Valkyrie

December 1978

For the first time in a while, Marlene goes to her mother’s house for Christmas.

For the past few months, she’s been living with Pete at his, in Merlinspire. Even during her time at Hogwarts, on break, she’d usually end up at Pete’s house anyway. Staying with Mum… bad idea.

Dad won’t be in town this year. Right now, he’s in France, negotiating a contract with their Ministry. If anything could make this experience better, it would be him. Alas, Marlene has to go it alone.

Mum lives about a half hour bus ride outside of Merlinspire. Marlene presses her forehead to the cool window and tries to calm her breathing. Showing up already antsy would just start a fight quicker than it ought to.

She wishes she could stay with her friends. The Potters are hosting everyone for Christmas. Their group, of course, plus Alice and Frank, and Florean too. When the letter came, though, she knew she had to go.

Fleamont had walked her to the bus station on Christmas Eve, just outside the magical bubble. It was nice, just walking in silence with him. Had it been anyone else, she knew it would have been harder to go. Fleamont’s calm and steady demeanor always seemed to keep her from freaking out.

He’d taken her by the shoulders once they reached the station, looking her directly in the eyes. “I don’t care what she says to you,” he said, very softly. “No matter what, you come home to us. Understand?”

Marlene had just stared at him, tears welling in her eyes, and nodded.

She doesn’t want to see her mom again. Not since last time.

~*~

In the back pew of a church, for years on end, Marlene prays.

“You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.” (Leviticus 18:22)

“Or do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor men who have sex with men not thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God.” (1 Corinthians 6:9-11)

“Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural sexual relations for unnatural ones. In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed shameful acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their error.” (Romans 1:26-27)

Marlene goes to confession. She tells the priest about her sinful urges. Nothing seems to ease the pain.

I don’t want to go to Hell, that phrase on repeat as she walks home every week. I don’t want to burn. Please, God, help me.

Mum says the queers have to burn. She always looks straight at Marlene when she says it. Marlene thinks of Jesus on the cross, dying for all our sins. Her sin is not forgiven.

She tries to do as Mum says. Nobody loves Jesus more than Mum, so she must know.

When she was fourteen, on Christmas Day, Marlene put a lighter to her skin, on her upper arm, trying to fill her veins with fire hot enough to purify her. She wondered if Jesus was watching her, and if he was proud.

The flame flickered into life.

And she burned.

~*~

By the time she’s off the bus, the wind has become blustery and piercing. Marlene wraps her scarf tighter around her neck and trudges through the snow. Her eyes sting, and she lets herself cry a little before she reaches the house. There’s no room for tears for the next few days.

Walking up to the townhouse is like a dream she’s had over the years. Standing at the door, trying to decide what to say, how to knock at the door. In these dreams, she is every version of herself she has ever been. She’s small and vulnerable, already crying when she knocks but unable to speak. She’s big and angry, fist ready to punch. She’s forgiving and gentle, ready to accept whatever love she can get. Sometimes she knocks, sometimes she doesn’t, but the door always opens. The dream ends before she ever gets to see who’s on the other side.

Now, she’s standing on the doorstep, and she is none of the versions she has dreamed of. This is just Marlene McKinnon, eighteen, fighter in a war, afraid of her own mother. She cannot bring herself to knock.

The door opens.

“Shit, Marley. How long have you been standing there?”

Coming back to life from the cold, Marlene looks up into the eyes of her older brother.

“Hi Michael.”

~*~

One day, before either of them ever realized it, Marlene and Michael McKinnon went down diverging paths. Through the woods, they’ve never quite found each other again.

Marlene cannot help thinking about this as Michael guides her in, peeling off her snow-soaked clothes for her and seating her down on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket she remembers from her youth. She feels stunned and quiet, staring at the paintings on the walls that are the same as before. Everything feels wrong, disjointed. She wonders if this is just the cold.

“Mum’s upstairs with Sally and Ilsa.” Michael is saying, tucking the blanket tighter around Marlene’s shoulders. “I should let her know that you’re here. We’ve all been waiting for you. How long were you outside?”

Marlene stares at him. Why does he look so different? His jawline sharper, smile lines around his eyes, the curls cut short. It has been a year since she saw him, and already he has changed.

“You must be in shock. Shit. I’ll get Mum.”

“Please don’t.” Marlene croaks before he can dart out of the room.

Michael hesitates, leaning on one leg as he turns back. “Are you guys still not…”

Marlene shakes her head.

Michael exhales heavily, glancing around the room, clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, you have to address it at some point.”

There is something in his tone that suddenly stings. Marlene, hand shaking, bundles it in the blanket. “What did she tell you?”

Michael’s eyes are unreadable. “She says you’re beyond salvation.”

Marlene spreads her trembling arms out, ignoring the blanket slipping from her shoulders. “What else is there to address?”

“Marley—”

“Should I just go?”

“No.” Michael’s voice is clipped. “Stay. You haven’t met Ilsa yet.” He turns on his heel and strides out of the room. Marlene watches him go, and her chest hurts.

~*~

She’s known since she was little, deep down.

She knew when her stomach flipped when she saw Euphemia Potter one morning, in a casual t-shirt and jeans, tidying up the kitchen. She knew when her cheeks got all warm when she had to join hands with a muggle girl in church. She knew when Sirius Black tried to kiss her when they were thirteen.

More importantly: she knew in October 1974, when she first met Dorcas Meadowes.

Rumour had already spread fast that school year that Dorcas Meadowes, Slytherin prefect and quidditch star, was going straight into the Auror program out of graduation. Marlene already knew about her, of course, watching her on the pitch. But it was one morning, as she and Peter headed to Herbology late, as usual, that Marlene walked straight into Dorcas Meadowes.

Somebody had yelped. Peter said it had been Marlene, but she refuses that part. All she knows is that one moment she was walking, then the next she was on the ground, staring up into the dark eyes of Dorcas Meadowes.

“Jesus, you okay?”

Marlene tried to say yes but a strange high-pitched giggle came out instead.

Dorcas glanced back at Peter. “The fuck is wrong with your friend?”

“Her mother dropped her as a baby.” Peter said, helpfully, as he gathered up the contents of Marlene’s schoolbag. Marlene could not stop staring at the girl above her, her long dark braids swinging.

Dorcas looked back down at Marlene with a strange, disgusted look. “Okay.” She straightened up. “Tell her to watch where she’s going.” And with that, Dorcas Meadowes was striding down the hallway without a single look back.

“Well, she’s a right prick.” Peter said, extending a hand to pull Marlene to her feet.

“I think she’s fantastic.” Marlene responded, a giddy grin spreading across her face.

It was easiest to be of two minds about the whole thing. The outward Marlene didn’t seem to mind it at all. Her friends didn’t seem to mind, even when she’d declared her aversion to men during a camping trip the summer before seventh year. This Marlene openly fawned over Dorcas Meadowes, cracked jokes about Christ, was loud and proud. This Marlene had given up her faith long ago, free and happy.

The inward Marlene was the smallest she had ever been. That Marlene hid in every crevice of her bones, every movement reminding her of the darkest black hole in her chest. She refused to let that Marlene rule her body, expose her greatest vulnerability. When that Marlene speaks, she sounds like her mother. That Marlene is the truest expression of herself she will ever know.

Being two Marlenes was the greatest balancing act she’d ever accomplished. Hiding one in the depths of the other was the only way she knew how to be. Never would they be reunited, she knew, not so long as she or her mother lived.

It was the only way to survive.

~*~

“What did you do to your hair?”

Marlene opens her eyes.

Unlike Michael, Mum looks exactly the same. This is not comforting.

“That’s all you have to say to me? About my hair?” Marlene fights to keep her voice from wobbling.

“We had agreed on blonde.” Mum tuts and walks over to grab the teal tuft of Marlene’s hair, not gently. “Seriously, Marlene, blue? This is unacceptable.”

“I think it’s cool.” Marlene says, like a little kid, wincing at the feeling of her mother’s nails scratching her scalp. “Can you let go?”

“You will not dye your hair such a…” Elspeth fights for the words. “Sinful colour. It is unnatural, Marlene. I will not accept that in this house.”

“I don’t understand why it’s unnatural.” Her voice is small and unsteady.

“That wouldn’t be the first time.” Marlene flinches a little. Elspeth is still holding onto her hair, and it tugs a little at her scalp. “You are going to change this as soon as you leave this house, you understand?”

“But it’s my hair.”

“You are being deliberately insolent right now. I won’t stand for this. You are my daughter, and you will follow my rules.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m of age then.”

Elspeth’s eyes flash. “How dare you!” Her grip tightens in Marlene’s hair.

Marlene starts to yank away. “Jesus, Mum, let go!”

“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain!”

She sees the hand go up, watching it as though in a trance. Part of her starts to close her eyes, just to accept it. Her body still trembles from the cold.

“Mum!”

Marlene looks up at Michael, standing in the doorway with Sally, holding the infant in his arms. They both look horrified, as though this has never happened before. Liar, Marlene thinks, despite herself.

Elspeth lowers her hand as though nothing has happened, and grimaces at Michael. “I see Ilsa’s up from her nap. Isn’t that a little early for her? She’s going to be fussy very quickly.”

Sally, a saint, just smiles patiently. “Not to worry Mrs. Sullivan, she’s alright.”

“Mum, why don’t you start on supper?” Michael says, sounding exhausted.

Elspeth shoots a final look at Marlene, still sitting on the couch with her shoulders hunched, and finally walks away.

Michael runs his free hand over his face. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Marlene feels empty, lifeless. She looks up at Sally, leaning on her crutches. “Hi Sally.”

Sally makes her way over, sitting down next to Marlene and leaning her crutches against the coffee table. “It’s good to see you, Marlene.” She opens her arms up for a hug, and Marlene leans gratefully into her. Sally smells like vanilla. She has always liked Sally.

“Hey Ilsa,” She hears Michael whisper. “You want to go meet your auntie Marlene?”

Marlene looks up to see Michael bringing the infant over to her. She stares into the big blue eyes of the toddler, who gargles and smiles gummily up at her. Despite everything, her heart thaws a little.

~*~

She goes up to her childhood bedroom. Not that it’s really hers, anymore. All her rock posters and trinkets are back at Pete’s place. This room is empty in character: grey walls, white duvet, wood furniture. On the dresser, the only thing out of place, is a silver cross necklace. Marlene stares at it for a long, long time.

She used to wear that necklace. Usually, witches and wizards aren’t religious, as magic tends to go against most of the big faiths, but for a few years at Hogwarts, Marlene kept that necklace around her neck. It was a comfort, then, a reminder of home, before home became just a house she returned to against her will.

Dad was never particularly religious. He was pureblood, anyway. It was from Mum, a muggleborn, who grew up in Catholicism and never wanted to leave it. They came back to the church after the divorce. Marlene was just six: Catholicism was all she really remembered or knew.

The cross, sitting in the palm of her hand, glimmering just like Dorcas Meadowes’ eyes do.

She puts it down and leaves the room.

~*~

In the presence of this house, Marlene becomes a very dimmed version of herself.

James once told her it was like she’d been doused in water repeatedly as soon as she stepped through the front door. It was when they were fourteen, coming back from dinner at Marlene’s with James and his parents. Euphemia’s lips were drawn tightly together as they left, and Fleamont held on very tightly to Marlene’s shoulders when they apparated, as though to be sure she wouldn’t take off running.

She did run away from home once, when she was nine. She was trying to get back to Merlinspire but got turned around and ended up stranded in Durham somewhere. It took a day and a half to find her, sitting in a run-down diner, eating pancakes while a kindly old woman looked after her. It wasn’t Mum who came to collect her, but Euphemia. When Marlene asked why, Effie had smiled kind of sadly and said Elspeth had just assumed Marlene was with her father, and didn’t seem concerned about her being missing. That stung.

She’s pretty sure Effie and Monty tried to get her out at one point. She remembers hearing yelling one random evening while home on break for Christmas in fourth year, after the dinner and James’ comment. Whatever happened, it wasn’t successful. Mum never called them by their names after that, just “James’ parents”, with a dour look on her face. It was easier not to poke that bear.

Effie and Monty and Pete’s parents, Maura and Nate, seemed to collectively take in Marlene during the winter and summer breaks. She usually sleeps at Pete’s, goes over to the Potters to eat. She comes and goes as she pleases, no longer a guest but a bonafide member of both households. It fills her with a strange sense of warmth to think about that.

Here, she just feels small again, like a six-year-old child. Even now, she folds her shoulders in around her mother instinctively to make her presence less known. It hurts.

Mum doesn’t hit unless she’s trying to make a point. It seems hard to rationalize it like that, but Marlene knows her mother better than anybody. She’s not intentionally trying to make Marlene or Michael hurt, but she is trying to convey a message. Or, probably more appropriately, trying to bring to light both of their flaws. Michael doesn’t work hard enough at school. Marlene doesn’t dress conservatively enough. Michael did not begin working in the church soon enough. Marlene skips mass. Michael had premarital sex. Marlene likes women.

There are no secrets in this house. Everything is open, spread out for Mum to pick and choose what to address next. That Marlene hides in the corners of her body from everybody, but that Marlene is exposed in this house against her will.

The only one who really understands this feeling is Sirius. She never really liked him at first, mainly because first-year James was so enamoured with him. She and Peter used to make fun of Sirius at first: his posh accent, his easy charm. Peter got closer with him that year though, and Marlene was pushed out of their three-person group. Sirius didn’t like girls, was the excuse from James. They used to get into bratty fights a lot.

It wasn’t until third year that they really got over their weird vendetta. Sirius always got very loud when he talked about his family, usually insulting them and laughing along with whoever was listening, but there was a strange look on his face once everybody turned away. Marlene’s face usually twisted into the same kind of expression to mirror him.

When Sirius moved in with the Potters, Marlene knew. She’d come into his room a few nights later and sat on the edge of his bed. They breathed in tandem for a while. That was enough.

Marlene wonders sometimes how much of this is God, and how much is Mum. She tends to confuse the two. Mum and God, God and Mum. When Mum screams at her in the middle of the night because she found a note from a girl with a heart scrawled clumsily on it, is that God speaking through her? Does God hate Marlene as much as Mum seems to?

This line of questioning never really goes anywhere. She fears and loves them both more than she can ever express. Sometimes, when she prays, she’ll accidentally send it to Mum. Those prayers are never answered.

~*~

They sit down for supper, Michael and Sally on either side of her. Marlene fiddles with her sweater, slipping her hand down the collar to feel the angry raised scar on her upper arm. It’s shaped like a starburst, or a poorly drawn sun, scar tissue stubbornly reminding her of her greatest weakness. She used to pick at the scab until it bled, refusing to let it heal. Blood meant that she was not stuck like this. Maybe, she could bleed the queerness out.

Mum clears her throat, and Marlene jerks back to life. Michael is already putting his palms together, shooting her a look so she’ll do it too.

“Bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts which we are about to receive through Christ, our lord. Amen.”

Ilsa gurgles a bit, and Mum opens an eye to squint at her.

“Sally, she should not be interrupting grace.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Sullivan.” Sally leans over to start spooning food into the baby’s mouth. “Here you go, lovey, eat up!”

Marlene helps herself to some turkey. She can feel Mum’s eyes on her, watching, ready to pounce as soon as she slips up. Her hand shakes as she reaches for the mashed potato bowl.

“So, Marlene.” She feels her body tense up, an automatic response. She can feel her sharp incisor dig into the meaty flesh of her inner mouth. “We need to talk about when you are coming home.”

This is strange. This is a new tact. Marlene lifts her chin to stare up at her mother, eyes focused on her. In her peripheral vision, Michael straightens up in his seat and shoots a warning look to Sally.

“What?”

Mum leans her head into her interconnected hands, smiling sweetly. It is horrifying. “Well, when Michael graduated, he came back home to the church. Met a lovely girl,” she shoots a winning smile to Sally, whose eyes have gone wide as saucers. “Had a baby and joined the church. Michael is looking to become a pastor now, aren’t you, dear?” This is directed to Michael, who stares grimly ahead without even a glance at Marlene, who is staring at the side of his face desperately, looking for solidarity.

Elspeth looks back to Marlene. “Michael has renounced the Devil’s work, that which you call magic.” She uses air quotes around magic. Marlene thinks about melting into a puddle and her soul retreating into the core of the Earth. “He has become a Holy man, and has repented his sins, that which were taught to him at that wicked school.”

Now she’s more puzzled than anything. “Mum,” Marlene says slowly, as though her mother is a rabid animal easily provoked. “You went to Hogwarts. Dad went to Hogwarts. I don’t understand—”

“I have repented for my sins, and God has forgiven me.” She folds her arms on the table. “Your father rebukes our Lord and Saviour, and we cannot save him. You are not beyond saving, my beloved daughter.”

Something sinister slides up Marlene’s spine, like a snake. Bite the apple, it whispers. Ask what she means.

“What are you talking about?”

“Mum.” Michael says, but his eyes are now frozen to his plate, paralyzed with fear. Ilsa starts slamming her fists on the highchair with glee, and Sally moves quickly to stop her.

Elspeth smiles, and Marlene thinks suddenly of Monty, holding her shoulders just that morning, and what he told her. You come home to us. Understand?

“It’s time you walk away from sin, Marlene. Father John has a son your age. He and I agree that you should be wed as soon as possible. If you will not save yourself, we must save you. It is the only way to cleanse you of your sins and bring you to Heaven.”

Marlene opens her mouth to speak, and nothing comes out. That Marlene starts to scream in the back of her mind, drowning out everything else. She thinks this might be what dying is.

“Mum, stop, we talked about this—”

“I will not have a sinner for a daughter. I will not have a queer for a daughter. I will not have a f—”

Dorcas Meadowes has a chipped front tooth. Marlene noticed it in October 1974. She thinks of it now.

“Mum, stop!”

“Look at me, Marlene! You look at your fucking mother when she speaks to you! You hear me? You are going to burn in Hell for eternity! You are an unnatural, foul creature! You ungrateful piece of shit, I am trying to save you! LOOK AT ME!”

Her vision goes white, then red. Somebody shrieks.

On the floor, Marlene barely registers the pain in her wrist, bent awkwardly under her side, or the warmth suddenly spreading down the left side of her face. She thinks about Merlinspire, about James and Lily and Mary and Pete, Sirius and Remus and Alice and Frank, Monty and Effie and Florean. She thinks of them laughing around the big table, Monty recounting a story from his time at the Ministry, Lily snorting alcohol out of her nose and Mary falling out of her seat in laughter.

Mum keeps screaming over her. Michael is trying to block her from getting closer to Marlene. Ilsa is wailing in the background. Marlene keeps thinking about the Potter Christmas tree, the star on the top that she and James always fought over to put it up. Which of them put it up this year?

Marlene, staring in the mirror at fifteen, imagining the act of gouging her heart out while Jesus watched, all so she could not love anymore, because her love was a sin. But it always would be, no matter what she did.

Marlene was a bent, sinful thing. There would be no salvation for her so long as she was still Marlene.

Somewhere, deep in the pit of her stomach, something speaks:

Get up. Go. Leave, now.

And so she does, staggering to her feet, ignoring everything behind her, and running as quick as she can, exploding into the blustery weather, running with no boots or coat. Go, the pit of her stomach urges, do not slow down. Don’t let her catch you. Don’t let her catch you.

“Marlene!”

Across the church, Marlene and Michael McKinnon make eye contact during mass. He smiles, she does not. This is his world, but it is not hers.

Somebody grabs her shoulders and Marlene lashes out, flailing her arm blindly until it connects with something fleshy. They don’t let go, though.

“Marlene, stop—”

She’s spun around, a blurry figure standing before her. She tries to focus her eyes, but the left one is all dark. The world seems so flat.

“Stop struggling—you’re going to make this harder.”

She doesn’t listen, keeps trying to wiggle out of the grip. A dizzying feeling washes over her suddenly: Apparition. It’s only once her feet are planted on the ground again that she leans down to vomit violently into the snow. Even in the blur, she can see the blood staining the pure white ground.

Something starts ringing. A door opens.

“Michael? What—”

“Mum hit her. Please let me in. I think she’s in shock.”

Big warm hands lift her up, her head lolling. She thinks about Father John’s son, a violent flash in her mind, and lets out a weird, strangled sob.

“Merlin, is that Marlene?”

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“Is she okay?”

“Why is there so much blood?”

“Guys, please, go upstairs. Give us a minute.”

~*~

Marlene is sitting on a wooden chair in the Potters dining room.

Her head aches, a sharp pain in her temple. Fleamont cleaned up and healed the wound on her face, no scars, but it doesn’t make the pain go away. Euphemia’s making a pain potion for that right now. At least she can see again.

She hasn’t been able to move. She doesn’t know what time it is. Fleamont left the room, and she doesn’t know if it was just now or four hours ago. Time is flowing weirdly, now.

The door is pushed open. Michael stands in the doorway. He seems so far away, across a chasm too big to traverse.

He fidgets anxiously. Marlene cannot bring her face to move, not even a twitch.

“Are you okay?”

A laughable question. Marlene just blinks at him.

Michael laughs humourlessly and scrubs a hand over his face. “Shit, of course you’re not.”

“You knew?” Her voice is flat, toneless.

Michael drops his hand and looks her in the eyes. “Yeah.” He says, softly. “Yeah, I knew.”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to leave early.”

“Look—” Michael glances away, out the window. “I told her it was a bad idea. I didn’t think she would actually go through with it.”

“But she did.”

“Marlene, I—” He has the decency to sound guilty.

“Do you agree with her?”

“No, no, I can’t believe she would try and marry you off like that—”

“I’m not talking about the marriage thing.” Marlene stares up at his face, the scrunched-up brows, the dark eyes. Once upon a time, she knew him so well. They looked alike, even, before she dyed her hair to match Mum’s. they were once so similar.

“Do you hate me for being gay?”

Michael hesitates. It’s all she really needs.

“Marley—”

She shakes her head robotically. “No, please don’t. Don’t bullshit me.”

“I love you. I really love you, Marley. You know that.”

“Hate the sin, love the sinner?”

“Shit.” Michael swings his gaze around the room, as though looking for a way out. “Marlene… it is unnatural. The Bible says—”

“I don’t care what the Bible says. I care what you say.”

Michael’s eyes land back on her. He looks so sad. She wonders what she looks like to him now, in this moment.

“I know it’s awful, but… she’s trying to save you. She really is, in her own way.”

“You know I can’t ever go back there.”

“I wish you would.”

“I can’t.”

Michael sighs and drops his head. There’s a beat of silence.

“I’m not giving up on you, Marley. I won’t let you go, no matter what you—what you choose to do. But that’s all I can offer. Not acceptance, not pride.”

Marlene shrugs. “I don’t expect anything more from you, anymore.”

Michael scuffs his boot on the tiled floor. Marlene watches him.

“I thought she said you don’t use magic anymore.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not true, is it?”

“No.”

Marlene feels the inside of her cheek with her tongue, the wound from her teeth already forming. “Why do you lie to her, then?”

Michael sighs very deeply. When he speaks next, he sounds about a thousand years older than he is: “We all have to make sacrifices for the greater good, Marley.”

“I think you should go.”

Brother and sister look at each other from across the divide. Neither of them will ever reach the other side.

Michael slowly pulls a slip of paper from his jacket pocket, and grabs a pen lying on the counter, scrawling something down before setting it next to Marlene on the table. Out the corner of her eye, she can make out letters and numbers in Michael’s familiar, spiky handwriting. There’s something else, too, that glints in the light, but she can’t quite decipher the shape.

“That’s mine and Sally’s address, and our phone number. If ever there’s anything, just call. Please. I want to hear from you.”

Marlene doesn’t say anything.

“I love you.”

She refuses to look up at him again.

“Okay.”

She waits until he is gone before the warm tears begin to slip down her cheeks, like blood. Somewhere above, Jesus weeps blood alongside her.

The silver cross glimmers on the table, one final reminder.