The Ghost
Only those afraid of death become ghosts...
She'd been told that many times. By her father when she asked why Granda didn't visit them anymore just because he died. Great aunt Agnes had been dead since before she was born, but she still visited.
By McGonagall when she corrected Marlene that Peeves was merely a poltergeist, a spirit formed from an overabundance of mischievous energy present at Hogwarts. He wasn't a wizard who dreaded death, simply an impish presence.
Even by Dorcas when Benjy had died. 'He didn't fear death. We should be proud of him' she had said.
The last one stung now. Now that both Marlene and Dorcas were dead.
But only Marlene had come back.
If you'd asked Marlene McKinnon a year ago if she feared death, she'd have smirked and told you 'Obviously not. Merlin's polka dot pants! I'm in the Order, aren't I?'
Apparently, deep down inside, she had. She'd died nearly eight months ago. She'd been haunting the now vacant flat she'd once shared with Dorcas for about five of those months. It'd taken her three months to come back. Appear? Ghostify? By then it was too late. James and Lily had died, Sirius had betrayed them and murdered Peter, Remus was just gone, and Dorcas...
Dorcas had gone out in a blaze of glory. She'd abandoned all her beautiful common sense and in a distinctly Marlene-esque fit of passion, had strode right into the heart of a Death Eater lair. She'd tried to kill Voldemort by her bloody self and had gotten murdered for her efforts.
Dorcas hadn't feared death.
But Marlene did. So she sat, haunting a crumbling flat in Soho while her remaining sanity crumbled around her.