Previously in the Darklyverse: Frustrated with Dumbledore's refusal to let students join his covert, anti-Voldemort organization (CH12), the Gryffindors joined forces with Head Girl Dorcas Meadowes to shift their focus from educating youth about pureblood privilege (CH26, CH28, CH29) toward illegal, underage involvement in the war (CH30), starting with gathering names of potential Death Eaters at a high-society gala (CH32). Mary grappled with her repressed feelings for Marlene (CH27) and jealousy of Marlene and Lily's friendship (CH24). Mary and Alice learned about the pureblood political motivations behind the sexual repression rampant in Wizarding law, including a thriving underbelly prostitution industry (CH27).
xx
April 17th, 1977: Marlene McKinnon
They're hurtling along the Hogwarts Express back from Easter holiday, and sometimes Marlene feels like she's living in transport—toward fitting somewhere and toward the war she doesn't want but doesn't want to miss, either, now that Muggles' blood is spilling in motion too. The past weekend was a blur of so many purist families' names just lying in her lap with no place to take them out, and she wishes she were huddled with her eight Gryffindors and Dorcas in a compartment now, because their laps are full too and that's so much less lonely—but that's not the plan, and if they have a shot in hell at pulling this off, Marlene's going to have to suck it up and stick to the plan, something she's never been particularly adept at doing.
No, they've got to split up, they've got to branch out, because Marlene's got to recruit—which honestly feels sort of hilarious, as if there's some kind of go-to criteria to use when deciding whom you can trust to join up with your covert terrorist group. Because there's no flowchart to decide these things, especially when the gang hasn't even been able to gauge whether most students are with or against the purists—but she's got to recruit, hasn't she? And the ten of them can't go about doing that if they're grouped up in a corner scaring off newbies and making it more than obvious that they're the ones behind the pranks.
So here they are, Marlene and Mary and Lily, all bunched up in the corner of their compartment to leave room for anybody who looks like a safe bet—the train gathers speed—and suddenly Millie LeProut's moldy-bread scent precedes her as she creaks open the door and sidles inside to join them.
"Oh, hi, Marlene," says Millie breathlessly, slowly sliding the door back and not turning around again until they hear the gentle click of it closing. "Is it—I mean, everywhere else is filling up, so would it be okay if I were to—?"
"Oh! Yeah, go right ahead—Millie, this is Mary—Lily—" Mary waves her hand once with a raised eyebrow; Lily shrugs and purses her lips into a half-smile "—and this is Millie, did you know she's the Quidditch commentator this season?"
"No, I didn't place it," says Mary, but Lily braces herself into a wider smile and tells Millie, "You've been doing a really good job at it, you know. It's nice meeting you face to face."
"Thanks. Lily—then you're Lily Evans, right? So you must know what James Potter is up to—"
Marlene interjects, to save face for Millie. She's not sure why she's saving face for Millie, unless it's just Lily rubbing off on her. "We're a little infamous, you know, dating right little Quidditch heroes and pranksters as we are."
"I am not dating James Potter."
"Yeah, just snogging him occasionally."
"Mary!"
"Yeah, yeah," says Mary dismissively, "and yeah, we're close enough to him and his housemates."
Stiffening her shoulders, Millie says, "So why are—so when are you all going to stop—I know it's them doing the Phoenix stuff, I know it is!"
Because she can tell from Mary's paling face, and because she's doing her damndest to stick to the plan, Marlene cuts in, "So what if they were? It's messy what they're up to—why would anybody want to get themselves mixed up in—"
"Well, Sirius avoids me every time I see him," says Millie, and Marlene feels a pang of something she can't place somewhere in her lower abdomen, "and I can't talk to them, and I'm talking to you, and I want to help."
Smiling, Marlene answers, "That doesn't mean there's anything to 'help' with."
"I'm a Ravenclaw. We pay attention. I know I'm not good for much spellwork—I know that—it was my dad, all right? Last year. I pay attention. I want to help." She says it in a drawn-out quiver with her head held high, and Marlene glances at Lily for a long moment, then Mary.
Guardedly, Lily starts, "We don't know them well enough to tell, Millie… but…"
"Well, anyway, they would want to help, too, wouldn't they? He's a Black. Wouldn't you want to find who to help, too? And Lily—you're—wouldn't you?"
Mary's lips are as thin as McGonagall's get every time Sirius and James join forces with Peeves in the corridors. "My parents were Muggles," Lily says softly. "Let's all keep an eye out for you, all right?"
"But don't—"
"I'm sorry about your dad. We'll keep an eye out. Do you want to sit down? The trolley should be coming around soon…"
Millie's face contorts to the point that her pimples flush white, and then the corners of her mouth turn up as she says, "Well—okay. Thanks."
Marlene elbows Mary hard in the ribs as Lily scoots closer to the window across from them to make room. It takes an additional stomp of the foot for Mary to drop the glare and hedge, "So there's a Quidditch match coming up pretty soon, isn't there? Hufflepuff against Slytherin?"
"Yeah, there is." Millie latches on quickly, adding in a rush, "It'll be hard to gauge, don't you think it'll be? Hufflepuff's only leading them by twenty; each team's gotten one game each so far, and Slytherin has Black—Regulus, I mean, not…"
xx
They're harder to see in the dark, but Mary's been sporting dark rings under her eyes all day. Marlene can't stop staring at her cheekbones trying to make the bags out as Mary tugs shut the curtains of Marlene's four-poster and perches on the mattress. "You're up late," says Marlene.
"Yes, well, you were out late," Mary points out.
"Fair enough," says Marlene. She might have stayed out the whole night, too, if she'd wound up falling asleep with Sirius in the boys' dormitory, but Peter had interrupted before she could've done so. And while Marlene knows (and believe her, she's grateful) that he won't harp on teasing them about it for days after like James or Remus might have, by merit of Peter being Peter, the whole thing was painful enough to drive Marlene right back out to her proper dormitory.
Mary prods, "Hot date?"
"Something like that."
Alice shushes them loudly. Then Lily shushes Alice, and then comes the thump of someone either shoving a pillow over her head or else hurling a pillow across the room into someone else's head—Marlene can't tell which it is.
Eyebrows narrowed, Marlene's legs twitch as she pulls the sheets over herself and twitch even more when Mary clambers in after Marlene under the covers, even though Mary maintains a friendly distance. Peter had walked in at a really inconvenient moment for Marlene.
In a harried whisper Marlene doesn't recognize, Mary goes on, "I've been trying to catch you alone all day, but you ran off as soon as we got off the train, and…"
"I—yeah. What about? If you're worried about Millie—"
"Millie?"
"On the train. Quidditch commentator. Look, I know she's a little overeager, but she means well, you know? And I think she could really—"
"Oh, her. Not about Millie," says Mary. "It's about… listen, I don't think this is working."
Marlene stretches her legs out and pulls the blankets more snugly up her shoulders, even though it's stuffy inside the hangings around the bed. "What's not working? Recruitment? We just started looking, Mare. These people aren't going to get on board overnight."
"No—well, not exactly. Maybe we'll find people, maybe not, it's like… I mean our strategy, though."
"Strategy for what?"
"That's my point." When Marlene doesn't answer right away, Mary lets out a puff of taut breath; Marlene tilts her head down to avoid the smell. "We got lucky with the ball, but we can't just count on being able to con our way into functions and—and get names off a bunch of sloppy housewives—and then what? We don't know what they're planning or when they're meeting or—or even which ones of them are actually in You-Know-Who's circle."
Sighing, Marlene says, "I know that, Mare, but we're doing what we can with what we have, yeah? It's a starting point. We can talk tactics more in the morning; we're both free second period—"
"I'm sick of talking tactics. I… need to do something."
"Oh yeah? And what's that going to be, exactly?"
"Well, there's underground."
"And what's going to help us that's underground?"
"Me," Mary says.
Marlene's chest goes hot, even hotter than her lower belly already is. "No."
"But I haven't even told you what I'm going to do yet."
"Doesn't matter what you're going to do. Whatever it is, I don't like it."
"You sound like Alice."
"Mary," she says, glaring at Mary through the sting of it, and Mary stares back. Marlene can't read her—when did she and Mary unlearn how to read each other? "Mare," Marlene says again, "you're from a Muggle family; you wouldn't understand. It's not safe to get sucked into underground society stuff."
Mary insists, "You go there. You sneak out all the time to bars and places—"
"To go dancing. Or drinking. I'm not talking about the geographical location; it's the people you don't want to get mixed up with. They're not good people. No skin off their back if they let a name slip and have to—hurt you."
"What, do you think I'm not prepared to risk being injured? Lena, this is a war that we're joining. It's an actual, real, live war. We signed up for the same thing. And I'll have leverage."
"Like hell you'll have leverage," Marlene mutters.
"Yes, I will, actually," sniffs Mary. "Against their reputations."
"Mare. If you're talking about prostitution, I'm not letting you do that to yourself."
"Don't tell me what I can and can't do!" Mary's shaking off the blankets and swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress. Sitting up a little, Marlene thrusts out a hand to grab at Mary's forearm, but Mary yanks it away. "You don't get to tell me what I can't do. You screwed up this friendship, okay—"
"Wait, what, back up. I didn't screw up anything. You got all weird—"
"Because I've been going through stuff! Stuff you'd know about if you hadn't—discarded me—"
"Discarded, oh, really—"
"—The second Lily came running, and I've been trying, okay, I really have, but like—"
But Mary's cut short abruptly when Alice barks in a croaky voice, "Can you please just take it to the common room or something? Some of us actually plan on going to Charms in the morning."
"I have Charms, too," Marlene snaps, but Mary's already pushed through the curtains and stumbled back to her own bed, and none of it's any use anyway.
Underground… it's all a sleepy blur, but Marlene knows enough from Sirius's heritage and the veela and her mum's cautions that pureblood nightlife, especially where it concerns infidelity, isn't something anyone wants to get caught up in. Not the people Marlene cares about, screwed up or not, and certainly not someone as blustering as Mary is.
The sick feeling in her chest is getting thicker, and she tries to count her breaths and nothing else until she falls asleep.
xx
She cuts Charms the next morning and heads to the library to think because she knows it's the last place anyone trying to find her might think to look. It's even muggier there, somehow, than in the rest of the castle, and Marlene dawdles at the shelves and pokes around in books at random, sure that she'll doze off if she sits down.
She can't decide how she feels about Mary—or, anyway, how she feels about Mary's outburst last night. Even if Mary's having doubts about it, Marlene knows exactly what she thinks of Mary herself: a little shallow, a little self-absorbed, but honestly, Marlene is those things too, and maybe that's why she's lost some of her patience with Mary over the past year—because they bring that out in each other. But at least Mary is thoughtful and kind and trying, which is more than Marlene can say for herself most days.
And maybe Mary doesn't have it completely backwards thinking Marlene left her when apparently Mary needed her support. But that's no reason to go on some illegal sex bender, and Marlene doesn't see what motivation Mary could have except to make Marlene notice her by lashing out. Marlene's not going to play that game, not if what she knows about how clients treat veela is any indicator of what they'll do to Mary.
Marlene may not have a history of making the best sexual decisions in the world, but all of hers with Sirius were consensual, at least. Consent gets dubious when pureblood money gets mixed up in it; there'll be no self-respecting defense against brutality if Mary reduces herself to a transaction, at least not in anyone's eyes except Marlene's and maybe Remus's, and god knows that where the law is concerned…
No, Marlene can't let this become a thing, even if Mary resents her for it. Marlene knows she's got no say over what Mary does or doesn't do—she's lost her legitimacy; Mary made that much clear—and it's a damn shame, too, because Mary's got a lot of mates but not a lot of confidants. Her windpipe constricts for a fleeting moment as Marlene realizes that she's honestly got no idea whom Mary's been telling things to without Marlene all year. Maybe Peter. Maybe Remus. They've got the softest edges, and they judge the least harshly, out of probably anyone Mary knows.
If she doesn't want to alienate Mary, she can't send them both after her—she'll feel bombarded and just retaliate by delving in faster. Between the two, Peter's much more stable and probably more likely to protect her privacy; Remus is a wreck of self-loathing, but maybe he's more relatable, then, because of the werewolf thing. Peter or Remus? Think fast; these are the pivot points.
Peter, she decides. Inhaling shakily, Marlene edges her way out of the shelves and sets off for Gryffindor Tower.
xx
Peter takes the news with the stoic commitment she'd expected from him, but when she doesn't hear anything else from him half a week later, Marlene can't help but get increasingly anxious. "Can you just trust me, okay?" he says when she corners him after Defense Against the Dark Arts. "I know you're just worried about her, and maybe she knows that too, but I shouldn't break her trust and spread around anything she might say—and I'm not saying she's said anything!" he adds quickly, reddening.
"I just want to know she's not going to do anything daft. She's my mate, too. My best mate."
"Then you know she'll come to you about it when she's ready to, you know? I've got this. Really."
As much as Marlene's inclined to trust him, he more days pass, the more she catches herself watching Mary in the corner of her eyes like she'll disappear to someplace bad as soon as Marlene looks away, her muscles progressively tensing up throughout the evenings and not relaxing until Mary reenters the dormitory for the night. Mary doesn't broach the topic again, and Marlene doesn't push it, a little because it would be unwise and a lot because she doesn't want to hear what Mary might say about her next.
So she busies herself with other things, unsuccessfully, instead. Not classes—her marks are a mess this year, to no surprise, and she doesn't think it would be worth it to try to catch up before finals season. She has Lily, though, and Sirius, and a list of pureblood surnames on parchment, and those at least are concrete things Marlene can hold onto.
Like now, for instance, when she buries her beet-red face in the crook of Sirius's neck as Professor McGonagall snaps the broom cupboard door shut and waits for them to get dressed and follow her into the corridor. "Dunno about you, but I'm getting really damn sick of people walking in on us shagging," Marlene mutters into his collarbone.
"New high score," says Sirius, and she swats at him halfheartedly with one hand while unsuccessfully trying to pull up her panties with the other.
McGonagall's forehead looks lined and ancient to Marlene once she staggers out of the closet and looks at the professor properly in the light. Is that new, or has she just never had reason until now to pay attention?
"Come with me," McGonagall tells them, heading down the corridor so briskly that Marlene nearly has to jog to keep pace with her.
"But that's the way to Dumbledore's office, not yours," Sirius says when they reach the nearest staircase and McGonagall starts climbing up, not down.
"Professor Dumbledore's office," she says, her lips hardening.
"But we're seventeen!"
"Mister Black," says McGonagall, and Sirius drops it.
Marlene hasn't been to Dumbledore's office—or, for that matter, spoken to Dumbledore at all—since the beginning of the year, when she'd just failed training for her Auror internship and he'd invited her to join the war effort after her graduation. There's a hideous symmetry to the thought that she's started a war effort of her own between this visit and the last one that makes her stomach itch and her face heat up.
Barely registering the password ("Sugar Quill") that McGonagall puts forth when they reach the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's tower, Marlene takes a second to shake her head and snap herself back from her thoughts—it doesn't work—before following McGonagall up the stairs and coming to a halt outside Dumbledore's office door, Sirius close behind her. He sneaks in a light kiss to the top of her head when McGonagall isn't looking, but it makes Marlene feel more testy than reassured.
"Yes, Minerva?" says Dumbledore when McGonagall steps into his office, Marlene and Sirius dawdling in the doorway. He too sounds tired.
"In a broom cupboard on the second floor," McGonagall offers by way of explanation, jerking her head slightly in their direction.
"Indeed. That will be all, Minerva, thank you."
She nods curtly to Dumbledore, and the look she casts at Marlene as she edges past them through the doorway isn't one of anger but of—fear, maybe, or concern.
"Do come in," he says to Marlene as she stands stricken in the doorway. Tensing her shoulders, she eases into the office and takes a seat in the remaining chintz armchair across the desk from Dumbledore (Sirius has already strewn himself across one of them with a careless slouch).
Dumbledore continues, "Mister Black, always a pleasure," and Sirius grins—it's not uncommon for McGonagall to haul him and James off to the headmaster for a particularly disruptive prank, which seems to happen at least every few weeks. "Miss McKinnon, sherbet lemon?"
"No," she says, folding her hands in her lap.
"Very well," says Dumbledore, and he helps himself to one instead. There's a moment in which they stare at each other across the desk, Dumbledore's eyes twinkling even though they're creased with fatigue, and then he leans back in his armchair and says, "Miss McKinnon, last time we spoke, I asked you to keep a secret for me. Have you upheld that promise?"
"No," Marlene repeats, quieter this time.
"No, I imagined you had not as soon as I saw the firecrackers in the Great Hall. I must admit, I was impressed; that particular piece of magic outshone even what I have come to expect from you and your friends, Sirius—"
Hotly, Sirius interjects, "For all you know, that wasn't us—"
"Mister Black," says Dumbledore, raising his hands slightly, "it is more difficult in these times than ever to discern whether another wizard's intentions are with the dark or the light. Let us not play games with one another."
Sirius falls quiet, and Marlene asks before even thinking about it, "We're not here to talk about what Professor McGonagall saw us doing, are we?"
"No, Miss McKinnon, we are not." He surveys them both for a moment, then adds, "I had hoped that you and your classmates had intended to keep your endeavors in outreach strictly educational for the rest of the student body, but I fear I underestimated your conviction to make a difference on the front lines."
"But Professor—"
"I have a contact," Dumbledore continues as though Sirius hadn't spoken, "who, as a long overdue favor, was kind enough to pass along the names of any students of mine in attendance at last week's gala. Forgive me if I do not for a second believe that Mister Potter and Miss Meadowes have truly decided to resume their childhood betrothal." Marlene intently studies the beads of sweat slowly forming on her clasped hands. "These are admirable intentions motivating your actions, no doubt, but I had hoped that I had sufficiently impressed upon you the dangers of diving into battle underage."
"We haven't dived into battle, though," Marlene says.
"Yet," says Dumbledore. Beside her, Sirius stiffens a little in his seat. "Miss McKinnon—Mister Black—is there anything, anything at all, that either of you would like to tell me?"
She doesn't trust herself to stay quiet if she looks at either of them, so Marlene keeps her eyes peeled to her lap and bites her lip over and over.
Too many seconds pass by before, finally, Dumbledore abates. "Please know that you are welcome—all of you—to come to me at any time."
"Right," says Sirius. "That's all, then?"
"Yes, I suppose that's all," Dumbledore confirms, and as she propels herself to her feet, Marlene wonders when exactly everything got so hard to see.