author's note: the prompt was AU. Marlene and Sirius are Muggles in this. Cheers for reading!
She hated her job. It was boring, and thankless and she hated it. Her fingers ached from typing and her cheeks ached from that faux-smile she plastered on whenever customers came in, and right now all she wanted was several shots of vodka and a good dance.
She'd gone into town with Rosie and Trudy, the only two girls from work whose company she could tolerate for more than ten minutes, and Trudy reckoned there was a really good club just off Silver Street.
"They've got all those new punk records you keep banging on about, Marlene," she explained as they trekked down the High Street, "You'll love it!"
"If no one's got any other suggestions…?" Marlene replied with the air of a gang leader. Rosie remained silent. "Right then. Trudy's Punk Club it is."
"It's called The Tarantula, they do shots for a quid-" Trudy babbled, and Marlene wished she would shut up. She didn't care what it was called, she didn't care how much it cost; all she cared about was that it sold alcohol and that it played good music.
"Who runs it?" Rosie asked, as they cut through the little alley between the High Street and Silver Street. Trudy shrugged.
"Some rich tosser from London, or so I've heard," she said airily, "Fag, Marlene?"
"What? Oh, right, yeah-" Marlene handed her the packet of Marlboro Lights and a lighter, "Where is it then?"
She could hear the thud of a bass guitar and the screeches of youth, and Trudy led them towards it.
"WHAT ABOUT THE REDHEAD?" James roared over the music, and Sirius pulled a face.
"WHAT ABOUT HER?"
"D'YOU RECKON SHE'D LET ME BUY HER A DRINK?"
Sirius looked over to the redhead whom James was referring to. She was pretty, with an angular face and long, dark red hair. She was dancing, arms raised and eyes closed, and Sirius thought she'd probably be a bit pissed off if James interrupted her. She certainly was stunning though. Or maybe it was just that she was in the middle of the dance floor, under the heat of the lights. Sirius didn't know. But still, he hadn't heard James express any desire to speak to a girl for months (damn that Celia Mitchell) and so he shrugged and shouted; "WORTH A SHOT, ISN'T IT?"
James beamed, and stepped down from the podium. Sirius watched as his best mate snaked his way through the crowd, eventually ending up behind the pretty redhead. As James tapped the girl's shoulder, Sirius smirked. His brother was back in the saddle, and that's all that mattered.
"OI! REMUS!" he shouted over to the barman, who was wiping a glass with a sad sort of smile on his face.
"DOUBLE VODKA?"
Remus looked like he was about to say something, but thought better of it, and nodded. Sirius whistled to himself, and turned the record over.
The doorman was a fat little bloke from the Midlands, who didn't look more than nineteen.
"Two pounds for each of you please," he squeaked, and Marlene handed over the cash impatiently.
She could hear the music and smell the stench of a mass of sweating bodies, and she itched to get in there, right into the centre of the crowd, where she could forget that her brothers' wives hated her and that she was stuck in a dead end job, and that she had no idea what she was doing with her life.
"Drinks are a pound each," the fat boy told them, "have fun."
"Cheers," Marlene murmured, and she pushed her way past him and into the club.
It was dark, and hot, and it stank, but the sight of all the people, and the bright lights made her heart soar and the weight on her chest ease.
"I'LL BE ON THE DANCEFLOOR," she shouted to Trudy and Rosie, who were hanging their coats up, like fools, "I'LL HAVE A VODKA AND ICE."
Rosie began to speak, but Marlene ignored her and began to make her way through the crowd, careful and quick.
To their right was the DJ, who Marlene couldn't see clearly due to the lights, but appeared to be a young man, and was right now, sipping on an icy, clear liquid that made her mouth water. Perhaps she should've gone to get the drinks? But ugh, she felt so much better right now, with the beat flowing through her veins and her arms in the air. She closed her eyes, and let it, the feeling, whatever it was, wash over her like waves. I am the star of the sea, she thought, and this is where I am meant to be.
Sirius was watching James dance with the redhead when he saw her, the tall and beautiful and mysterious blonde girl who danced alone. She seemed to be at one with the music, and that fascinated him. He wondered why she'd never been in here before, and what she drank. Her eyes were closed. He wished she'd look at him. For some reason the way she threw her head back and roared the words of the Ramones song he was playing got under his skin.
"OI!" he shouted over to Remus, who was deep in conversation with the pretty barmaid whose name Sirius did not know, "WATCH THE DECKS, WILL YOU? I NEED A FAG, AND YOU CAN'T SMOKE IN HERE!"
Remus laughed, for reasons Sirius didn't quite understand, and made his way to the podium.
"Cheers," Sirius patted him on the arm, and slipped off into the crowd.
She was gagging for a cigarette by the time the fourth song came on. Trudy and Rosie were nowhere to be seen, and she was dripping with sweat. She'd lose her place in the crowd, she knew, but she didn't care. There was a couple in front of her that were sickeningly in love – or at least, they were acting like it. The girl wouldn't let go of the boy's hand, not even for a second, and he was looking at her like she was the sun. It made Marlene feel sick.
She shoved her way through the crowd, suddenly full of the bubbling kind of anger that dancing normally soothed. It was easy to get through all the people because she was all elbows and knees, and she burned everyone she touched. They parted like the red sea, and soon she was out the door, fumbling in her purse for a light.
Someone cleared their throat behind her, and she spun around.
"What?" she snapped.
"Alright, keep your wig on," the boy raised his eyebrows, "I was just wondering if you had a light?"
"Well yes, I do, I just can't-"
From the pocket of his leather jacket, he retrieved a box of matches.
"I'm old school," he offered in way of explanation, and she pulled a face.
"What d'you want, a medal?"
He chuckled. "I'm the DJ." he told her, and she rolled her eyes.
"Like fuck you are."
The boy laughed again, and lit a match. "Having fun?"
"I'm on cloud nine."
He stuck out a hand, and she cackled. "I'm not going to shake your hand, tosser."
"I was after your cigarette, idiot."
She smirked. He was playing at her own game, and no one ever did that.
"So you're really the DJ here, huh?"
"Mmmm."
"You're not Scottish…"
"Nope."
"London?"
"Islington."
"That's in London, stupid."
She leant back against the cold stone wall of the club, and he joined her there. They stood smoking in silence, and Marlene felt the boiling sensation cool, so that she was made of the sea again, instead of fire.
"Drink?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
"Sirius," he stuck out his hand again, and this time she shook it.
"Marlene."
He smirked. James had pulled tonight, and if he was lucky, he might too. She burned, this funny Scottish girl, and he'd always liked watching fire, even as a kid.
"To the bar, then."
She laughed. "To the bar!"