Valkyrie

Late March 1979

The ambush goes bad almost immediately.

Alice doesn’t think it’s a good idea, as she so loudly protests. Trying to jump a group of Death Eaters at their camp in the middle of the woods, magical woods which are notoriously known to prevent magic within it? Yeah, not exactly built for success.

But it promises excitement, it promises thrill. And all Marlene McKinnon has been wanting for months is a little thrill. Especially when that thrill comes with the closeness of Dorcas Meadowes.

There’s four of them: Marlene, Dorcas, Alice, and Emma Vanity. Dorcas does not even so much as look Marlene’s way, muttering quietly to Alice. Emma Vanity sidles up to Marlene, with a sharp smile and even sharper eyeliner. Marlene decides she likes her immediately.

The mission is fairly simple: get into the camp, incapacitate the Death Eaters, get out. It’s made slightly more complicated by the fact that these woods are so thick and dense that magic and apparition rarely work, and they have very little idea where the camp is.

Still, Dumbledore thinks it’s a priority, so they go.

On the outskirts of the forest, where they land, Dorcas scowls up at the sigils carved into the trees and starts moving ahead.

“Rumour has it, these trees were planted back in the 1600s by a rogue squib clan wanting to keep wizards out.” Emma says into her ear, spinning her dagger lazily in her hand as they walk. Alice and Dorcas are up ahead, both of whom are holding knives with many others strapped to their bodies. Marlene has never really fought with anything but a wand – if you don’t count butter knives and forks with Michael – and so the dagger strapped to her thigh feels strange.

“Well, it didn’t really do its job if we got in.” Marlene responds, a corner of her mouth lifting up.

Emma snorts. “We aren’t wizards, that’s why. We’re witches.”

“Guys.” Alice shoots them a look, and they both sober up. Alice is different on missions: stricter, less personable. It’s as though she shifts into full Auror mode, and Marlene can’t really see the Alice she loves. It’s jarring, looking into her eyes and seeing a strategic blankness.

Marlene never wanted to be an Auror, honestly. Everybody assumes she would, because she likes to fight, but she never liked the strictness of it all. Dad was an Auror once, and so was Gramps, and she could see the stiffness in their movements, like machines, even long after they retired. She wants nobody to rewire her brain like that to their command.

She thought she would maybe become a curse-breaker, but truthfully, Marlene never saw much of a future for herself. After the war, what would she do? Nothing seems right, even now, looking forward.

It’s easiest just to focus on the now, what she can control: herself, her body, her mind. Hide mini-Marlene deep in her bone marrow and keep eyes on the prize: the thrill of the chase.

They trudge on through the foliage, careful to keep their tread light (this is a challenge for Marlene, a notorious stomper). Emma mutters something over and over again under her breath, turning the dagger repeatedly.

Dorcas lifts a hand, and everyone pauses.

There’s noise, people talking, laughing. Dorcas makes a complicated sign that Marlene understands to mean hiding in the bushes, letting her make the first move. When she looks at Marlene to be sure she comprehends,
Marlene’s cheeks flame red.

Marlene sinks into a bush next to Dorcas, their shoulders brushing from the proximity. Dorcas smells like lavender, and her braid tickles at Marlene’s arm. She holds her breath.

The Death Eaters clearly aren’t expecting company: their hoods are off, a bunch of dudes cooking and chatting. It seems to be a nice set up; a few tents, a fire, decent living quarters. Marlene counts five, which is about what they were expecting. Without wands, it’ll be uncomfortable to fight, but Alice and Dorcas are trained in hand-to-hand combat anyway. Marlene and Emma are here for backup mostly.

Dorcas slides a knife out from her boot so she has one in both hands; a glance at Marlene indicates she should do the same. Marlene watches as Dorcas peers through the branches, lines up her shot, and throws.

The knife lands cleanly in the closest man’s forehead, exploding with blood.

There are screams, the sound of weapons being grabbed. Dorcas, without hesitation, steps out from the bush, launching herself at another man. Marlene throws herself up, seeing out the corner of her eye Alice and Emma do the same.

Somebody whistles. Marlene hears this distantly as she tries to stab at a guy, only for him to knock her down with his forearm. Marlene rolls out of the way as he slams his mace down, leaving a dent in the ground. Staring up into his crazed eyes, Marlene tries to predict his next move, until a knife point pokes through his chest and he collapses, Marlene getting out just in time. Above her, Dorcas Meadowes doesn’t pause, face splattered with blood, whirling to get another.

“There’s more!” Alice hollers, and it’s true: dozens of men are swarming the camp, clearly having been nearby. This was not expected, Marlene knows, especially from the panic in Alice’s voice, the frantic energy of Dorcas’ swings. One of her knives is abandoned, and she’s started throwing punches.

“Fuck it, retreat!” Alice’s voice starts moving away, and Marlene can’t process it all, dodging out of the way of a newcomer and swinging at his face, catching his shoulder with her dagger instead.

“Marlene!” Somebody screams, and Marlene feels herself becoming surrounded. Too many bodies, pressing in, and there’s blood on her clothes from the man on top of her before, and there isn’t enough of her to fight all of them. Her knife slips from her grasp, and she can’t find it, swinging her head wildly, panicking. How did they predict this so badly?

A hand grabs her wrist suddenly, yanks her out of the crowd and into a run. Marlene isn’t in a place to process anything, she just follows, running as fast as she can after the body next to her. She is slightly out of shape, no longer the excellent endurance she built up after years doing Quidditch training, but she knows how to sprint.

Bodies crashing behind them, Marlene can’t look back, can’t think of anything but survival, but getting the fuck out of this stupid forest.

“The safe house.” The body next to her mumbles between heavy breaths. Marlene sneaks a glance over: Dorcas Meadowes, blood all over her face and body, laser focused. She doesn’t have to tell Marlene to keep following, she knows Marlene will.

They run for a while, still being pursued, but Marlene sees a building rise up before them. “In there!” Dorcas says, huffing. Regardless of how fit she looks, this is a fuck ton of running, and adrenaline only gets you so far.

Dorcas makes it to the door first, wrenching it open and shooing Marlene in before slamming it shut behind her. Marlene skids to a stop against a mottled couch, whipping around to see Dorcas Meadowes pressing her hands against the door, not to stop people from getting in, but in a sort of… prayer?

“Do we need to barricade the doors?” Marlene asks, panting and leaning over to catch her breath.

“No,” Dorcas says, forehead pressed against the wall. “It’s warded already. They can’t get in.”

“I thought this forest was magic-proof?”

“It is.” Dorcas turns around finally, a hint of annoyance in her tone. “Fortunately, these wards are a lot stronger magic than you or I can produce. We’ll be safe here.”

A thought suddenly occurs to her. Marlene’s head swivels around. “Fuck, where’s Alice and Emma? Are they still out there? We have to go get them!”

“Nope.”

Marlene goggles at her. “Are you serious?”

Dorcas goes over to the counter, shrugs. “Alice is a big girl; she can take care of herself. Besides, protocol is to ensure your safety above all, hide away in a safe house if apparition isn’t possible.”

“But—” Marlene looks back at the door. “Are they going to be okay?”

Dorcas is rummaging through the fridge. “Let’s hope so.”

Rage bubbles up in her veins. Marlene stomps over and slams the fridge door in Dorcas’ face. “Look, I know you don’t give two shits about any of us, but our friends are out there, possibly being mauled to death by a hoard of Death Eaters. Can you at least pretend to care?”

Dorcas stares at her. With the blood on her face and the scar, it makes a terrifying image. Marlene glares back, unwilling to give an inch.

“Who,” Dorcas growls, articulating perfectly with her face so close to Marlene’s, “do you think you are?”

Marlene’s resolve begins to crumble, but she holds firm. “We were on a mission, and you just abandoned your allies! What the fuck is that about, Dorcas? Is that what they teach you in Auror School, to abandon your peers and save your own fucking skin with no fucking remorse at all?”

Something violent and cruel sparks in Dorcas’ eyes, and she pushes Marlene away suddenly, cold and removed and distant once again. “Be glad I dragged you along with me.” She says sharply, holding her gaze for a moment more before turning to one of the upper cabinets, pulling a bottle of vodka out.

Marlene stands in shock as Dorcas brushes past her, collapsing onto the couch with the bottle in her hands. “So, now what?”

“Now we wait,” comes the cool response.

Marlene slams her hands violently against her sides, feeling the glass in her chest shatter with every breath. Huffing, she storms off down the hall into a tiny bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She paces back and forth, tearing hands through her hair until the tide of red starts to recede from her vision, replaced with good old-fashioned fear. Fear for Alice and Emma, who might still be out there, torn limb-from-limb by bloodthirsty blood purists.

Something in her body has shifted with respect to Dorcas Meadowes: she didn’t realize Dorcas Meadowes was a coward. How could she just… leave their teammates, and not even show an ounce of shame or worry for them?

There is one thing Marlene McKinnon will never sacrifice, not for anyone: loyalty.

And Dorcas Meadowes has just proven she is one unloyal son of a bitch.

As the emotion drains out of her body, she turns to look at herself in the mirror. Yeesh, bad look. Her hair is sticking up crazily, there’s a bruise forming on her cheekbone that she doesn’t remember getting, and her mouth and torso are covered in dried blood. She stares into her own eyes, still wide from shock, and sighs.

Once she’s cleaned the blood from her skin – the shirt is a lost cause – and breathes deep several times to make sure she won’t explode, she emerges back into the main room. Dorcas is lounging on the couch in the same position as before, nursing the bottle. Marlene puts her hands on her hips, where they’re safer, and clears her throat.

“What are we waiting for?”

Dorcas doesn’t answer. Marlene sees the bottle lift into the air. She stomps closer, standing over the couch, and down into Dorcas’ face. “Hey, I asked you a question.”

“I heard you the first time.” Dorcas says, face perfectly blank.

“Are you gonna answer me?”

Dorcas shrugs and takes another swig.

Marlene grabs the bottle from her, and Dorcas follows it, eyes flashing. Marlene holds it up and away, glaring down. “Answer my question, Dorcas.”

There’s a hint of amusement on her face, replaced by the mask a beat later. “Protocol is to remain in the safe house until there is word we can leave. Absence is usually an indicator of required follow-up, so they’ll come looking for us. Because magic doesn’t work around here, we need to wait for an in-person visit to clear us.”

“How long could that take?”

Dorcas’ eyes roll lazily. “Depends. I doubt we’re a priority. You should get settled in.” She gestures at the bottle. “Now, may I?”

Marlene glowers but gives back the bottle. Dorcas lays back down and falls silent again. Marlene glares at her for a bit longer, but finally walks away.

The house is small, composed of a main room with kitchen, a bathroom, and a tiny bedroom. All the furniture looks like it’s been here for ages: stuffing poking out from the couch, a ratty blanket over a thin duvet, tiny dirty towels. Thankfully, the pantry is stocked, as is the fridge. Marlene finds a few items of clothes in a closet, pulling on an oversized Beach Boys t-shirt. Her pants are fine, just a few flecks of blood on the knee. She tries to wash out the blood stains on her shirt and leaves it hanging up to dry.

The windows are blank, presumably a security precaution. Still, there’s a chill that runs up her spine, thinking of the Death Eaters outside the building. Are they still trying to get in, she wonders? Even though she’s pissed at Dorcas, she has to be right that this place is safe.

There is very little in the way of activities here. Marlene, after a few hours of just wandering aimlessly, slumps down in the tiny hallway, back against the wall as she stares up into the ceiling. Dorcas hasn’t said a word, nor has she moved from the couch. Marlene stares at the thin, ink-black braid draped over the side of the cushion, and she feels a desperate need to get close, run her hand up and down her hair, breathing in her scent as she moves closer to her lips—

“Fuck.” Marlene snarls, throwing herself up, pacing about impatiently. “When can we get the hell out of here?”

Dorcas snorts. “Who would have thought you wouldn’t have any patience.”

“You’re being a real bitch.” Marlene retorts.

“You sound surprised.”

“I tend not to assume the worst of people, but you’re just a—a—”

“Spit it out.” A soft clink as Dorcas sets the bottle down on the table, turning to face her. “I can’t understand you when you stutter.”

“What is your problem?”

The scar ripples across her face as Dorcas smiles, except it’s more like a dog baring her canines threateningly. “My problem?”

“Yes, your problem! You treat everyone like a piece of shit because they aren’t worthy of your attention!” Marlene’s hands clench into fists at her sides, nails digging into her flesh. “You ignore any effort of Alice’s to be your friend, you barely speak to any of us—You know, people look up to you, Dorcas! The least you could do is be nice to us!”

Dorcas steps forward, close, up into Marlene’s face. She towers over her, braids falling into Marlene’s eyeline. “Alright, keep profiling me. Go ahead.”

Marlene falters, breath punching out of her. She tries to step back, lower her gaze, but Dorcas’ hand suddenly snaps out, grabbing her wrist in a vice-like grip. Marlene swallows, looks back up.

“Don’t back down like a fucking coward. Tell me what you think.” Dorcas’ eyes are sharp like flint.

Marlene’s voice quavers, her eyes flicking down to Dorcas’ chipped tooth, bright white against her dark face. “I think you have been nothing but cruel to me, even though I try to catch your attention, try to impress you; you won’t even spare me a second look.” She admits, tears springing to her eyes.

Dorcas huffs out a laugh, tossing her head and rolling her eyes. “That’s what this is about: the kid has mommy issues.” Eyes back on her. “Newsflash: I don’t give two shits about you. I don’t know what gave you that impression—”

“You looked at me.” Marlene says pitifully, knowing full well how weak and small she sounds. “At the Valkyrie meeting, when we signed up. You looked at me and smiled.”

Confusion crosses Dorcas’ face, replaced by a vicious sneer. “Why the fuck would I smile at you?”

Marlene’s heart shatters deep in her chest. Mini-Marlene, inside her body, starts to wail. “But—”

Dorcas looks at her, disgust written plainly across her face, and steps away. “I don’t care what you have going on with you but leave me the fuck out of it. I am not your girlfriend or your mother, and you need to get a fucking grip.” She turns on her heel, braids spinning, and flounces back over to the couch. “Now stay out of my way.” She tosses over her shoulder.

Marlene, standing there, shoulders slumped, and tears streaming down her face, doesn’t say or do anything. Finally, she finds it in herself to walk to the bedroom, close the door behind her, and weep silently into her hands on the floor.

~*~

Dorcas can’t really find it in herself to care that the girl is upset. Best not to expect things that won’t ever happen, in her experience.

Smiling at her, at the meeting? Dorcas can’t even remember that. She won’t admit it, but it’s getting more and more frequent that she forgets things when she’s really drunk. Besides, she barely remembers the girl’s name half the time. Where would she even get the idea that Dorcas gives any sort of fucks about her?

No, that doesn’t matter. Dorcas is fine with breaking a little girl’s heart. What matters is getting out of this safe house soon.

Thank God this one is stocked: a few of the ones Dorcas and Alastor have been to within the last few months have been barebones, a box of crackers left here, a carton of rotten milk there. She’s pretty sure Frank was here last; she remembers him wearing that Beach Boys shirt the girl is ruining with her tears.

Alice had to have gotten away. Dorcas isn’t going to sweat about it. What’s less certain is that Emma Vanity got away. Dorcas has a sneaking feeling Dumbledore’s looking to dispose of her soon. She can’t exactly back it up, but gut feelings have usually served her well.

The vodka burns going down and settles warmly in her stomach. Dorcas hasn’t bothered to wash the blood off her face and clothes; what’s the point? She’s rather comfortable here. Honestly, this would be a fine retreat if not for who she’s stuck with.

With a groan, Dorcas swings her legs off onto the floor, sliding her wand from her sleeve and muttering a quick Patronus charm. Nothing, no thrum of power in her fingers at all. Dorcas curses forests under her breath.

She wasn’t exactly lying before: she and Marlene aren’t a priority. Certainly, Alastor will go looking for her once he realizes they aren’t back in time, but however much Dumbledore lets him is up to interpretation. These woods are thick, and without magic? They could be searching for a while.

That’s fine. Dorcas has spent a lot of time hiding and waiting.

Something like hours pass. Dorcas decides to save some of the vodka and leans back against her folded arms behind her head, tricking her body into pretending to rest like she used to do back at Hogwarts. Eventually, a doorknob twists and Marlene’s heavy footfalls come down the hall and into the kitchenette, opening and closing doors. Dorcas stares upward and doesn’t say a word. Neither does Marlene. Finally, she goes back to the bedroom, closing it behind her, and it is quiet once more.

Dorcas finally goes to wash her face. She won’t go near the closed bedroom door; that sort of thing has never stopped sending panic into her veins since—well.

It is irrational and pathological, her fear. Irrationality, which Dorcas hates, but cannot fight against. She wipes the blood off her skin, stays in her gross clothes, and goes back to the couch.

This is a strange routine. Here, without a clock, time doesn’t seem to move. Marlene moves around her, giving her a wide berth, spending most of her time in the bedroom. Dorcas makes canned pasta and flicks her lighter on and off repeatedly.

“Are you going to get changed?”

Dorcas, from the couch, arches an eyebrow at the disruption of the silence she has grown so accustomed to and says nothing.

A huff, stomping. Dorcas assumes it’s the end of the interaction.

A bundle of clothes flies over the couch and smacks Dorcas in the face.

“What the fuck!” she exclaims, jumping off the couch, lighter in one hand. Marlene, standing in the hallway, glowers at her. The bruise on her cheek has grown mottled and purple, and her eyes are rimmed red and puffy.

“You stink.” Marlene says coldly.

Dorcas sees an opportunity, a lightbulb flashing over her head. Keeping direct eye contact with Marlene, she reaches to strip her shirt off, leaving her only in the black bra she uses on missions.

Marlene’s jaw drops before she can stop herself.

Dorcas smirks, pausing for a beat to ‘adjust her shirt’ before pulling it on. She shifts her face quickly into her usual blank look. “Can you not perv on me while I take off my pants, please?”

Marlene’s face is beet red, and she turns and scurries back into the bedroom without a word.

Dorcas smiles to herself, successful, but the smile drops when she thinks of Florence, her blushing cheeks when Dorcas undressed over her. Florence, Florence, Florence.

Dorcas tosses her dirty clothes down the hall for Marlene to pick up and goes back to drinking and staring at the ceiling.

~*~

Marlene cannot shake the image of Dorcas Meadowes in just a bra.

She spends maybe an hour – time isn’t real here – screaming into her pillow, hoping Dorcas can’t hear. She takes an ice-cold shower, easy because there’s no hot water in this damn house, and throws her dagger into the wall over and over. Nothing rids her of the image: Dorcas, lips curled, skin dark and perfect, a starburst scar peeking out from the fabric on her left boob.

Marlene reaches her hand up to touch her starburst scar on her arm, digging her nail into the tissue until it bleeds again.

Finally, when the image doesn’t go away, Marlene holds it in her mind and takes things into her own hands.

There is very little to do in this place. Marlene feels herself close to bouncing off the walls. Unfortunately, she’s found herself sort of stuck in the bedroom, with Dorcas occupying the couch at all hours of the day. Fuck, she doesn’t seem to sleep, barely eats. Marlene will watch her through the keyhole, a straight line of sight to the couch. What the fuck does she do all day, anyway?

Marlene’s resolve breaks after three days, as far as she can count. She goes into the kitchen, leans against the small counter, and wills herself to speak.

“Are you gonna eat anything?”

No response. Why would she expect anything different. Marlene huffs, digs into the pantry to find a can of soup, and heats it up in the dingy pot, dumping it into a bowl and bringing it over to the couch.

Dorcas, staring lazily up at the ceiling, drags her eyes over to Marlene, holding the bowl of soup out to her.

“Here.” Marlene says. “I’m not going to have you starve to death before we’re rescued.”

Dorcas’ eyes narrow, but she doesn’t take the bowl.

Marlene scoffs, rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Whatever, be a dick about it. If you don’t eat it, I will—”

Dorcas slowly takes the bowl, still looking warily at Marlene. There’s something unreadable in her eyes, but Marlene doesn’t much care. She turns and goes back to the kitchen, equal parts frustrated and confused, even though there’s a small hum of pride in her head when she hears the spoon clinking against the bowl.

Silence, as Marlene tears into a stale baguette. The bowl is set down on the table.

“I don’t need you to take care of me.” Dorcas’ voice is low and ice-cold.

“Take care of yourself, then.” Marlene responds, bread tough between her molars.

“Who are you to decide I’m not?” A scoff. “You know jack-shit about me, Marlene, don’t pretend you do.”

“You barely changed your clothes since we got here!” Marlene shouts, despite herself. “A proper functioning person would have come to get some from the bedroom, Jesus!”

A pause. “I’m not going to go in there if you’re inside with the door closed.”

Marlene laughs, an acrid taste rising in her throat. “You’re such a bitch, you can’t even fathom being in the same room as me, is that it?”

Another pause, longer. Marlene presses her fist into her chest, holding it there. “You know what, fuck you, Dorcas. Rot for all I care. I’m done looking after you.”

Why does she linger in this room, waiting for a response that won’t come? Marlene starts to turn back towards the hallway—

“You religious, Marlene?”

Marlene hesitates. Over her shoulder: “Why does that matter?”

“Explains why you think you have any reason to help so-called ‘charity cases’.”

Marlene jams her knuckles against her lips, a strange feeling washing over her. When she finally speaks, she doesn’t expect what comes out: “I’m not religious anymore.”

“But you were, once. People don’t outgrow their upbringing so easily.”

“And what, little miss perfect Dorcas Meadowes has a position to sit and judge others up from her throne?” Marlene spits. “At least I’m being nice, you absolute fuckwad.”

“Real mature. I see why Dumbledore brought in you stupid kids to fight his war.”

“Piss off!” Marlene snarls, whirling back fully and storming up to Dorcas, pinning her up against the wall. “You have no fucking right—”

“Oh, don’t I?” Dorcas looks so fucking smug, Marlene wants to wipe that look off her face. “Am I wrong? You volunteered for a war you don’t understand, and now your feelings are hurt that war doesn’t operate like your fucking church.” Dorcas leans forward, breath hot against Marlene’s cheek. “It doesn’t matter whether Alice and Emma escaped. We’re all going to fucking die fighting for this cause, and you want to be a martyr.”

Marlene makes a strangled noise, anger ripping through her vocal chords. Dorcas looks down at her, knowing she’s won. And before Marlene can say anything, Dorcas tilts her head down and presses her lips to Marlene’s.

It’s a frantic, passionate, angry kiss. Dorcas’ hands are hard and clenching, digging into Marlene’s hair down to the root. Marlene can’t think, can’t breathe, her entire body short-circuiting, fuses exploding across her skin. All she can do is loop her fingers around Dorcas’ braids, tugging as Dorcas kisses her harder, nipping at her lower lip and drawing blood.

It begins as quickly as it ends: Dorcas pushing Marlene back from her, gasping and wild-eyed, blood welling on her lip. Dorcas somehow looks as controlled and poised as she always does, not a braid or colour out of place.

“So, that’s how to shut you up.” Dorcas says, her voice gritty, the corner of her lip lifting.

With that, she spins on her heel, brushing past Marlene and into the bathroom.

~*~

Honestly, Dorcas is bored.

That is how she rationalizes her decision: boredom and a need to get the upper hand.

Neither of those excuses really account for the basic fact that Marlene’s pink lips and flushed cheeks are otherwise quite alluring, but that doesn’t really matter. Dorcas Meadowes is closed for business emotionally, and this little tanned blonde girl (whose brown roots are starting to show) isn’t going to change anything.

Eventually, she goes back to the couch. Marlene is still standing there, as though she hasn’t moved. Dorcas snorts to herself, reaches for the bottle of rum she cracked open yesterday after the vodka ran out.

“Why did you kiss me?” Her voice sounds distant, absent.

Dorcas takes a swig. “Told you, to shut you up.”

“You knew… I had a—a—”

“Crush?” Dorcas says, tauntingly. “Yeah, not hard to figure out.”

“You don’t really care about me, though, do you?”

“Nope.”

Marlene shakes her head, as though astounded. “You’re the worst.” It’s not so much an insult because of the wonderous way she says it.

Dorcas smiles around the bottle and says nothing.

Eventually, Marlene goes back to the bedroom, and things continue as normal. Well, whatever normal has become. Dorcas makes it a game to count time, like she used to do sometimes when hiding. Something about it, the ambiguity of the outside world, makes her feel small and safe in her hidey-hole. She hasn’t felt this way in a long time.

However long it takes for Marlene to stomp back, days maybe, Dorcas isn’t surprised. This girl cannot let go without a fight, and Dorcas enjoys it. Burning fire, a lit fuse. This girl will burn too fucking bright before she explodes prematurely. No wonder she volunteered first.

Marlene is standing over her, arms folded over her chest. “What did you mean, about Dumbledore?”

Dorcas flicks her eyes up. “What?”

“The other day. You said something about Dumbledore when—when we—"

“What about it?” Her voice is lazy on purpose, exasperated by this girl’s stupidity.

“Bringing kids to fight his war. What’s your issue?”

“How old are you, Marlene?”

“Eighteen.”

Dorcas scoffs condescendingly. “Yeah, that explains it.” Propping herself up on her elbow, Dorcas’ dark eyes bore into Marlene’s. “You’re a child, Marlene. Don’t you think it’s strange that you’ve been drafted into a war that long predates your existence? Don’t be a fool, now.”

Marlene’s cheeks flush red. “There just aren’t enough people—”

“Right.” Dorcas leans back. “I’m sure that’s true.”

“What do you even care, anyway?”

“I don’t.” Dorcas closes her eyes. “I just find it amusing.”

“You’re a sadist.”

“Hm. I’ll refer you to my shrink, then.”

Marlene stomps her foot but doesn’t move. Dorcas opens an eye to squint up at her. “You going to fight back or something?”

Marlene scrunches up her face and snatches up the bottle of alcohol. Dorcas opens her other eye, sits up, as Marlene marches over to the sink, keeping eye contact, and pours the bottle down the drain.

“You motherfucker—” Dorcas launches up, but Marlene is already scrabbling through the cupboards, grabbing alcohol and uncapping them. Dorcas vaults over her, grabbing a bottle of gin, but Marlene elbows her in the tit, the bottle slipping from her grasp and shattering across the floor.

Marlene and Dorcas pause, staring down at it, and then back up at each other.

Marlene throws herself at Dorcas, nails sharp, tearing at her braids. Dorcas scratches at her skin, slapping her across the face on the bruise, making Marlene wince and begin attacking with greater vigour. All around them are shards of glass and spilt gin, making their feet slip and slide.

Somehow, within the chaos of slapping and scratching and muttered curses, Marlene’s lips find the underside of Dorcas’ jaw, sucking and licking and biting as she rips at Dorcas’ shirt, raking her nails down Dorcas’ shoulder blades as Dorcas shoves her back against the counter, thrusting Marlene up onto it to bite at her inner thigh, moving inwards. Marlene makes a low, guttural moan, fingers fisting in Dorcas’ shirt as Dorcas keeps moving, nothing sweet or tender about it. Neither much care that their feet are cut and bleeding in the glass, nor the wounds opening on their skin. All that matters is Marlene’s breast in Dorcas’ mouth, the taste of lavender enveloping Marlene’s senses.

Somewhere, Marlene’s panties disappear, and she bites down on Dorcas’ bra strap to keep from screaming. All around her, everything is Dorcas, and it is overwhelming.

~*~

Thankfully, when Alastor breaks down the door, Marlene is in the shower and Dorcas is fully clothed, feet bandaged in old gauze from under the sink, back in her regular position on the couch.

He is out of breath, panting, staring at her wild-eyed when she glances back and arches an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.”

“Yeah, well.” Alastor grunts, his eyes trailing to the glass and gin and blood on the floor, and back at her. “The fuck happened here?”

Dorcas pushes herself up from the cushions. “Nothing much.”

“Dorcas.”

“You’re not my actual dad, Alastor, relax.” Dorcas fixes him with a look. “It’s fine.”

Alastor feels at his jaw. “McKinnon with you?”

Dorcas nods. “How long has it been?”

“About two and a half weeks. Alice and Emma found their way back to us pretty quickly, but we had some trouble finding you.”

Dorcas smiles to herself as she gathers her meagre belongings on the coffee table. “Dumbledore stop you from getting out to us sooner?”

Before Alastor can say anything, the bathroom door swings open and Marlene steps out, hair damp and steam trailing her. She stops once she sees Alastor, her eyes going wide. “Woah, Mad-Eye Moody?”

Alastor glances at Dorcas, and Dorcas fixes him with a see-what-I-had-to-deal-with? close-lipped smile. He looks back at Marlene. “Hurry up. Your friends and family are waiting for you back home.”

~*~

The first one to collapse into her arms when they finally apparate back to home base is Alice, who flings herself at her and buries her face deep into Marlene’s shoulder, sobbing. Lily’s there too, Mary also, even Effie, who cradles Marlene’s face in her hands with teary eyes.

Dorcas has nobody to hug, nobody waiting for her. Marlene sees her hanging back with Moody, muttering and casting dark glances around the room. Her eyes find Marlene’s, and a strange expression crosses her face. Marlene holds her gaze until it flicks away.

“I was so worried.” Alice weeps into Marlene’s worn-out Beatles shirt from the safe house. “One minute you were there, running behind us, and then—”

“I’m here, Alice.” Marlene says, patting Alice’s shoulder and looking up at Mary, whose eyes are big and sad.

“The boys think you were on an order mission, so I wouldn’t mention any of us.” Lily says, practical as ever, her hair pinned back into two braids. “Petey was worried sick, you know, slept by the front door in case you came home.”

“What a softie.” Marlene cracks. “I’ll have to tease him about that later.”

“Please don’t.” Mary says softly. “He cried a lot.”

Marlene’s eyes catch on something sparkling on Lily’s finger, and she straightens up so suddenly that Alice lets go, looking up quizzically. “Lilith, you bastard, you got engaged???”

Lily grins, a ray of sunshine. “While you were gone, James popped the question.”

Marlene squeaks and throws her arms around Lily’s shoulders, holding her tight, laughing hysterically. Everything is so bright and beautiful and good out here, and Marlene feels herself come back to herself, a real being.

She doesn’t notice Dorcas Meadowes slip out of the building after Alastor Moody, shooting a final look at Marlene and her family before turning away, a complicated mass of emotions knotted tightly in her chest.

"You good, kid?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."