December and January 1978

In the midst of the Christmas holidays, two thoughts plagued Marlene's mind. First, who decided that a funeral three days before Christmas would be a good idea? Marlene had spent that morning helping prefects hang ornaments on the colossal-sized trees that stood proudly in the Great Hall, to then spend the afternoon burying her parents. Marlene and her siblings had stood in a graveyard amongst their closest family and friends, with the sound of carolling dancing on the wind and the twinkle of fairy lights on the horizon.

Earlier that month, Marlene had hunted down Leonard in the corridors. She had pulled him aside and adamantly demanded that he tell her why she had found him in a fistfight with Elijah Travers.

"I mean, you have a wand," she had said incredulously. "In those circumstances, you disarm him and walk away."

"Just leave it, Marlene," he had retorted heatedly.

"Not until you tell me what possessed you to – "

"I'm sick of it! I'm sick of their taunts and their jokes. I'm sick of Slytherins and their bigotry. I can't stand it."

She had looked at him then. Really looked at him. The cut had healed and his bruises were beginning to fade. And, yet, he seemed to have aged well beyond his young fifteen years, with eyes that had seen too much and a soul that was too heavy. He wasn't a baby, anymore. The thought ripped at Marlene's heart.

Luella, on the other hand, had withdrawn. Marlene had tracked her down the Monday after the Hogsmeade trip. She was going from class to class, quiet and reserved. Her face was pale and drawn. She barely spoke when Marlene expressed her concern; she just looked at her – or rather just past her – with unfocused eyes. Christmas wasn't the same that year. Of course, the Christmas Feast had, as always, been magical. Fairies danced around the Hall, flitting in and out of the starry night sky and, every once in a while, students would be caught unawares by a cloud of blue smoke exploding from their cracker. But it just wasn't the same.

The second thought she had that day was whether or not McGonagall hated her. Her Head of House had approached her at breakfast and had requested – or, rather, demanded – that her and Rosier complete extra patrol shifts that evening. Apparently, one of the assigned Prefects had fainted at the sight of the cracker mice, smacked their head on the table on the way down, and required immediate treatment in the Hospital Wing.

As she made her way to the fourth floor corridor – a neutral meeting area for a Slytherin and a Gryffindor to begin a circuit of the castle –, Marlene found herself chewing her lip in frustration. She had avoided Rosier ever since he had seen her cry, even going as far as swapping some of her patrol shifts with innocent prefects from Hufflepuff. She had asked McGonagall if she could complete tonight's patrols with Dorcas, but her professor had refused.

So, there she was. Awaiting the arrival of a person she hated, so she could spend the evening teeming with abhorrence and snarky comments. She waited. And she waited. She waited for almost an hour, stewing over the torrent of pent-up fury she would unleash on him when he finally arrived. When it reached an hour, Marlene gave up. She would do the patrols on her own.

"McKinnon!"

Marlene whirled around to see Rosier sauntering up the otherwise empty corridor. He had a grin plastered across his face. Hers, in comparison, was blank and hard.

"You're an hour late," she said bluntly as he halted in front of her.

"Aw, but it's Christmas."

Rosier seemed to be too happy. And his words were slurred. Not to mention the smell of –

"Are you drunk?!"

"Like I said," Rosier said, his words dripping with sickly condescension. "It's Christmas. Merlin, don't you do anything fun?" From within his robes, Rosier pulled an expensive-looking miniature bottle of dark liquid, dressed in a black ribbon.

"Rosier," she hissed, throwing a quick look over her shoulder. "Are you trying to get us expelled? You're the HEAD BOY, for Merlin's sake."

"God, you're so boring," he sighed, unscrewing the top and taking a swig.

Marlene stared disbelievingly, her jaw slack from the sheer stupidity of this boy. "Get in there," she demanded, pushing him towards a closed door. She whispered a quick Alohomora and shoved in the inebriated Slytherin, who was more concerned with the drop of alcohol that had escaped its bottle than the innocent second year who was coming around the corner. Marlene darted inside the empty classroom and slammed the door behind her, seemingly drawing no attention from anyone outside.

"I think you have a problem," she said furiously, turning on Rosier. He was perched on the side of a desk and he was watching her with infuriating amusement on his face. "I'm serious. Is this all you can do? Drink?"

"It's the best thing to do," he countered arrogantly. "Oh, stop acting like it's a big deal. Grow up."

Marlene was affronted; his good-humour-turned-sour retort had actually stung.

"You're unbelievable," she muttered, shaking her head.

Rosier laughed humourlessly and dragged a hand through his hair. "You want some, McKinnon? It might lighten you up a bit. The last time I saw liquor in you, I actually saw you smile."

"Piss off, Rosier."

"Oh, come on," he mocked. "I bet you need something to numb the pain."

All she could do was stare at him. How dare he? "You can do the patrols on your own," she murmured, disgusted. And she turned on heel and headed for the door.

"Okay, look," he said quietly. "That was a bit harsh. It wasn't supposed to come out like that. I'm just saying, it helps."

Marlene paused with her fingertips on the door handle, halted by intrigue, yet still smarting from his callousness. She turned back to face him and leant against the wood. "What pain do you have?"

Rosier's expression froze; a flash of momentary fear, the same type she saw that day in Hogsmeade, replaced it. And then it was gone. "I don't," he said quickly, with forced casualness. And then he added, angrily: "You people – you preach tolerance but you're so damned quick to judge."

Taken aback, Marlene stared. "I know enough about you to feel completely secure in my judgements, Rosier."

Rosier scoffed at that. "You know nothing about me."

"No sob story about your less than perfect childhood is going to make me think better of you."

He jerked as if he had been slapped. "God, you're insufferable," he breathed. "And you need to get off your damned pedestal."

"I don't terrorise people," she spat. "I don't torture people!"

Rosier watched Marlene as she breathed heavily, incensed by their confrontation. His face betrayed no emotion. Instead of answering, he swallowed a mouthful from his flask. That was the last straw. Marlene strode towards him and snatched that stupid flask from his grip and slammed it on the table, showering them both with a burst of sticky liquid. If he was angry, he didn't show it. He just watched her. Oh, how she hated how he did that. She hated that so much. He shifted slightly, repositioning himself on the desk.

"Come here," Rosier said quietly. She was already standing quite close to him; any closer and she would feel his breath on her. Something like fear pressed against her chest, snaking into her stomach and filling it with unease. "Just come here," he repeated impatiently; he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close such that the gap between them vanished. He didn't let go of her wrist. Instead, he slipped their hands beneath his robe and hitched up the t-shirt he wore underneath, revealing his lower abdomen. In one swift moment, he pressed Marlene's hand against the bare skin. Embarrassment manifested itself in a deep crimson that spread across her cheeks; she was moments away from snatching back her hand, when something against her fingertips made her pause. It was a ridge of hard, puckered skin. Perplexed, Marlene's eyes met Rosier's. He was watching her carefully.

"I was caught in the cross-fire when my father attacked my mother. He was drunk out of his mind and didn't realise he was killing her. He didn't realise I was bleeding, either. Curses like that leave their mark."

Marlene had frozen, her lips parted and her eyes unblinking.

"When he snapped back to reality," Rosier continued calmly. "He turned to me and said 'How could you let me do that?'" Rosier paused. "I was nine." Rosier's story achieved the effect he had intended. He dropped Marlene's wrist like it was ablaze. Dazed, speechless, frozen, she watched him as he stood up.

"But, I forgot," he said simply. "Monsters like me don't get to have sob stories." And with that, Rosier left her alone.

Days passed. Marlene kept herself busy over the holidays. She spent her days withering away in the library, surrounded by NEWT students who were sensible enough to stay at school over the break. Occasionally, she would be dragged outside by Mary and Dorcas, who both deemed it a sin not to have at least one snowball fight before the weather changed. She spent evenings with Luella, trying to get her to talk about her grief, coaxing plans for the future from her stubborn lips. She would be a NEWT student, soon, and she needed someone to hound her to make life choices.

"A healer, like mum," she had whispered.

The Christmas holidays disappeared as quickly as they had appeared; before Marlene could even blink, the corridors of Hogwarts were once more swarming with students. Where was the time going?

And, of course, there was Rosier.

Marlene couldn't stop thinking about him. His face, emotionless and steady, would incessantly plague her mind, alongside the memory of that calm, matter-of-fact voice with its almost clinical lilt. Against every fibre of her intelligence, Marlene's heart reached out to him. She imagined him, a nine-year-old child, small and scared… And the questions. So many questions. What had happened to his father? Was she the first person he had told?

"Are you even listening?"

Marlene snapped back to the present. She was perched on a stool, elbows resting on the table and chin resting atop her hands. Beside her, Mary was holding a textbook in one hand and porcupine quills in the other. The oval-shaped dungeon room was packed with NEWT students and the buzz of chatter over the occasional hiss from a brewing potion.

"What?" Marlene said blankly.

Looking suspiciously at her partner, Mary gestured with her chin towards their potion; it was gently simmering and emitting golden spirals of steam. "Quills or beans?"

"Oh! Quills. And then stir it."

From their seats at the back of the room, Marlene could survey the whole class. Rosier's head was bent over his own work; every so often, Travers would say something and he would laugh. She couldn't seem to shake the unyielding apprehension. And, she couldn't help it, but Marlene couldn't stop staring at his waistline. The feeling of that scar beneath her fingertips haunted her.

In the same way that Marlene had gone out of her way to avoid him, Rosier had started swapping patrol shifts, or simply not turning up at all. Most of the time, some snarky Slytherin fifth year would take his place, and Marlene would have to sit through hours of spoiled-brat syndrome, trying her hardest not to throttle the girl. If Marlene ever saw Rosier in the corridors, he would just look straight through her, as if she didn't exist.

"Marlene! What is wrong with you today?" Mary said sharply, interrupting her thought stream.

"Sorry," Marlene said hurriedly. "Sorry, sorry. Stir it anti-clockwise."

"Yes, I know," Mary said impatiently. "How many times?"

"Oh. Four."

"Why are you so out of it?" she pressed, carefully mixing the concoction and counting prudently on her fingers.

"I don't know," Marlene said with a forcibly casual shrug. "Just tired, I guess."

"Well, can you save the tiredness until after we brew this thing? I can't afford to muck up another assignment."

"Yeah, sure," Marlene said vaguely. "Sorry. Okay, sopohorous beans next."

By the time the lesson was up, Mary and Marlene had managed to brew a satisfactory Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Of course, Mary had done most of the work. Marlene had almost added a second handful of shrivelfig as opposed to wormwood whilst gazing dreamily out of the window. Exasperatedly, Mary had snatched away the ingredients from Marlene's dangerous hands and told her to sit down and touch nothing. Marlene had willingly complied. As they were packing away their things, Marlene watched as Rosier approached Professor Slughorn.

"Marls, you coming?" Mary had slung her bag over her shoulder and was heading towards the door.

"You go on," Marlene assured. "I just need to talk to Slughorn about something."

"Alright, well I'll see you in dinner. I'm not waiting for you before I eat, though. I'm starving."

Marlene laughed. "Fair enough, Mary."

Hovering silently by the back table, Marlene went apparently unnoticed by Rosier as he thanked Slughorn and exited from the door next to the basins. This was her chance, she thought, and she darted out after him into the empty dungeon corridor.

"Rosier, wait!"

He glanced over his shoulder and looked almost exasperated when he saw her. "No," he said sharply. "I'm busy."

"You have somewhere to be other than dinner?"

Rosier sighed and stopped in his tracks. "What do you want, McKinnon?"

"I just wanted to talk," she said lightly.

"There's nothing to talk about." He seemed impatient. Or maybe it wasn't impatience. Maybe it was discomfort.

"I want to know why you've been avoiding me."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't plan my day around you."

"I just wanted to talk about – "

"There is nothing to talk about," he snapped, his eyes lighting up with anger. "I wanted to avoid this damned therapy session that I knew you'd be so adamant on giving. I was drunk, for Merlin's sake. Don't kid yourself into thinking that I said those things because I feel comfortable around you. I said those things because I was blind drunk. And you were pissing me off."

Marlene snapped her mouth shut as indignation exploded inside of her, countered only by a strange and unfamiliar feeling of sadness.

"And, I swear to God, if you tell a soul about what I said to you…" he breathed, taking a step towards her so that she could feel the threat rolling off him in waves.

"You'll do to me what you did to Mary?" she whispered.

And, then, Rosier did something vile. He laughed. "One day, your friend will thank me for that."

Skin cracked against skin as Marlene slapped Rosier with all the force that she had. Breathing heavily, she brought her throbbing palm to her side, glaring vehemently at Rosier as he brought his fingertips to his crimson cheekbone, eyes wide with shock. Then, the shock disappeared and was replaced with a cold, callous stare.

"Rosier?" came a voice. Marlene whipped her head around to see Travers striding down the empty stone corridor. His eyes were searching the scene, his brow furrowed. He eyed Marlene with suspicion and a glint of anticipation. That look made her uneasy. With sweating palms, Marlene looked wildly up and down the corridor, suddenly panicked by the situation she had found herself in. She backed away slightly, blindly searching for the wall with one hand, whilst the other conspicuously wrapped itself around her wand.

"Let's go, Travers," Rosier said. He started towards him, purpose in his step.

Travers didn't take his eyes off Marlene, though. He swept them over her ominously, hungrily. His wand was in his hand. When Rosier reached him, he put one hand on Travers's shoulder and tried in vain to steer him away. "Leave it."

Travers shot Rosier an incredulous glance. "Piss on that. She's too full of herself, that one. Could do with being brought down a peg or two."

"Leave it," Rosier repeated sharply. "We've got more important things to do."

Travers titled his head and eyed Marlene one last time. "Maybe next time," he breathed, before Rosier managed to pull him away. Trembling viciously, Marlene watched as they walked down the long corridor. Her lungs were tight, her heart hammering against her chest. Rosier didn't look back. They just climbed the steps and disappeared.

All Marlene could do was slide down against the wall and try not to throw up.