November 7th, 1976: Marlene McKinnon

She must have dreamt about him afterward, because when she's stirring a little and still half-asleep, she can already feel the shame of (what?) bubbling in her stomach. It only takes a few more moments and a grunt from the body beside her, though, to remind her what she did, where she is—where is she? Hoisting herself up by the elbows, Marlene's surprised, then shocked, to feel blankets slipping down her chest and a mattress creaking beneath her. She isn't—she couldn't have—

Bugger.

Losing her resolve was mistake enough; she knows better to do it in his dormitory. It's too personal, too intimate, to mix in pillows and pajamas and Quidditch posters tacked up on the headboard and roommates—oh, lord, Black better have made sure they would be alone in here, else she won't be able to hold her head up anymore. Marlene reaches down and feels around on the floor for whatever she was wearing last night (she's not going to take the walk of shame with his blankets draped around her, she's not), and she's relieved when her hand hits her dressing gown. Only after she's donned it does she dare open the curtains and check whether they have company.

They do—not Lupe, he's stuck in the Hospital Wing, but Jay and Pete are snoring away in their respective beds. She gathers her undergarments and hightails the hell out of there before either of them wakes. What time is it, anyway? After miraculously finding her watch in the pocket of the dressing gown, Marlene checks and sees that it's quarter to six in the morning: too late to go back to bed, too early to find Lily and sort herself out. All she wants is to curl up in bed, her own bed, and go back to sleep and forget that she slipped up again, after all these weeks of staying strong; but she doesn't think she can face the girls, not yet, not ever.

So Marlene makes a break for the nearest bathroom and takes the hottest shower she can stand. She can't scrub away that shame that's filling her up and boiling her over, but clearing her head and remembering… she can't say it helps, but at least she isn't blocking it out. It isn't the sex itself that bothers Marlene—she's maybe a little sore, now that it's over, but otherwise all right—it's the implications, the what-did-I-do and the where-do-I-go-from-here.

Their pattern is misleading. She quickly cycles through their history: he approaches her, she accepts him, she has enough and cuts him off until the next time. Only Marlene's the needy one, and Black rejects her over and over, every day, every minute. It's not about who kissed whom first, it's about how he can't even look her in the eye until it's over, and then he just sneers at her like she's served her purpose and walks away for the rest of the day, or two, or ten—however long until he's ready again. Her power over him is only an illusion: it's Black who decides whether he has any use for her.

She knows, too, that they're not exclusive. Marlene may not date other blokes, but he doesn't try to hide his flings from her; more often than not, she'll taste Veronica Smethley's lip-gloss or smell Dana Madley's perfume on him when they meet. She has every right to give him up, humiliate him, even—so why does she apologize between kisses for the nights they spend apart?

But last night—it was different, in part because she'd gone longer without him, but also because of the interest he showed in her. Less like his usual detachment and borderline apathy, more like the time it all started in fourth year. He held her back in the common room long after everyone else had gone up to bed—god, she's remembering now—just studying and trading the occasional comment. And then Black told her (what did he say?) Lupe didn't need him anymore, and he was looking at her properly for the first time in weeks, and her breath caught in her throat, and he crossed the room and leaned in over her so they were nose to nose, and he paused to breathe her in for a moment, and then—

Downhill from there. Marlene shuts out the details, knowing she isn't ready to recall them just yet (ever). But he took her up to his dormitory when it wasn't empty, there was a first, and he stayed after—she's not sure what to make of that. He always dusts himself off and leaves her hanging after, always, but last night… last night was different.

Marlene turns off the water abruptly and steps out of the shower, toweling herself off. Suddenly, it doesn't seem to matter whether Lily is still in bed or not—she's in for a rude awakening.

But Lily isn't there when Marlene braves the dorm, just Mary and Em fast asleep and Alice rummaging through her trunk for a fresh pair of robes. "Where's Lily?" she asks immediately, standing stricken in the doorway.

"I don't know," says Alice wearily. Upon closer inspection, she looks exhausted—Marlene isn't the only one who didn't get much sleep last night, it seems. "She never came to bed, not that you would know. Where were you last night?"

"Nowhere," says Marlene, but Alice doesn't seem convinced. "Look, Alice, I really don't need you to get all prefect on my arse right now, so if you're not going to help me find Lily—"

Pulling out a pair of robes and slamming her trunk shut, Alice interrupts, "You weren't with Lockhart or anything like that, were you?"

"No, I wasn't with Lockhart," she sighs. "You thought I was? Really? I'm not desperate enough to shag Mare's exes, Alice, I thought you knew me better than that."

Alice laughs, a tinkling little giggle that she hides behind her hand. "I dunno; the two of you always look so cozy in Herbology."

Snorting, Marlene answers, "Right, because Mary replacing Cattermole with him in our group and him hitting on me all hour is criteria for 'looking cozy.'"

Alice shakes her head and smiles. "I'm going to head down to breakfast; would you like to come?" she asks.

"I'd better not; I have a few things to take care of. If you see Lily, can you tell her I'm looking for her?" Marlene says. Alice nods her assent and gives her a little wave as she departs.

She has nothing to take care of—except maybe the regret in the pit of her stomach, but it's not like she can do anything about that—so she shuts the hangings around her four-poster, curls up under the covers, and waits for a distraction.

It comes, finally, when Em wakes up—no, she's fully dressed and slamming the dormitory door; Marlene must have been out longer than she thought. "Get up," Em says flatly, parting the hangings on Marlene's four-poster. "Lily wants to see you. She's in the Hospital Wing."

"Oh my god! Is she all right?" cries Marlene, starting.

She's across the room and half-dressed before Em corrects her with a smug little smile. "Just fine. She's visiting Remus in the Hospital Wing. They're both asking for you, by the way."

Kicking on her shoes, Marlene says, "All right, I'm ready. You coming?"

She shakes her head. "I have Divination to study. Give Remus my regards."

So Marlene heads alone to the Hospital Wing, feeling just as dizzy as she did at the start of this damn morning. Distracted as she is, she nearly gets caught in two trick stairwells and takes a couple of wrong turns before she finally knocks into—oh, lord, she doesn't have the patience for this—!

"If it isn't Marlene McKinnon! Was it my angelic poise and stature that threw you off balance?" Stepping back, Gilderoy Lockhart beams down at her from an impressive height of 190 centimeters, plucking a flyaway strand of hair back into place as he tries to strike a handsome pose.

"Your familiarity with the word 'stature' certainly throws me," Marlene says to herself, biting back a number of louder, snider comments.

Lockhart conveniently doesn't catch this. "Where to, darling?"

"Away from you," she retorts.

"The Great Hall for a late breakfast it is!" Lockhart declares, seizing her hand and leading her down the stairs with a prance that Marlene assumes must resemble a Muggle model's runway walk. She tries to recoil, but Lockhart will have none of it and doesn't bother to loosen his grip. "Have you given any thought to coming to the Quidditch game next weekend with me?"

"Why would I have?" asks Marlene.

He continues, as if uninterrupted, "The odds are in Gryffindor's favor, the whole school's been saying it, and as this is the only match of the season where you won't have to worry about Hufflepuff knocking you out of the running… I'm on the reserve team, did you know? Rumor has it I'll be the team Seeker next year if Benjy decides to switch to Keeper." Lockhart's chest swells with pride at this point, and he squeezes her limp hand a bit tighter.

Marlene can't help but roll her eyes. "How rude that Fenwick can't be bothered to confirm this himself to his protégé."

"Ah, well, you can't blame a bloke," says Lockhart, grinning. "Believe me, I'd be his closest confidant—"

"Again, the extent of your vocabulary amazes me," Marlene mutters.

"—If he weren't so taken with Elisabeth Clearwater. She's always been a charming one, not that she has anything on you," he adds with a wink. "Quidditch team captain and Benjy's fellow prefect—it's no wonder they spend so much time together! Benjy's a decent Seeker, though he can't quite compare to my natural talent on a broomstick—he'll be much better suited to Keeper next year, I reckon.

"But Hufflepuff still has it in the bag this season under Elisabeth's direction, don't you think?" Lockhart muses. "I can't imagine how Ravenclaw will win a single match with Charlotte Fawcett Captaining, and Meadowes and Black can't compensate for the lacking abilities of the rest of the Slytherin team. Sorry to say, the same goes for Gryffindor's talent pool this year, I'm afraid—"

She'll be damned if Lockhart, of all people, can get off saying that about her team. "Oh, have you forgotten about Meghan McCormack? Professional scouts have tagged her as a candidate for the British team at the World Cup already, and she's only a fifth year."

"We've got her brother, Kirley," Lockhart points out smugly.

"Or the Prewetts? Gideon's got to be the best Captain Hogwarts has seen in years, turning the Gryffindor team around like that, and he and Fabian together are a force to be reckoned with," Marlene continues.

He smiles. "You say that like Elisabeth hasn't done the same for Hufflepuff! Don't be silly, dear. Besides, he and Fabian are hardly an unstoppable team. Have you ever considered that Fabian might be leaking information through Meadowes to the Slytherins?"

"Fabian's above that. Hell, Meadowes is above that," says Marlene heatedly. "All your Chasers combined have nothing on James Potter, and with what they're saying about that new Beater, Anna Moon—"

Lockhart interrupts dismissively, "Ah, well, only time will tell. Can you see now why this is the match to attend with me? All that rivalry will be out in the open after Hufflepuff's first game!"

They've reached the Great Hall, to Marlene's relief. Lockhart makes to enter with her, but she sharply pulls away. "You know, Lockhart—"

"Darling, call me Gilly," he insists.

Thoroughly disgruntled, she fights to keep her temper under control. "I don't think I'm that hungry after all. Say hello to my brother Matt if you see him, will you? He's a first year Hufflepuff—really short, can't miss him—"

Setting off again for the Hospital Wing, she simply chooses to ignore the shouts of "Quidditch! Think about it!" at her receding figure. Her frustration with Lockhart is gradually replaced by the lingering confusion of earlier until she winds up at Madam Pomfrey's door. She throws it open without knocking and scans the room for Lily's red hair; not finding it, she doesn't wait for permission to dart to the only bedside with closed hangings.

Lily starts a little; Lupe, covered in blue-green bruises and sporting a black eye, gives a weak half-wave. "You look horrible," Marlene blurts out on instinct. "I mean, more horrible than you usually do when you end up in the Hospital Wing. What happened to you? Chronic illness doesn't give people black eyes, does it?"

Lupe just shrugs, him and Lily both looking uncomfortable, and since when is Lily in on something going on with Remus that he hasn't told Marlene about? She doesn't want to push it, though, and awkwardly says, "Where are the rest of the boys, anyway?"

Lily says, "James and Peter were here earlier, but Madam Pomfrey threw them out. I haven't seen Sirius, though, and they said they haven't talked to him since last night…"

Marlene's stomach gives an unpleasant lurch. "About that."

There's a long, uncomfortable pause. She can't bear to look at either of them, so she bows her head and fiddles with the hem of her robes, a hot blush spreading across her cheeks, down her neck. "You didn't," Lily finally says, her voice sounding strangled.

"Lily, Lupe went through enough last night; I really don't think he needs to—"

"Remus can take it," Lily interrupts, tensing. "Lord knows you need to learn to own up to your mistakes. So you gave in again?"

She pleads, "It was more than that! It didn't seem like he was just using me again, it was—god, I woke up in his dormitory this morning, do you know how hard it must have been for him to bring me up there and then to find I was already gone when he got up? And he said—he said…"

Remus doesn't need me anymore.

"You're lying, aren't you?" She rounds on Lupe, who just blinks back at her through swollen eyes. "You were up to something last night, something more than just being sick, something so serious that Madam Pomfrey somehow couldn't heal the bruising. Whatever you did last night, Black didn't want you to be doing it, it was dangerous, you were doing it without them, you…"

They're all a little scared by now, Marlene reckons—at least, she expects that she's not the only one feeling dizzy and hot and seeing stars. How many damned secrets are there in this school, and for what?

Quietly, Lupe says, "You can't tell anyone. Please, Marlene, it's too big to explain it to you, and it's not safe for anyone to suspect anything, all right?"

She nods slowly, seeing Lily relax out the corner of her eye. "I'll keep quiet," she agrees. "But jeez, Lupe—I've known you for going on six years now, I'm one of your best mates, we've trusted each other with so much before—you didn't even know Lily before last summer, how does it work that she knows what you're up to and I don't?"

"She wasn't supposed to find out," says Lupe wearily. "Too many people know already. Please, just let it go, it isn't about whether or not I trust you."

She gives him a long look. "All right," Marlene finally consents, though she knows she can't quite let it go, "but you're not just getting off scot-free. And you can't talk to anyone about me and Black, and that includes Jay and Pete."

"Of course I won't," he says, easing himself deeper into the pillows. "I owe you one, Marlene. You have no idea what it means to me."

"A hell of a lot, I should hope," she says darkly.

Lily breaks the ensuing silence by awkwardly clearing her throat. "If we're done here, I'd better get going; I have to be at the Ministry in half an hour for my internship. I think this is the month I'll finally get to go to France, so I can't start making a bad impression or anything by showing up late."

"Yeah, of course. Good luck," says Marlene not entirely sincerely. Lily lets it slide, though, parting the curtains to go with a little wave to them both.

She starts to make small talk, but judging by the look on Lupe's face, he has other ideas. So Marlene patiently waits, fiddling with the edge of her robes, until he finally asks, "How do you girls stand it?"

"How do we stand what? Blokes? Menstruation? The societal prejudice against us?" she prompts, readying herself for a feminist rant.

Lupe gives a half-smile and shakes his head. "The gossip. The things you concern yourselves with… take you and Sirius, for example. You have sex sometimes—so what? Not that what you have is healthy, or isn't detrimental," he adds hastily, "but—that's really your biggest problem, sex? And look at Mary, she's changing her whole life and outlook around over her hair color, a bit of makeup, and one bloke. Then there's Lily—god, I would be a wreck if that had happened to my parents, but half the time, it's like she's more worried about James and Snape than the fact that she's an orphan." By the time he's done talking, he looks exhausted, depleted; he twists his lips a bit and tugs at his blankets, but he doesn't quite have the strength to pull them up any further.

So Marlene leans in and tucks them around his shoulders, not meeting his eyes as she replies, "It's not just a bit of gossip. I reckon we're all at least a bit shallow—except Em, not that I understand her—but it's more than that, it's…" She trails off, searching for words. "We're not thick, you know. We know there's a war going on out there, that people are dying—but you can't waste away half your life worrying about it. There's nothing we can do—at least, not yet—" He quirks an eyebrow, but she doesn't elaborate. "—So you worry about blokes and Glamour Charms instead, because at least that's doable, you have control of that. It may not matter as much in the long run, but since you can't change the world… nobody in this school is important enough to change the world yet, none of the students, anyway. You really think Lily wants to dwell on her problems, or that Mary wants people to compare her to Veronica Smethley all the time?"

"But she's nothing like Smethley," says Lupe, his forehead creasing in a frown. "Yeah, they're mates, but that doesn't mean they have much in common other than Witch Weekly. Smethley's not half as good a person, for one thing."

Marlene sighs. "I know that, and you know that, but are you naïve enough to think that anyone can see that about her other than the Gryffindor sixth years when she's running around spreading rumors every chance she gets? People don't care about people very often, Lupe, they just care about themselves and say everyone else is a bitch until proven otherwise. Look at us—we do the same thing with Smethley's lot, don't we? Even with the Slytherins."

Lupe goes rigid; she can feel it through the mattress. "They're not necessarily awful people, and maybe some of them aren't little Death Eaters in training, but I don't trust their motives. They ended up in that house for a reason. Resourceful and cunning…"

"Do the Slytherins have anything to do with how you got here?" she asks softly.

Panic lines the contours of his face. "Not directly," Lupe mumbles.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I can't," he says, looking pained. "Believe me, it's not the kind of thing you want to involve yourself in. If things were different…"

Marlene smiles weakly. "There's enough already in my life that no one should want to involve themselves in. Just think about it, yeah?"

Closing his eyes, Lupe answers, "Maybe someday."

She tells herself she'll leave when she's sure he must be asleep, but when his breathing has been steady for at least a quarter of an hour, she still hasn't budged. Lupe is kind and strong and everything she's not, but at least for the next few days, this is all he'll amount to—a bruised mess struggling to recover. Maybe this is all anyone amounts to on the inside, Marlene thinks; maybe she doesn't have to throw in the towel because she ran away from home and she's lying about her father and she's letting Black use her and Dumbledore—

Marlene hasn't been able to stop thinking about his offer. Oh, Marlene has tried to put it out of her mind, knowing that she has another year and a half before she'll have a chance to accept it, but the idea that she doesn't have to make the Auror program to do something about Voldemort's forces is an enticing one. It pains her a little to think it'll make her more like Doc, but then, she can't blame him for not being the most involved father in the wizarding world. He's lived the last sixteen years as though he only had a daughter on Christmas and her birthday at Mum's request; he can't be expected to turn his life around when Marlene unexpectedly chose to move into his flat.

There are so many stigmas she's caught between—bastard child, teenage slut—that it's no one's fault if her family's not perfect. And her parents love her, she knows that, even though Mum doesn't understand her and Doc is never around. At least, Marlene figures, she's not in Lily's shoes with no place to go but someone else's bachelor pad, or horribly disfigured and lying in a hospital bed like Lupe.

Glancing away, she checks her watch—lunch is nearly over—and casts one last look at Lupe's broken figure before she goes.

Although this train-wreck of a day has her stomach twisting too much to eat, she has nowhere better to go than the Great Hall, so she takes a deep breath and steps through the doors. Who will even be here to shield her from Black? Almost everyone has an internship, except the two of them, Lupe—he's out of commission, obviously—and—Em isn't even in the hall. Of course.

It's too late to back out now—she's reached her usual seat at the Gryffindor table. Black glances up from his overflowing plate, then instantly looks away. "'Lo, McKinnon," he says softly between bites.

"Black," says Marlene in turn, sitting awkwardly across from him, and it strikes her that even sex wasn't enough to put them on first-name terms. Sure, Black's sort of like her nickname for him, and all of the boys switch off between calling the girls by their first and last names, but that doesn't seem like enough to her.

"I'm surprised you're not with Lupe," she says to take her mind off of it, pouring herself a goblet of pumpkin juice so she doesn't feel so out of place. "Lily and I have been in there all morning, and she didn't see you, either."

He chokes on his casserole at that. "Who told you about Remus?" Black splutters.

"Em," says Marlene nonchalantly. "Come on, Black, you didn't think people would hear about it? He winds up in the Hospital Wing all the time with—you know, whatever it is he's got."

"Right, yeah. I just reckoned he wouldn't want to see me after that," Black improvises, still coughing. She hasn't forgotten that something's up, but she promised Lupe she'd keep quiet, so she will, even with his well-informed mates. "Speaking of the Hufflepuffs, Lockhart has been yelling about your infatuation with him all morning. Something about a run-in on the way to breakfast…?"

Snorting, she explains, "I skipped breakfast; he just decided to escort me to the Great Hall before I could get in a word edgewise. Thinks I'll be his date to the Quidditch game next weekend."

"You're not interested?" he asks with—is that a hopeful edge to his voice?

"Lockhart's a thick arse; of course I'm not interested," says Marlene, not missing Black's visible relief. "Anyway, I reckon I'm going with the other Gryffindors like always, rallying behind you and Jay and all that, not that you'll need luck on your side to demolish Slytherin."

Black replies through a mouthful of beans, "Lily and Mary and Remus will go with you, I reckon. Peter's taking Flynn—can't believe they're still together, those two—Abbott is going with Cresswell and Longbottom, I think it's a double date—Em never goes to Quidditch games, but you know that already."

"A double date? Who's Frank seeing? I thought he was single."

There's a wicked glint in Black's eyes. "He was until a few days ago, when he got with Dana Madley." Marlene spits out her mouthful of pumpkin juice, "I know, I couldn't believe it when I heard, either."

"Scourgify," she says to clean up her mess, then laughs a bit incredulously at the news. "The Dana Madley? That daft bitch who somehow landed herself in Ravenclaw? I didn't think Longbottom would go for someone that… er, busty, or that much of a gossipmonger, for that matter. Didn't she and Jay have a thing briefly last year?"

Black shakes his head. "Almost. She was really pushing for it, and you know what James is like sometimes, so he led her on a bit more than he ought to have—but he never could have gone through with it. Whatever he says, he's always been holding out for Lily."

Not that Black knows anything about holding out for her, even when he knows he's already got her. Marlene drops her eyes; Black drops his voice. "You know I can't," he reminds her, sighing. "There's too much baggage, I'm too… I wish I could, but I can't, I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry," she says slowly, clenching her fist around her goblet.

"Marlene—"

Glaring, she stands. "I know you can't, I just can't fathom why not, or why me."

"Don't go, we can talk about this, I know I owe you that," Black protests, struggling to keep his voice down. "Last night—"

"I have to go; I promised Mare I'd meet her after lunch," fibs Marlene, and she feels so tired again, not that she's felt anything else all day. "I'm going."

So she goes.