cherry bomb.
The brakes squeal as the Hogwarts Express pulls to a stop, red and black and dramatic as ever. Steam hisses out from the chimney, curling around the platform in thick white clouds that cling to clothes and hair like fog with an attitude. The scent of coal hangs heavy in the air—warm, gritty, and weirdly comforting. Marlene breathes it in without thinking. She’d smelled it every September since she was eleven. It’s practically tradition at this point.
She shifts her bag higher on her shoulder and fishes around in her coat pocket, untangling the cord of her headphones. The cassette clicks softly as it spins. Mary had given her a new record over the summer—something Muggle, something loud—and Marlene had taped it immediately. According to Mary, Cherry Bomb is the best thing to happen to music since Bowie. Marlene isn't entirely convinced, but she doesn’t say anything. She’ll ask Lily what she thinks about it later—Lily’s the only one who manages to keep up with both wizard and Muggle trends without sounding painfully smug about it.
For now, she just lets the music hum in her ears as the chaos of the platform swirls around her—students shouting, trunks thudding against pavement, owls hooting indignantly from their cages. It’s loud and messy and honestly, kind of annoying. But it’s also home. In a weird, end-of-summer, here-we-go-again kind of way.
‘Can’t stay at home, can’t stay in school
Old folks say, “You poor little fool”’
Twisting and turning to avoid the tangles of first-years clinging to their parents like overgrown barnacles, Marlene tried to make her way to the entrance of the Hogwarts Express with at least a shred of dignity. Not an easy feat, considering she was being bombarded on all sides by a symphony of sniffles, last-minute life advice, and someone’s owl screaming like it was being murdered.
She nearly plowed straight into the middle of a mother-son farewell moment—arms outstretched, tearful, dramatic. That would’ve been so deeply uncomfortable, the kind of thing she’d replay in her head while trying to fall asleep for the next six months. Thankfully, she pivots at the last second, dodging it with the agility of someone who’d been navigating awkward public displays of affection her whole life.
However, if she’d known what—or rather, who —was waiting in the direction she did turn, she might’ve reconsidered.
‘Down the street, I’m the girl next door
I’m the fox you’ve been waiting for.’
Less than ten centimetres from her face stands Dorcas Meadowes, and Merlin, she looked thrilled about it.
Golden-brown eyes sweep over Marlene like she was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of a shoe. Her lips curl into a frown so perfectly disdainful it could’ve been rehearsed. And, of course, she’d changed her hair again.
The horrific slicked-back bun—so tight it looked like it was trying to erase her facial features—was finally gone. Marlene had always hated that bun. It was unflattering, uncharacteristic, and frankly a crime against humanity. Not that she cared, obviously. It just… objectively didn’t suit her. And Marlene happened to be a firm believer in justice.
Now, Dorcas’ hair was down. Silky and smooth, curling at the ends as it falls onto her shoulders, glinting even in the grimy light of the platform. It bounces ever so slightly when she moves. A bit dramatic, if you asked Marlene. Too shiny. Too intentional .
It was fine. Passable . She’d seen better.
As she assesses all this with great disinterest, her headphones slip from her head—probably due to the sheer force of Dorcas’ contempt—and Marlene reaches to adjust them.
She is rudely interrupted.
“You’re on my foot,” Dorcas remarks, tone clipped, as though speaking to a toddler who had just sneezed directly into her pumpkin juice.
Marlene looks down. Ah. She is, in fact, very much standing on Dorcas’ foot. Well, only slightly. More of a light toe-hover, really.
“Bummer,” Marlene says cheerfully, popping her gum with dramatic flair. Smack. Smack. Smack. She grinned, baring her teeth in the most irritating way possible.
Dorcas shoves her.
Not hard enough to send her flying, unfortunately—but enough to make her stumble a little as the other girl stalked off, curls bouncing smugly with every step.
Marlene watches her go, noticing the way Dorcas’ fists clench as she climbs onto the train, and she smiles to herself.
One–nil, you sadistic Slytherin.
Still grinning, she slides her headphones back on, presses play, and boards the train.
‘Hello, Daddy, hello, Mom
I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch, cherry bomb’
Marlene nods along to the blaring sound of her music, dragging her trunk down the winding corridors of the train. The Hogwarts Express rocks gently beneath her feet as she marches past compartment after compartment full of students reuniting, catching up, showing off tans and terrible haircuts from the summer
She peers into each carriage as she goes, scanning for any signs of her friends. Plenty of familiar faces, sure, but none of the ones she actually wants to see. She stops briefly when she spots the sixth-year Gryffindor Prewett twins, who immediately rope her into a conversation about their next “brilliant” prank.
“So how flammable are the lavatories?” asks Fabian casually, leaning against the carriage door with the air of someone planning arson for sport.
“And hypothetically, if several toilets were to blow up, would the school burn down?” adds Gideon, grinning like the devil on her left shoulder.
Marlene grimaces. “Sorry, boys. Already been done.”
The twins groan in dramatic unison.
“Just a mere six years late!” laughs a voice behind them.
James Potter—obnoxious, loud, and proud—ruffles Gideon’s hair as he passes. Sirius Black trails behind him, hair shining and mouth already halfway to a smirk.
“Unlucky, lads,” Sirius drawls. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. Big shoes to fill, kiddies. Hope you’re up for it.” He grabs Fabian by the shoulders and shakes him while laughing straight into his ear.
Fabian shoves him off with a scowl. “You’re such a bloody wanker, Black.”
“Anything for our biggest fans, right, James?” Sirius grins, throwing a casual arm around Marlene’s shoulders.
“Right you are, Sirius,” James says, looping his arm around Sirius' other side.
Marlene rolls her eyes and shoves Sirius off. “You two are insufferable.”
She keeps moving, but they scramble after her like overexcited dogs, firing off question after question about her summer.
Did she get any letters from Lily? Has she seen Lily yet? How excited is Lily to be Head Girl to James’ Head Boy? (That one’s mostly from James, who can’t even pretend to be subtle.)
Sirius is no better, but at least he doesn't ask questions. He just talks. Endlessly.
“Moony and I did this, oh Remus loves this band now, have you heard of them? No, of course you haven’t. His taste is so unique and intelligent—”
Marlene tunes him out halfway through. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that almost everyone and their mum knows who Led Zeppelin is. Including, yes, even her.
She’s finally graced with an escape when someone yanks her into a passing carriage and straight into a familiar embrace.
“Marls!” Mary squeals, squeezing Marlene like she’s a stuffed animal. Marlene can barely breathe, but she hugs her back with all the might in her soul.
Mary pulls away and grips Marlene’s shoulders, giving her a once-over like she’s checking for damage. Not that she’d find any changes—Mary looks exactly the same. Same shoulder-length curly brown hair, same gold hoop earrings, same cherry-pink lip gloss, same worn-in leather jacket she refuses to replace.
Without warning, she slips Marlene’s headphones off her head and launches straight into hot gossip like she’s been holding it in all summer.
“So apparently they made Dorcas Meadowes captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team!” she blurts, eyes wide. “And get this—supposedly she sent Dumbledore a howler when she didn’t get Head Girl. Fuming. Absolutely mental.”
“Wild, Mars. Really wild,” Marlene deadpans as she sidesteps her and crosses to the small brunette curled by the window with a book.
“Hey, Alice,” she says, nudging her side gently.
Alice immediately drops the book and springs out of her seat, pulling Marlene into a warm hug.
“Marlene!” she exclaims, tugging her tighter. Alice is the softest of all Marlene’s friends—quiet, gentle, thoughtful. Until you give her firewhiskey. Then she turns into a chaos gremlin who doesn’t stop talking for six hours straight.
She’s sweet, but she’s no pushover. That’s what Marlene respects most—Alice never lets anyone take advantage of her kindness.
Her boyfriend, Frank, graduated last year. Mary’s been planning their wedding since the minute they started dating last September. Disgustingly in love, both of them. They love herbology, magical creatures, and finishing each other’s sentences. It’s gross. Marlene’s surrounded by couples like that. Yuck.
At least Mary’s single—wait.
“You know who I owled all summer?” Mary says with a giggle as she drops into the seat opposite Marlene and Alice. “Petey Clearwater! Oh my god , he’s so dreamy. He’s having a party tonight—back to school thing. We have to go. Please?” She clasps her hands under her chin and pouts like she’s praying to the gods of bad decisions.
Marlene and Alice exchange a look.
“We’ll go if Lily goes,” they say in perfect sync.
Mary groans like she’s just been sentenced to a year in Azkaban. Parties are already a hard no for Lily. A party on the first night back ? That’s a death wish.
“Where is Lily going?” comes a voice from the door.
The redhead herself slides it open, raising a perfect eyebrow at her friends.
“Back to school party. Ravenclaw common room. Eleven o’clock?” Mary blurts, wincing before the rejection even leaves Lily’s mouth. If Lily’s in a particularly strict mood, it won’t just be a no—it’ll be a hell no.
“Sure. Why not?”
Mary blinks. She opens her eyes to stare at Lily, half-expecting her to burst out laughing. Or maybe reveal she’s not actually Lily Evans but some cool, party-loving identical twin who knows how to have fun.
Marlene and Alice gape at her like she’s just performed wandless magic. They look at each other, then back at Lily. Then at each other again.
“Did you just say yes ?” Alice asks, eyes wide.
“I mean... it is our last year. Might as well live it up whilst we still can, I suppose,” Lily replies, sinking casually into the seat beside Mary like she hasn't just upended the entire foundation of their friendship.
“Are you alright? Bit feverish, maybe?” Marlene says, reaching out to press a hand to Lily’s forehead.
Lily bats her hand away and scowls. “Stop that. I have officially decided that this year is the year Lily Evans starts saying yes. Instead of no.”
She places a hand on her chest like she’s making an oath. “I know, I know. I’ve been a boorish snob for the last six years. But no more! I’m going to say yes. Yes to life, yes to spontaneity, yes to—”
The door slides open.
“Merlin, Lilyflower, do you get prettier every summer?” James Potter grins, casually leaning against the doorframe like he didn’t just drop the most nauseating nickname of all time. “How’d you feel about going to Clearwater’s party with me tonight?”
“Yes!” Lily blurts.
Silence. James’ jaw drops open.
Lily slaps both hands over her mouth. “No. No—I meant no! ”
Mary cackles. “What happened to the Year of Yes, Lil?”
Lily shoots her the deadliest glare she can manage, then turns back to James with a tight smile.
“We’re going. As friends . Sorry, it’s girls’ night—no boys allowed.”
James recovers fast. “That’s alright. I guess we’ll see you there anyway. Later, ladies.” He winks and steps out.
Sirius trails behind him and blows a dramatic kiss to the lot of them. Marlene rolls her eyes so hard they almost fall out. Peter hurries past, giving a polite little wave as he scampers after them.
Remus pauses at the door, offers a warm hello, and asks how their summers were—but he barely gets two sentences in before James and Sirius drag him away, muttering something about urgent Marauders business .
“I still can’t believe they kept that name,” Alice laughs. “You were so angry when you first called them that, Marls.”
“I think all the pot plants I threw at their heads permanently damaged their pre-frontal cortexes,” Marlene grumbles, the memory sharp in her mind. The boys had swapped her shampoo with green dye, and she’d emerged from the shower looking like a cursed leprechaun—neon green hair, stained hands, and a murderous glare. She’d had to walk around like that for a week before Madam Pomfrey could fix it.
Idiots.
She shaved their heads the first chance she got—when they stupidly passed out in the common room after a prank-planning session. Complete dumbarses.
“Anyway, what are we wearing?” Mary asks, already flipping through her Witch Weekly spread like they were preparing for a runway show. “I was thinking some kind of denim-on-denim scenario. Thoughts, ladies?”
“Denim-on-denim?” Lily raises an eyebrow as she rummages through her bag for her Charms textbook. “Isn’t that, like... illegal?”
“It’s trending , trust me,” Mary insists. “All the Muggles are doing it nowadays.”
She flips open the magazine to show a model in a denim jacket and flared jeans, then continues flicking through to more outfit ideas she was plotting for the year. Alice sits quietly beside her, sketching a spiky, exotic-looking plant in her notebook like the conversation wasn’t happening.
They were deep in debate over whether denim skirts were a good idea when a firm knock echoes on the door.
“Professor McGonagall?” Alice blinks, looking up from her sketchbook. “I didn’t think professors rode the train.”
“Not usually, Miss Fortescue,” McGonagall replies, her expression stern. “Special precautions, given the current state of the wizarding world. We’re conducting checks on all students’ belongings.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to do that at Hogwarts?” Lily asks, ever practical.
“There will be two checks,” McGonagall says crisply. “This one is for your safety. I urge you all to be cautious this year, particularly in the Muggle world.”
She gives them a meaningful look, then turns sharply and slides the door shut behind her.
“Well, that was delightful,” Mary mutters, folding her arms.
“We’ll be fine,” Alice says, ever the optimist. She takes Mary’s hand in one of hers and Lily’s in the other. “We have each other.”
“Everything will be just fine,” she adds softly. “We’re at Hogwarts. You-Know-Who wouldn’t dare try anything with Dumbledore around.”
“Yeah, but his cronies might,” Mary whispers, her eyes flickering to the group of seventh-year Slytherins passing by their door.
“Nothing we can’t handle, right Marls?” Lily nudges Marlene with her shoulder.
“Right,” Marlene says, though her voice didn’t quite match the conviction on her face. She turns to the window, turns up her music, and lets the world outside blur past.
‘ Hello, world, I'm your wild girl
I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch, cherry bomb ’
Marlene isn’t sure of much, but she’s certain of one thing: This year is going to be different. In what way? She doesn’t quite know yet.