A/N: Guess who had written this entire chapter and then lost it all to a computer malfunction? *raises hand* This gal. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

PART TWO – SEPTEMBER 1979

"This is not up for discussion," growled Mad-Eye, his fist raining down upon the oak table, as final as a judge's gavel.

"We can't win with disarming spells, Alastor," Fabian Prewett argued, rubbing the weariness from his eyes. "We're not suggesting anything drastic, but if we at least considered the use of – "

"No," the Auror said brusquely. "We will not commit heinous acts. We will not stoop to their level."

"Then we will continue to lose men, Mad-Eye," Sirius said angrily. "We need to fight fire with fire."

"Wewill find another way, do you hear me?"

"There is no other way."

"I agree with Alastor," Frank Longbottom put in. "It would put those of us in the Auror Office in a really difficult position if we knew that the Order had authorised the use of Unforgiveable Curses."

"Exactly," Mad-Eye said. "Nothing changes the fact that they're illegal."

Sirius stared moodily into the distance. The rest of the congregation had fallen pointedly silent: the normal state of affairs when this particular topic of conversation was broached. They were sitting in Mad-Eye's dusty kitchen, the only room big enough for the entire Order to meet – and still, it was a squeeze for those present, many of whom were leaning against walls or seated on kitchen cabinets, their legs dangling inches from the ground. Marlene was hovering at the back of the room, wedged between Lily and Dorcas, who had their lips pressed together in silent contemplation.

"Well if that's settled," Mad-Eye grumbled. "Clear out of my house, you lot."

After the quiet tension had been exchanged for the hum of chatter, Marlene darted between the bodies in order to follow Sirius who had stormed from the room. She sped after him as he turned into the living room, calling out as he grabbed a pot of Floo Powder from the mantelpiece of Mad-Eye's fireplace.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently.

He grunted noncommittally, sifting the powder between his fingertips, intentionally avoiding her eye.

"I understand where you're coming from," she continued. "But they're right. It makes us no better than them."

The door opened and Remus stepped in, followed by a few other members who favoured the Floo Network as a means of travel.

"You were quiet in there, Moony," Sirius said loudly.

"Well, you know what I think," Remus said.

"Yeah. Funny, that."

"Sirius," Marlene said warningly. All eyes were trained on him, expecting yet another outburst. Lately, he had been convinced that one of their own had turned informant for the Death Eaters, and yet he could offer no proof bar the mounting bad luck the team was suffering whenever they tried to move forward with their plans. Sirius moved around the halls of Mad-Eye's house, grumbling and glaring with fiery eyes. The laughter and the jokes were gone; left was only bitterness. Marlene couldn't blame him: he had lost more than most, with his family and the constant reminder of his heritage. Last week, his own cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, had murdered Aurelia Denshaw – a girl Sirius had been particularly fond of in his younger years. And, yet, each scowl and each thundering footstep tore the Order further apart. How were they supposed to work as a team if the team didn't trust one another?

Sirius blinked and lowered his gaze. "That was totally uncalled for," he murmured. He gave his head a quick shake, as if ridding his mind of a painful thought. "Sorry, Moony."

Remus shook his head dismissively. "Don't be. I understand what you're saying, Padfoot, I really do. But you know we're better than that."

Sirius looked at his friend with sadness and nodded in defeat. "Until Tuesday, then." And with a quick farewell nod, Sirius stepped into the green flames and disappeared with a whoosh. As Marlene passed Remus, she gave him a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder. He smiled appreciatively before following his best friend into the fire.

With a sudden mind to get blind drunk, Marlene exited the living room, scanning those left milling around in the corridor to find a pub-goer. Leaning against one wall was Caradoc Dearborn, who straightened up suddenly when he saw her. "Crazy, isn't it?" he said with forced laughter, running an uncomfortable hand through his hair. "How we turn on each other like this."

Marlene nodded solemnly. "It's sad when we start blaming one another for the losses that the other side are responsible for."

"You're right," Caradoc said, somewhat distractedly searching her face with him warm eyes. "We'll never get anywhere if we can't trust one another."

"Exactly," she said, nodding her head vigorously. He smiled.

"So, uh, I know this might be totally inappropriate," Caradoc began, tapping his wand agitatedly against the side of his leg. "But I was wondering if you wanted to go for a drink sometime."

Startled, Marlene raised her eyebrows.

"I mean, if you don't want to – " he said hurriedly.

"No!" Marlene said. "I'm sorry, it was just unexpected. I mean, yes. I'd like that."

Caradoc smiled in that charming lopsided way and stilled his hand. "Okay," he said. "How about Tuesday? After the meeting?"

She smiled, somewhat forcedly "Sounds good."

Crash.

Marlene lurched into consciousness, her heart pounding frantically as hearts do when jolted from a deep sleep. The bedroom was inundated with darkness, grey clouds stealing whatever light the moon might offer. Through wide eyes, Marlene examined the room, desperately trying to find the source of the disturbance. Had she dreamed it? The thought offered some solace – lethargy returned unwittingly to her limbs and she thought about how warm it would be to just lie back down and allow the bedcovers to submerge her…

SMASH.

Marlene's bare feet hit the floorboards. She snatched her wand from beneath her pillow and hurried, urgently but silently, across the room. Peering into the darkened corridor offered little intelligence. Her mind lingered on casting a quick lumos, but she was reluctant to alert any intruders to her whereabouts. She took a deep breath and crept into the darkness. It was probably just Sirius. This wouldn't be the first time he had turned up drunk, unable to return home because he had lost his key, only to find it buried in his pocket the next morning. Allowing the thought to calm her, Marlene tiptoed forward with less of a grip on her wand.

Just as she was about to descend the stairs, there was an ear-splitting crash followed by the unmistakable sound of splintering wood and the sudden influx of gravelly voices. "Upstairs," one hissed. "Go upstairs."

A moment of fear overwhelmed her, freezing her limbs. Her wand teetered on the tips of her fingertips, useless. Marlene took a deep breath, calming her pounding heart, and readied herself to disapparate. As she extended her wand-arm, a hand clamped down on her mouth.

A scream bubbled in her throat, snatched by the unbreakable hold across her lips. The body of the intruder moved in behind Marlene, using its spare hand to grasp her wrist and redirect her wand. But the touch was gentle. Why was it so gentle? And then, suddenly, she recognised the feel of those fingertips, the shape of that body pressed against her. Rosier.

With her heart pounding for an altogether different reason, Marlene twisted in her captor's grasp. And there he was, just as he had been four months ago. Except harder. Stonier. He removed his hand from her mouth and pressed a finger to his lips. Footsteps began reverberating off wooden steps. Then, Rosier tightened his grip around her wrist and Marlene was jolted from the landing, her lungs flattened as an invisible force enveloped her. Just as she thought her skull was going to implode, Marlene landed painfully on marble floor, spluttering and gulping desperately for breath.

"Don't do that," Marlene gasped, doubled over with her hands massaging life back into her bruised lungs.

"What, save your life?" Rosier retorted brusquely, scooping up Marlene's wand that had clattered to the ground. He held it outstretched.

Cautiously, Marlene retrieved it, noticing the heated flush in Rosier's cheeks and the laboured way in which he breathed.

"What do you mean?" Marlene had intended the question to be authoritative, but it merely came out small.

Rosier sighed and raked a hand across the nape of his neck. "I'll explain. But, first, I'll get you some clothes. You must be freezing."

With a jolt, Marlene realised the only thing keeping her decent was a chiffon nighty that barely brushed her thighs. Curling her bare feet into the marble she mumbled a mortified thanks and avoided his eye. She could feel him grinning, in that way he always did when he was relishing in her discomfort.

As he guided her, Marlene finally took notice of her surroundings. They had arrived in a grand marble hall, bordered by sweeping staircases that led to a mezzanine landing, with enormous portraits of aristocratic men adorning the walls and a colossal chandelier hanging from the high ceilings, with its dimmed lamps offering insufficient light to fill such a space. As she ascended the staircase, Marlene could feel her jaw gaping in awe and was only too aware of Rosier watching her. She snapped it shut and desisted in her eager examination of what she could only assume to be Evan Rosier's home.

"Left," he directed as she reached yet another corridor. "First door on the right." Marlene hovered awkwardly on the threshold of a large bedroom, ornamented with mahogany furniture and a grand four-poster bed. Rosier crossed it in a few strides and busied himself in a chest of drawers.

"Is – is your father here?" Marlene asked worriedly, suddenly feeling the cold.

"No," Rosier responded quickly. "He's busy. He's – he's away." Tension that she didn't even realise she was holding slumped from Marlene's shoulders. "Here," Rosier said, tossing clothes in Marlene's direction. She caught them deftly and inspected them. "They'll be a bit big, but it's better than nothing."

Rosier turned his back to her as Marlene stepped into a pair of flannel trousers and pulled a jumper over her head. A laugh that fell involuntarily from her lips caused Rosier to spin around, his eyebrows arching in surprise. "What do you think?" Marlene asked with a grin, presenting sleeves that fell inches beyond her fingertips and trouser legs that pooled against the floor.

Rosier laughed, a genuine sound that lifted the corners of his eyes. He closed the gap between them and stooped to the ground. "Here," he said, rolling the hems so that they hung at her ankles. Rosier straightened up and took Marlene's wrists in his hands, adjusting the sleeves in the same way. She watched him work, marvelling at the innocence and the simplicity of the gesture, and yet alarmed by the way it made the blood rush to her face and her heartbeat spike. And then, unwillingly, she was jolted back to the reality of the situation.

"Evan, what am I doing here?"

He finished the last sleeve and let her wrist drop where it hung uncomfortably. Rosier rubbed the back of his neck again and stared unfocusedly past Marlene's shoulder.

"Would you like a drink?"

Marlene rolled her eyes. Of course. Evan Rosier wanted booze.

"Don't give me that!" he protested. "Trust me – this conversation is best had over a drink."

Marlene pressed her lips together, suddenly unsure whether she wanted to discover what this conversation would entail. "Okay," she murmured uncertainly.

Rosier led her through numerous corridors, all lined with expensive tapestries and Victorian candelabrums, until they arrived in a room that was peppered with lush sofas, intricately woven rugs and a fireplace that was as tall as Marlene herself. "This must have been a difficult place to grow up," Marlene said jokingly, running her hand across a mahogany coffee table as Rosier occupied himself in a beautifully carved liquor cabinet. "All this space. All this money."

Rosier scoffed. "As kids, we were confined to the west wing of the house. No breakables there. And no toys, because toys are untidy."

"We?" Marlene enquired, taking a seat on one of the plush sofas. "You have siblings?"

"No," he replied, turning to face her with a goblet in each hand. "It was good for my father's image when I played with other pureblood kids."

She took a goblet with a murmur of thanks and swilled the liquid in circles before taking a tiny sip. It had a sweet flavour with a pleasing warming sensation as it trickled down her throat.

There was a moment of silence. Marlene took a deep breath. "Who was at my house?"

Rosier exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair before taking a healthy swallow from his goblet. "Travers."

"Travers?"

Rosier nodded. "And others."

"And others?"

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "Please don't make me say it. "

"Were they there to kill me?" she asked with forced nonchalance, running a fingertip along the rim of the goblet. After a moment of no reply, Marlene looked with expectance at Rosier who was watching her with sadness in his eyes. "Were they?" He nodded curtly. She returned her gaze to the goblet, twisting it so that the gems embedded into its stem reflected a rainbow of colours.

Rosier took a deep breath. "You, and – "

Horrified, Marlene's widened eyes fastened on Rosier. "Me and?!" she shrilled. "Me and who?!"

"Anthony Abbott. You and Anthony Abbott."

Marlene leapt to her feet, the goblet falling from her fingertips and clattering against the floor, spreading a puddle of sticky liquid across an invaluable rug. "He – is he – he has a baby. He has a baby!"

"Marlene!" Rosier said urgently, trying in vain to still her thrashing limbs, her frenzied search for her wand. "Stop! It's done. There's nothing you can do."

"You arsehole, Evan Rosier!" she shrieked. "You let him die. You killed him!"

"And I saved you!" he thundered, his eyes lit with anger.

"I don't need to be saved by you," she spat, glaring at him with burning abhorrence. "Show me your arm."

"What?" he said, startled by the abrupt change in conversation.

"Show me your arm."

Realisation dawned on him and a steel mask replaced his expression. "No."

Marlene ripped her wrist from his grasp and clawed at his sleeve, pushing it away from his skin. Against the pale curve of his left forearm rested a jet-black tattoo: a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. With a fingertip that didn't quite touch his skin, she traced it in stony silence. "Congratulations," she said, unable to mask the anguish bubbling in the pit of her stomach. "You did it."

When she met his eye, he was watching her with conflicting emotions. But he said nothing. All that desolation that had overwhelmed her not a moment ago turned into a fiery mass of vehemence, racing through her like a volcano, erupting from her mouth in a screech of fury. "How could you?" she screamed, fingernails raining down upon his skin, feverishly trying to draw blood. "HOW COULD YOU?!" Rosier threw his arms across his face, protecting himself from the onslaught.

Amidst Marlene's hysterical cursing, Rosier grasped her wrists in a pincer-like grip. There was desperation in his eyes. "Marlene, please. Stop!" Marlene refused to desist her struggling, avoiding his eye for she knew it would weaken her resolve.

Exasperatedly, Rosier placed one knee on the plush sofa and tackled Marlene onto it, incapacitating her. "I did it because I had to," he hissed angrily as Marlene struggled to regain her breath. "And I saved you because I couldn't bear to think of you dead."

She froze. A heart was beating, but Marlene wasn't sure if it was Rosier's or her own. Through ragged breathing, she struggled to a kneeling position. Eyes widened with shock, Marlene searched his face. Despite what looked like regret in those dark eyes, or perhaps even fear, Rosier didn't look away. With a trembling hand, Marlene touched his cheek. She ran her fingertips across his cheekbones, across his jawline, his collarbone. Something awoke deep within her, stronger than ever before. An urge. A desire. Something red-hot and unyielding; something that pulsed deep within her. She could feel the heat from his body rolling off him in waves. Marlene was suddenly aware of everywhere she was touching him – her fingertips, her knees where they brushed his legs. Rosier raised his own hand. It quavered as it pushed a curl of hair from her eyes. Slowly, Marlene leaned in. She felt his breath hitch as she grazed her lips against his, discovering the gentle curve in the way that they parted.

"Why is it," she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut in pleasure as he stroked his fingertips through her hair. "That I feel so safe here? Right here. I feel safe."

His teeth grazed her lower lip and his breath tickled her cheek. "I would never hurt you, Marlene. I would die first."

A fear that she hadn't even known she harboured burst in her chest at the very thought, warring simultaneously with a strange and unspeakable happiness at the intensity of his pledge. "It scares me, Evan," she whispered as his lips brushed her jawline, leaving a burning trail to her neck. "We shouldn't be – this shouldn't be – " she stopped suddenly as he kissed her, his breath hot on her mouth.

"I don't care what it should or shouldn't be," he breathed, pulling back an inch and holding her chin between soft fingertips. His eyes burned as she pulled him closer, pressing herself against him. "And if anyone should be afraid, it should be me," he said. "I never know who I am around you. You - you make me feel – "

Marlene silenced him by covering his lips with her own. "I know who you are," she murmured as his hand slipped beneath her jumper, resting softly on the small of her back. "I know exactly who you are."

She watched him sleep. The gentle way his chest rose and fell, the thin part in his lips, the fluttering eyelashes. They were lying with entwined limbs beneath a nest of blankets, his arm wound protectively around her shoulder, her head resting gently on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady, the only certainty. Marlene knew that, when the dawn broke, she would have a decision to make. But, for now, she closed her eyes and relished in the feeling of his skin touching hers.