unexpected rush of heat as their hands brushed.
"Is this good?" Marlene nodded at the paperback, trying to remember the last time she had finished a book.
"Oh, God, yeah. It's – well, to be frank it's quite disturbing – fucked up, really. But, you know…" Dorcas made a vague gesture that encompassed the war, the uncertainty of their future, the loved ones they had already lost and the ones they might lose tomorrow. Marlene nodded grimly. Their reality was more fucked up than anything contained in the pages of a novel.
"That's my favorite sort of book," Marlene admitted. "I haven't read anything in ages, but the last book I read – Christ, what was it called? Anyway, it was about a boy who murdered his entire family. I couldn't put it down. I read half of it in the bath – my fingers were all wrinkly, and my arse went numb."
Dorcas chuckled and thrust the book into her hand. "Borrow it. I will warn you, though, you won't be able to put it down, so I don't recommend reading it in the bath – for your arse's sake."
Marlene shook her head and pushed the book away. "Nah, that's alright. I'll buy my own copy. I'm horrible with other people's books. Remus lent me a book months ago – I told him I didn't know when I'd have time to read it, but he insisted – I guess Lily told him she thought I'd like it. So it bounced around at the bottom of my bag for weeks. I didn't end up reading it, but I spilled perfume on it and tore the front cover. Of course Remus would never say anything, but…" Marlene gave a helpless shrug. "I think I'm dead to him."
"Well, let me know if you change your mind."
The warmth of Dorcas's smile stayed with Marlene as she Flooed back to her flat, and as she poured herself a glass of wine, and as she lounged in a hot bath, steam curling around her face.
She walked past three different bookstores that week. Each time she paused outside, remembering the tantalizing description on the book's back cover and Dorcas's animated assertion that it was "fucked up." She wanted the indescribable pleasure of losing herself in a fictional world, of being so consumed by people and events and conflicts that she forgot the bleak state of her own reality – but even more than that, she craved a reason to talk to Dorcas. Once she went as far as stepping into the bookshop, but she shook her head and turned around before the man behind the counter could finish his greeting. I don't have time to bloody read, she told herself, hurrying away as the door swung shut behind her. And I don't have time for… She left the thought unfinished, burying it at the back of her mind to be examined later, under the softening influence of at least three glasses of wine.
She was finishing a dinner of toast and stale crisps after a grueling day of duty when she heard a soft tapping. Frowning, she crossed the room and opened the window to admit an unfamiliar owl with a rectangular parcel tied to its leg. She untied the parcel, and the owl flew out into the night before she had time to offer it an owl treat. Curious, she unwrapped the parcel to reveal a shiny new copy of the book Dorcas had recommended. A note fluttered out of the front cover, and she picked it up, a smile spreading across her face. The narrow, curly handwriting was somehow perfect for Dorcas, although Marlene couldn't have said why.
I figured you might not get around to buying your own copy, so I took the liberty of picking one up for you. Don't start reading it if you want to sleep tonight – I mean it. It's that good.
-D
Marlene traced the single letter, flattered by the thoughtful gesture. You're being silly, she scolded herself. It's a bloody book, not a love letter. With a decisive sigh, she slid the letter into the back of the book, poured herself a glass of wine, and plopped down on the couch to read.
Dorcas had been right – Marlene didn't sleep that night. One more chapter, she kept repeating. One more chapter, and then I'll sleep. Except one chapter became two, then three, and by the time the sun rose, she had finished the entire thing. Her eyes burned as she stared at the final page, her mind whirling with the shocking conclusion.
"Fuck," she murmured. Sometimes there was no more eloquent response.
She checked the clock over the mantlepiece, then repeated the expletive when she realized she was due to report for duty in a little over an hour. Heaving a sigh, she got to her feet and dragged herself to the bathroom to take a shower, her head still reeling.
Two days later, she arrived for the Order meeting fifteen minutes early. The Prewett brothers looked up from the sofa, staring at her in astonishment.
"You alright, Marlene?" Gideon asked. "I've never seen you arrive early for anything in your life."
She flashed him a good natured grin. "Sod off, Giddy. Where's Dorcas?"
"In the kitchen, I think. Why?"
"I want to tell her how good your mum was in bed last night."
Their laughter followed her out of the room. She found Dorcas standing in front of the stove as a steaming kettle filled the room with a high pitched whistle.
"Hi, Marlene." She turned, and Marlene noticed her wand was tucked into her front belt loop. "Did you—"
"I read the book," Marlene blurted.
Dorcas's face split into a wide smile. "Oh, good. I wasn't sure you'd have time. But I'm sorry."
Marlene frowned. "Why're you sorry?"
Dorcas turned off the kettle and poured steaming water into a mug. "Because I assume you had a long day after staying up all night to read it." She Summoned a second mug from the cupboard and filled it with hot water. As she reached for the tea, Marlene noticed her socks were patterned with tiny fruit. She spotted bananas, oranges, and cherries before Dorcas moved again and her trousers covered the socks.
"I did. I only meant to read a few chapters, but…" She made a helpless gesture as Dorcas handed her a cup of tea. "Holy shit."
Dorcas grinned. "Told you."
They sat around the kitchen table, exclaiming over the book as their tea cooled. When Moody stuck his head into the kitchen and said the meeting was due to start, Marlene experienced a lurch of disappointment completely unrelated to the long, boring report Moody was about to give.
Throughout the meeting, she caught herself sneaking glances at Dorcas. She had a quiet, graceful air that intrigued Marlene. When Marlene had joined the Order, she had spent a few evenings in Dorcas's sitting room, learning the basics of Occlumency. Marlene had been struck by Dorcas's erect posture; the way her long fingers rested on her wand as she built the gossamer walls that protected her mind; the wide-eyed expression that conveyed complete, rapt attention when someone spoke; the smudges of earth on her trousers when she came in from her greenhouse. She was beautiful: tall and slender, long-limbed and fine-featured, and the fine lines around her mouth and streaks of silver in her hair only added to her charm. Yet Marlene never subjected Dorcas to her usual suggestive remarks – she never so much as winked at her, because Dorcas seemed somehow above all of that. Maybe it was her grief that set her apart, building an invisible wall around her pain and loss that separated her from the rest of the world. Maybe it was her unflappable manner – what fun would it be to make flirtatious comments if Dorcas didn't blush or roll her eyes or roar with laughter? Whatever it was, Marlene had kept her distance without examining her reasons for doing so, until today.
You're being stupid, she told herself after Mundungus caught her gazing at Dorcas and shot her a curious look. She forced herself to focus on other things: the missing button on Dung's jacket, a yellowed stain on the carpet she kept meaning to remove with Mrs. Skower's, the torn and bitten skin around Remus's fingernails. By the time Dumbledore brought the meeting to an end, Marlene had succeeded in distracting herself. She allowed herself to give Dorcas a brief wave and followed the others out before Moody could catch her eye and bore her with more minutiae.
Thoughts of Dorcas crept back into her mind later that evening and lingered with her the next day. She was standing in front of the cupboard, staring mindlessly at the crisps and biscuits and cans of beans as she replayed their last conversation, when a tap at the window announced the arrival of that same barn owl. Marlene smiled as she unwrapped another book – the sort of romance novel she considered a guilty pleasure read. There was a note tucked into the front cover, covered in Dorcas's handwriting.
I figured you might need something lighter after the last one. I'm not sure if you usually read smut, but I'm guessing none of this will shock you, judging by some of the stories I've heard you tell. This might be a good one to read in the bath – I've spelled it to be water resistant, just in case. Enjoy (especially chapter five).
-D
Marlene was tempted to flip to chapter five to see what all the fuss was about, but she reigned herself in. Instead, she poured herself a tall glass of wine and brought the book to the bathroom, looking forward to the hot, steamy water and the hot, steamy scene in chapter five.
The next day, Marlene found herself at Knockturn Alley's dodgiest pub with Dung, tailing one of the Death Eaters Dumbledore wanted eyes on at all times. She stared down into her wineglass and sighed, her elbow sticking to the sticky film coating the bar as she shifted position. Mundungus looked at her over the top of his pint glass.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked, the word muffled as he wiped his mouth. "You're not drinking your wine."
"It tastes like feet."
He chuckled. "Serves you right for ordering wine in a place like this." He gestured around at the dim, smoky pub. "Do I want to know how you know what feet taste like, by the way?"
"Oh, sod you." She traced the rim of the glass, noticing a faded lipstick smudge left behind by the last customer unfortunate enough to order a glass of the sour Merlot. "Besides," she continued, lowering her voice and leaning close. "You know Moody's opinion on getting drunk when we're on duty."
Mundungus waved away the concern, then gestured to the bartender to bring another pint. "That's no reason to waste a perfectly good drink, even if it does taste like feet."
She gulped down a sip of wine, grimacing. "What do you think of Dorcas?"
His brows knitted together. "What do you mean, what do I think of her?"
"Fuck. I don't even know what I mean. I–"
She broke off and touched Dung's shoulder as the Death Eater rose from his seat. Her body tensed as she reached for her wand, but then the man bent down to tie his shoe. She let out a breath and watched him return to his seat. Mundungus turned back toward the bar, sliding his wand back inside his sleeve.
"What were you saying?"
She choked down more wine and took a deep breath. "I can't tell if Dorcas wants to shag me, or if she's just the nicest person I've ever met."
He gaped at her. "What?"
"She keeps sending me books."
Mundungus's puzzled expression didn't change. "What's that – some sort of euphemism for freaky foot sex?"
"For fuck's sake, Dung," she said, rolling her eyes. "No. She's sending me actual books – the sort you buy at Flourish and Blotts."
"Are they books about sex?"
She smirked. "One of them is. Really dirty stuff – nothing about feet, before you fucking ask. But the other one is about cannibalism."
"Hmmm." The bartender set two fresh pints in front of him; he slid one across to Marlene. "Here. Don't order wine next time." He stroked his scruffy jaw absently as Marlene took a grateful sip from the pint. "She was in Ravenclaw, wasn't she?"
Marlene considered this. She couldn't recall ever discussing which house Dorcas had been in, but the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to fit.
"I think so. Why?"
"Well, if she was in Ravenclaw, I reckon you might be right. Ravenclaws love books, don't they?"
She laughed and choked on a mouthful of beer. "Thanks for that astute observation, Dung. I'm assuming you weren't in Ravenclaws, then?"
"Nah, fuck that. I'm just saying, to a bloody Ravenclaw, books are like a declaration of love or something. So if she's sending you books, she probably does want to shag you."
Marlene beamed despite her best efforts to repress her smile.
"So I'm guessing you want to shag her, too?"
Marlene didn't answer. She thought about their enthusiastic discussion of the book and the heat that had shot up her arm when their hands brushed. He was right – she did want to shag Dorcas, but she wanted more than that. She wanted evenings spent sipping hot chocolate and quiet mornings in bed and – Christ – maybe even dinners with her family.
"Fucking hell, you like her." Dung's eyes widened, and a triumphant grin spread across his face. "Marlene McKinnon, the town broomstick, is going to settle down."
"Shut up."
He clapped her on the shoulder. "I don't mean it as an insult. You shag who you want and don't give a toss what anyone thinks, and I respect that. Besides…" He smirked. "I can't really say anything, seeing as I took a ride myself."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I dunno if I'm even going to do anything about it. What if we're wrong? What if she doesn't want to shag me, and I look like a bloody idiot?"
"What, and you don't look like an idiot when you tell Moody he has a nice arse?" Dung demanded, laughing.
"No, because I'm mostly joking. I mean, I would shag Moody – he's got that strong, scarred look going for him – but I don't expect him to actually do it. But if I actually tell Dorcas I like her, or ask her out, or whatever the fuck you're meant to do when you're not just out for a shag – if I do that and she turns me down, I won't be able to look her in the face ever again." Just the thought made her stomach clench.
"Are you joking? You look me in the face just fine, even after you asked me to tie you to the bed and tickle you with my cat's feathered toy."
Marlene dissolved into helpless giggles. "That's different."
He shrugged. "Not that different. You're tough. You've survived battles and Auror training–"
"I dropped out of Auror training," she reminded him. Even now, the thought filled her with a sense of defeat and guilt for not sticking it out until the end.
"Well, still, you made it a hell of a lot further than I would." He tossed back more beer and flashed her an encouraging grin. "Go for it, Marlene. She'd be stupid to say no. And anyway, she sent you those books, so we already know she likes you. I can put in a good word for you, if you like."
She covered her face with her hand, imagining the glowing recommendation Dung would give her. "Not necessary, but thanks, Dung." She smiled and pulled him into a hug. It was a mistake – his shirt smelled like cat piss and dirty socks, but she held on for a moment anyway. He was a good friend, even if he had questionable morals and even more questionable hygiene.
"You're welcome. And don't waste that beer I bought you, otherwise I'll tell Dorcas you want to lick her toes."
A flurry of Muggle murders kept the Order busy for the next week, and Marlene didn't have an opportunity to speak to Dorcas. One morning she stared down at the Prophet, rereading the headline about the ten-year-old boy the Death Eaters had killed while his parents were made to watch. She rested her head against the cool surface of the table, her head pounding and her stomach twisting, then looked up when she heard a soft tap. Some of the heaviness in her soul lifted before she even reached the window.
This time it was a book of poetry. Marlene traced the cover, trying to remember if she had ever willingly read a poem in her life. When she pulled the note from the book, the first words made her smile.
You don't strike me as a poetry person, and you're probably thinking, "What the fuck have you sent me this for, Dorcas, you silly cow?" But this week has been rough, and I assume it's been rough for you as well. I marked a poem that I've been reading over the past few days. It won't make you feel better, but at least we know someone else knew how we feel.
See you soon.
-D
Marlene sat back down and opened the book to the page marked by a scrap of parchment. She read the poem, then read it three more times. When she read "This is the way the world ends / not with a bang but a whimper" the final time, an image of that lifeless boy filled her mind, and she felt tears rolling down her face. She bent her head and sobbed until her eyes burned and her nose ran. But when she rose and wiped her face, she felt lighter. A flicker of hope flared in her chest as she tucked Dorcas's note into her pocket and prepared to leave for duty.
As she and Dung headed for Knockturn Alley once again, she paused outside of a clothing shop. A display of bright, patterned socks in the window caught her eye.
"I'm just going to step in here for a moment," she said, darting inside before he could ask questions. When she left the store a few minutes later, jamming a small bag into her pocket, she refused to show him her purchase, although he pestered her all along the street until they reached the dilapidated block of flats where their assigned Death Eater lived.
"Mind your business," she snapped, smiling and sliding her hand into her pocket to fiddle with the thick paper bag. "I just wanted a pair of socks, that's all."
After her duty ended, she headed for Dorcas's old manor house. She didn't know if Dorcas was even home, but as her house was Order headquarters, Marlene could slip through the protective spells with a few taps of her wand against the peeling door.
"Hello?" she called, her voice echoing in the hushed entryway. She didn't find Dorcas in the living room, or the little sitting room, or even the cozy kitchen. When she drifted out the backdoor, she saw light illuminating the greenhouse that sprawled across the back garden.
"Dorcas?" she called as she stepped through into the thick, humid air. Vines twined up the walls and hung from the ceiling, and pots full of vibrant flowers crowded the tables by the door.
"Back here!"
Marlene wandered through lush greenery toward the sound of Dorcas's voice. When she reached the end of the greenhouse, she found Dorcas wrist-deep in earth as she repotted some plant Marlene would be hard-pressed to name.
"Hi." Dorcas's face split into a wide smile. There was a streak of dirt across her cheek, and once again her wand was stuck through her belt loop. Her pants were rolled up to reveal a pair of socks printed with daisies. "Are you here on Order business?"
Marlene shook her head. The heat and humidity must be going to her head: it was hard to focus on anything besides the little tendril of hair escaping Dorcas's bun or the burning urge to brush the dirt from her cheek.
"I came to say thanks," she choked out, her words sounding stilted and awkward in her ears. "For the books."
"Ooh, what'd you think of the smutty one?" Her smile faltered. "Too much?"
Marlene smirked. "God, no. I loved it. I didn't know you read that sort of thing."
Dorcas brushed her dirty hands on her trousers and shrugged. "I'm a widow. Of course I do."
Marlene felt a wrench of sadness in her chest.
"Thanks for the T.S. Eliot book, too." she said, plowing on. "You're right – I'm not much of a poetry person, but I read that poem four times and cried. Like you said, it didn't make me feel better – it made me feel really fucking bleak, actually – but it also made me feel…" She twisted her hands together, groping for the right word.
"Understood," Dorcas murmured.
"Yeah." Marlene took a step closer, soaking up the open vulnerability on Dorcas's face. "Exactly."
They stood in silence for a minute, gazing at each other. Behind Marlene, a sprinkler kicked on, emitting a hiss as it sprayed a fine, cold mist on the plants and on her legs. Dorcas grinned and pulled Marlene out of the way, then performed a drying charm on the back of her trousers..
"Sorry about that," Dorcas said, smiling sheepishly.
Marlene shrugged. They stood in silence for another moment until Dorcas laughed and cleared her throat.
"So, er, you enjoyed chapter five, I assume? Did you skip there after reading my note?"
Marlene pushed a frizzy lock of hair out of her face, trying to move passed the almost-moment the sprinklers had ruined. "I wanted to, but I made myself wait. Holy fucking shit, that was… something."
Dorcas grinned. "I should've known you wouldn't skip ahead. You're such a Hufflepuff."
Marlene gazed at her in astonishment. "How'd you know I was in Hufflepuff?"
"It's so obvious." Dorcas brushed the loose piece of hair out of her face and smudged even more dirt on her forehead. "That's not a bad thing, by the way."
Marlene leaned against a nearby table, chewing her lip. "Were you in Ravenclaw, then?"
"I was." Dorcas bent to retrieve a trowel by her feet. "How'd you know?"
Marlene grinned and shrugged. "It's so obvious. That's not a bad thing, either." She hesitated, biting her lip, then pressed on. "Dung said giving someone a book is like a Ravenclaw's declaration of love."
Dorcas dropped the trowel, then burst into laughter. "Leave it to Dung. I guess I'm more obvious than I thought."
Marlene had to replay the response in her head several times before she grasped the meaning. "So, you do…? You meant it as…?" Those aren't sentences, you dumb bitch. She swallowed and tried again. "Do you…?"
Dorcas stepped forward and touched Marlene's arm. "I sent you those books because I thought you'd like them, and because you seemed like the sort of person who wouldn't get around to buying books for yourself. But also…" A shy smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Marlene studied the fine lines that appeared around her eyes, accentuated by a light dusting of dirt across her cheekbone. "I do like you." She laughed, a light, tinkling sound that lingered in the humid air. "That sounds so silly and juvenile, considering I'm forty-two, and you're… well, you're quite a bit younger, but still. So I suppose that's why I sent you books rather than coming right out and saying it."
Marlene knew she was smiling that big, goofy, unflattering smile that brought out her chubby cheeks and her squinty eyes, but she didn't care. She stepped forward, stumbling over the fallen trowel. Dorcas reached out to steady her, chuckling.
"Bloody trowels are always in the wrong place," she muttered.
Marlene bent to pick it up, then felt something crinkle in her pocket. She pulled out the small paper bag and thrust it into Dorcas's hands.
"I almost forgot – I got this for you. It's silly, but I figured, since you kept getting things for me…"
Dorcas tucked the parcel under her arm and wiped her hands vigorously on her trousers, then reached into the crumpled bag. Her face lit up when she pulled out the socks, printed all over with mugs of hot chocolate.
"These are amazing!" she squealed.
"If you squint, you can see the sprinkle of nutmeg on top," Marlene said, drinking in the joy on Dorcas's face.
"I love them. I suppose socks are the way Hufflepuffs say they like someone, then?"
Marlene chuckled. "Sounds about right."
Dorcas jammed the socks into her back pocket, then took Marlene's hands. They gazed at each other for a moment, grinning like idiots, before Marlene leaned forward and kissed her. She smelled like earth, and her lips were impossibly warm and soft. It was in her head – it must be in her head – but Marlene could swear she tasted a hint of nutmeg on Dorcas's lips.
When they broke apart, Marlene reached over to brush the dirt from Dorcas's face.
"I'm glad you stopped by," Dorcas said. The stray lock of hair was falling across her forehead again; Marlene tucked it behind her ear, her finger radiating heat as it grazed Dorcas's skin.
"Me too. I wore my lucky bra and pants," Marlene admitted.
Dorcas raised her eyebrows. "Do the Harpies play today?"
Marlene shook her head. "Nah. Just thought I might need some luck."
Dorcas smirked. "I'd like to see them. Not right away, obviously. Just, you know, eventually, I'd like to see the source of your luck."
"That can be arranged." Marlene twined her hand in Dorcas's hair and kissed her again, buzzing with happiness and grateful she had taken the time to do laundry so she could wear her lucky bra and pants.
