A Dragon Wearing Neon
Despite her best efforts, Marlene couldn’t quite bring herself to feel guilt about inadvertently bringing about the ill-fated project to the year. Not if it meant watching Dorcas practically seethe in her seat. Yes, Marlene wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of the next few weeks that she would undoubtedly spend putting up with Dorcas’s ridiculous notions, and her superiority complex, and her ideas that Marlene already knew she’d hate, but there was an undeniable spark of satisfaction at the news.
With ten minutes left of the lesson, Slughorn came to an end with the teaching, and reverted their attention back to the project.
“You will have until the last day of the term to submit your potion, along with its essay, to me. No potions that may cause bodily or mental harm, might I add,” he said, and chuckled as though he’d made a funny joke. Marlene wouldn’t have put it past some of the others in the year. He looked at the clock, considering. “Spend the last few minutes with your partner to start planning your project. You’ll be spending a lot of time with them over the next few weeks, so you might as well make friends.” He chuckled again.
Beside Dorcas, Crouch had already risen to search for his partner, Lily, and Marlene reluctantly made her way over, her feet protesting the entire doomed journey to Dorcas’s desk. She would much rather see Dorcas simmer from afar.
She sat down, folded her arms. They both glared. Neither spoke.
“This is stupid,” Dorcas said at last. “If it wasn’t for you and your bloody languages potion, we wouldn’t have to be doing this.”
Marlene was outraged. “What do you mean, my potion? How do you even know it was me?”
“Oh, please. You were as obvious with it as a dragon wearing neon. I saw you with the vat, you idiot.”
“Impossible. We were on the lookout.”
“Well, clearly your lookout wasn’t good enough.”
“Why don’t you try hauling a super-sized cauldron up two flights of stairs?”
“You could have easily put an invisibility charm on it,” Dorcas retorted.
“And levitate it whilst keeping a lookout? You’re being impossible.”
“Aren’t you meant to be smart?”
Marlene paused, eyes narrowing. “Where the bloody hell did you hear that?”
“No, you’re right, I was clearly misled.” Dorcas sat back in her chair, blowing out air through her nose, heavily. “For Merlin’s sake, McKinnon, we’re winning this competition if it kills me. Or you, preferably. So you’re going to do as I say, or - ”
“Or you’ll hex me?” Marlene cut in. “That line’s getting old, Meadowes.”
If looks could kill.
“We need to work together on this,” Marlene continued, “as much as I hate to say it. It’s not going to work if it's only one of us; Lily and I only managed it because we knew the different things to make the final potion.”
Dorcas remained glaring at her, her brain clearly struggling with the concept. Finally, she folded her arms, and said, “Don’t think this means we’re not still competing in lessons.”
“I wouldn’t dare be so optimistic.”
“And this isn’t just a minor, side project. We have to win this, McKinnon, I mean it.”
“Obviously. Two extra Hogsmeade visits is the prize of a lifetime.”
“You don’t even want to be in the Slug Club?” Disdain dripped over each word.
“Why on earth would I want that?”
“Oh, I don’t know… connections, success, respect?” Dorcas ticked them off her fingers.
Marlene grimaced. “I’ll earn that myself, thanks.”
Dorcas curled her lip. “You act like you’re so above everyone.”
“ I act like I’m above everyone? That has to be satire. Please tell me that’s satire.”
Slughorn cleared his throat from the front of the room, quieting the class.
“Until next lesson, everyone. A word of advice before you leave: do try your hardest with this. It will benefit you in more ways than you may think.”
Unlikely.
Marlene grabbed her bag, aware that she and Dorcas had spent their time bickering rather than planning anything out. She looked up to see Dorcas watching her, arms still folded. Marlene sighed heavily.
“Meet me in the library tomorrow at four,” Dorcas said. “We’re only going to work together if you swear you’ll actually try. Or I am doing it myself, credit included.”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Right you are, Meadowes.”
She’d be there if it killed her.
The next day, time seemed to be dead set against her, speeding up of its own accord until four o clock skidded to a hasty arrival hours too soon. Marlene dawdled on her way to the library, alone, unwilling to spend more time with Dorcas than she would have to.
The doors loomed unnaturally large ahead like omens of her terrible fate, soon to be assumed: spending time with Dorcas. She walked to the back, hoping Dorcas had picked a table by the windows, at least. Marlene scanned them, but she was nowhere to be seen.
She sighed. Now that she was here, amongst the towering shelves, she was desperate to get it over with. Marlene slumped into a chair at her favourite table, chin resting on her hand. A yawn was rising in her throat; Quidditch practice had overrun by an hour or two last night.
Something hit her back. She flinched, turning around with a glare, but there was no one there, just a piece of barely scrunched up parchment on the floor.
Marlene picked it up, flattening it out to read, in spidery handwriting, Turn around, idiot.
She searched as to where it had come from, and as her eyes adjusted into the gloom of the far corner, she found another pair staring back at her, looking bored.
She just had to make it difficult, didn’t she?
Marlene heaved her bag onto her shoulder and trekked to the gloomy table in the corner, wondering why in Merlin’s name Dorcas had chosen the very worst seat to sit at.
“You’re late.”
“You chose a terrible table. Why are we in the dark?”
“Why do you think?”
Marlene wasn’t sure her patience would last much longer in Dorcas’s company.
“I don’t know, clearly, or I wouldn’t have asked,” she gritted out, yanking a quill and parchment from her bag.
“Touchy.”
Marlene glared. “So we’re just going to sit here and let our eyesight deteriorate.”
“Better than being seen with you.”
Marlene almost got up and left then. Slytherins and their bloody pride. But it was simple: she just wasn’t going to give Dorcas the satisfaction.
Marlene turned back to her bag and heaved out the heavy textbook, ignoring Dorcas by browsing its contents page instead.
“I’ve already looked through the book.”
“I don’t care, Meadowes.”
“Would you just listen? You’re wasting both of our time.”
“You’re wasting my good eyesight,” Marlene muttered, only half paying attention to Dorcas. Her focus was on finding a potion with the best potential.
So she was rather surprised when Dorcas reached over and slammed the book shut from across the table.
“Hey!” she exclaimed. “What the bloody hell was that for?”
“I’ve already looked through the book,” Dorcas repeated. Her eyes were blocks of stone, unyielding. “I’m telling you, I know which potion we need to use. I know Slughorn, I know my - our - abilities, and I know what potion will make us win.”
Marlene took a deep breath, imagined an endless well of patience bubbling within her to replace the rising wave of frustration that refused to calm. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
“What is it, then? Let me guess, Polyjuice?”
If Dorcas was surprised Marlene wasn’t arguing, she did a good job of hiding it.
“No, too basic.”
“Don’t tell me it’s the Draught of Peace.”
“Not enough time,” Dorcas replied, as though that was the problem, and not the fact that the last time someone attempted to brew the Draught of Peace, they started World War II.
“Of course not. Silas’s Ageing potion?”
Dorcas made a face. “Boring.”
Marlene rolled her eyes, scanning the contents of the book again. “Your ego is showing.”
“Silly me,” Dorcas dead-panned. Then, “It’s Amortentia.”
Marlene thought this through. It was one of the most challenging potions in the book, but with results that were sure to be pleasing. Slughorn did love nothing more than the joys of Potions, and what was more satisfying than a perfectly brewed and adapted concoction that showed you your deepest heart’s desires? If they could get it right, that was.
“Okay,” Marlene finally said, resting her chin in her hands, “but what are your ideas on adapting it? And don’t you think it's a bit cliche? Surely everyone will jump at the chance to brew it.”
“Maybe, but they’ll all be different anyway, so that doesn’t matter at all.” Marlene gritted her teeth at Dorcas’s deliberately bruising dismissal. “I haven’t thought of the perfect adaptation for it yet.” She didn’t sound particularly happy about this, but Marlene’s mind was spinning already, contemplating it in silence. How could they change the Wizarding world’s most famous love potion into something even better, something even greater?
She had an idea.
As she opened her mouth, she was interrupted by a loud, familiar laugh nearby, and she turned quickly. Marlene tried to duck her head down, look busy, but it was too late, Mary had spotted her, like some kind of magnet for inconvenient situations.
She heard Mary gasp, and then the sound of approaching footsteps. “Marls, what are you doing here? Hi, Dorcas!”
“Hi, Mary.” Marlene caught the end of Dorcas’s smile, and grimaced. It wasn’t natural on her.
“And hello to you all, too,” announced Crouch, appearing a few steps behind Mary. Marlene wondered for a second what they were doing together, but then remembered how the two of them had danced at the Halloween party, and how Mary had snuck off that night after they’d gone to sleep, not quite returning quick enough in the morning to sneak back in undetected.
She raised her eyebrows at her and Crouch. “And what would you two be doing in dark corners of the library?” She winced as soon as she said it. If there was anything she didn’t want to imply, it was that sitting in the most secluded spot had something to do with anything other than studying.
Mary grinned and shrugged. “None of your business. Oh, is that Potions you’re doing?” Her eyebrows shot up as she looked at Marlene. If Mary had anything, it would be a terrible poker-face. She caught Crouch throwing a similar look to Dorcas.
“Yes,” Marlene replied, trying to maintain at least some self-esteem, at the same time as Crouch intoned, “Interesting.”
There was a silence, and Marlene could just see the laughter in Mary’s eyes. She was going to get an absolute earful later even if she explained the situation first. This was just excellent.
“Right, well, I think I’ll leave you to it.” Mary coughed, dragging Crouch by the elbow. “You guys have fun, really! Just try not to claw the eyes out, the eyes are important!” Mary’s cackle followed her all the way out the library.
Marlene sighed, for what felt like the fiftieth time that day.
“The Amortentia - I think I know how we can adapt it.” Despite the daunting task that loomed ahead if they went through with this, Marlene wouldn’t let herself buckle. It was a matter of dignity, at this stage. “It causes obsessive infatuation to the person who gave it to them, right?”
Dorcas raised an expectant eyebrow, impatient. Marlene huffed.
“We could change it so that it’s not the drinker who’s the manipulated, but the manipulator.”
“What do you mean?”
“Drinking it would give you the ability to make someone fall in love with you. For a time,” she added.
Dorcas thought about it for a minute, clearly trying to find flaws. “It could work,” she conceded, finally. “Perhaps. But how would the drinker go about making a sane person fall in love with them?”
Marlene grinned a bit, she couldn’t help it. The thrill of the idea was working its way through her veins, worming itself into her mind. “We find the root ingredients of the Amortentia, and we grow something different from them.”
Dorcas leaned back in her chair, narrowed her eyes. They stared each other down like they were businessmen on the verge of breaking a million pound deal.
Then, to her surprise, Dorcas said, “Alright, then.”
—-------------------------------------------
“Oi, Black!” Marlene yelled, and hit the bludger as hard as she could towards him. It soared his way, and he flipped the bat round in his hands with ease, before meeting the bludger with it and sending it flying towards one of the moving targets circling the pitch. It exploded in a burst of sparks, before reforming a few metres away. He flipped the bat around again, grinning. Show-off.
Mary cheered from the stands, where she sat with Crouch. Marlene didn’t think James was too happy about a rival player watching the three of them practice, but there wasn’t really much he could do about it; he and Mary had been joined at the hip ever since the party. (Marlene was yet to discover whether they were going out, or if they were just good friends). Besides, Crouch had only been there for a few minutes, waiting for when they finished at six, when the pitch would pass to the Slytherin team.
“Good! Try the Hanger formation again,” James called from atop his broomstick: an easy but effective diversion tactic they’d devised and polished earlier that session. They fanned out into the hanger-like shape, and Sirius intercepted a bludger nearing him, sending it Marlene’s way with force. She readied her bat and returned it as Sirius flew across the gap between them. He received it and sent it flying to James to his right, who sent it straight to the goalposts, the whole thing happening almost too quickly to watch. It sailed through.
Mary cheered again from the stands, wrapped in her scarves and gloves. Marlene felt the sting of the wind too as they flew back to the ground, six o clock approaching fast. They wandered to the changing rooms, Marlene taking the one on the right as Sirius and James went left.
She walked in and came face to face with Dorcas Meadowes. They both stepped back immediately, repelled by the others’ proximity like two magnets with the same charge.
She cleared her throat stiffly, nodded in acknowledgement.
“Meadowes.”
“McKinnon.”
Dorcas brushed past her without a second glance, the smell of coconut lingering in her wake. Marlene coughed in disgust.
She met James and Sirius outside the changing rooms, but Mary was nowhere to be seen. The Slytherins were already up and practising in the air, and as Marlene’s gaze turned upwards, she saw Mary still sitting in the stands, watching an airborne Crouch.
Remembering how Mary had wanted to go down to dinner together after the practice, Marlene turned to James and Sirius.
“I’ll see you at the castle, Mary wanted to walk up together.”
She supposed watching the Slytherins for a while couldn’t hurt either. It wasn’t as though they could complain when Crouch had done the same thing. She made the trek up to where Mary sat, and flopped onto the seats, her exhale misting in the chilly November air.
Mary grabbed her arm. “I think I’ve found my soulmate. Platonic, but still.”
Marlene feigned hurt. “Mary, I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together.”
“Well, we’ll just have to find a place with an extra bedroom. Have you talked to him at all? To any of them?”
“Who, the Slytherins?” Marlene asked, eyes turned to the players.
“Yeah, you know, the ones who came to the party. I mean, other than Dorcas, obviously. I know you two make an excellent team.” Mary bit back a grin. Just as Marlene had expected, Mary had had the time of her life finding out about the unfortunate pairing between them for the competition, and she still hadn’t let it go.
She elbowed her, but answered, “Erm, I remember speaking to Pandora and Regulus once or twice, but not the other two.”
“Okay, here’s my opinion on them,” Mary announced, and Marlene readied herself for a speech. Mary had the best judge of character of all of them, and she could read a person like a book. It was both a blessing and a curse.
“Crouch is my favourite,” she began, “he’s funny, quite shameless, loves a gossip. He’s just like me, really. Evan’s a bit harder to know, I think, but he’s a good one. He’s a bit obsessed with dying his hair, but…” Mary searched for the words. “He’s so chill about everything that being around him is, like, the most addictive thing ever. I don’t actually think he’s scared of anything.”
Marlene smiled. Mary was musing now, but she didn’t doubt that she was still bang on.
“And then Pandora is just air. She’s really light, do you know what I mean? I mean, she just steps lightly everywhere. She sees things as they are, but won’t let herself get pulled down into the mess of it all.
“Regulus is different. He hasn’t talked much when I’ve been around them. He’s bloody good at hiding what he’s thinking. But I’ve got him. It’s all in the eyebrows, Marls. He’s a realist, but I think he feels things all the way into his chest. Not that he’d admit it.” Marlene thought about this as she watched Regulus fly higher above the stands, chasing the snitch. He flew almost recklessly, but with a grace he looked like he’d owned all his life. Watching him fly, Marlene thought back to what Dorcas had said about Regulus needing Quidditch. She couldn’t help but believe her.
That left Dorcas, Marlene thought. She wondered what Mary had to say about her.
“What do you think about Dorcas, then?” Mary asked.
“I thought you were the psychoanalyst out of us two,” Marlene protested, but Mary was unrelenting.
“Come on, I just want to know.”
“Okay, well…” Marlene sighed. Where could she even begin? “She’s so far up her own arse I’d be surprised if she can still see the way out.” Mary snorted but still rolled her eyes. “She decided she didn’t like me for a reason so stupid it’s actually unnerving. And she’s contrary. She thinks she’s the only one who can be right. She’s impossible to escape, for Merlin’s sake, I’m stuck with her for a bloody Potions project.”
“Mhm.”
“She’s relentless in trying to be better than everyone else at everything. And she’s competitive, really bloody competitive.”
Mary snorted again. “Marlene, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you are literally the most competitive person I know.”
Marlene gasped. “I am absolutely not.”
“Sorry, but it’s true.”
She huffed, her narrowed eyes finding Dorcas’s form in the dark. “Well, maybe a little bit.”
Mary raised her eyebrows, which coaxed a small laugh out of her.
“If you want my opinion, I think she’s hotheaded, ambitious, and really fucking cool.”
“You’re on thin fucking ice, MacDonald.” Marlene elbowed her. She was joking. Mostly.
“Yeah, yeah.” Mary elbowed her back. “She listens to herself, that’s all. Knows what she wants, knows what she needs to get it. I like her. I also don’t think she hates you, if you want my honest opinion.”
“A nice thought, but we’re in too deep, I’m afraid. Couldn’t put up with each other if we tried.” Marlene sighed in mock disappointment. “A real tragedy, but somehow I think I’ll find a way to get by.”
“You’re as bad as each other,” Mary said, not without fondness. She leaped up. “Come on, we should go back to the castle. I heard they’ve got profiteroles for pudding.”
She pulled Marlene up, and they walked back to the stairs together. Marlene turned back to the players before they descended, and was surprised to see Dorcas paused in the air, watching her, face unreadable against the night. Before Marlene could pretend she hadn’t seen her, Dorcas flipped her the bird, and turned back to the game in time to throw a bludger at the nearest target with nothing but her hands. It splintered into a thousand sparks.
Marlene rolled her eyes and followed Mary down the stairs.
After dinner that night, Marlene was walking back to the common room, arms weighed down by a certain ginger cat.
Marlene had run to collect Goose like a harassed mum after he’d caused a ruckus near the kitchens and scared half the house elves, telling her friends she’d meet them back at the tower in just a minute.
Her mind was drifting back to the worthwhile profiteroles competition she’d had with James and Sirius just minutes earlier, so she almost didn’t notice Sash coming out of the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room.
Almost.
But Marlene still had a certain awareness when it came to Sash, one that only came from the years they’d spent so close to each other, and she reacted on instinct, flinging herself into a hidden passageway just on her right.
Should she have just carried on walking? Absolutely. But Sash wasn’t alone, and Marlene’s arms were full with Goose, and she really just didn’t want to have to acknowledge her right then.
So she prayed for Goose to stay put in her arms whilst Sash and her friend, a seventh-year Hufflepuff boy, paused outside the portrait. Marlene couldn’t help herself. Through the hole in the tapestry, she observed with reluctant keenness that the boy was about 5”8, had blond, shoulder-length, shaggy hair, had an easy demeanour, and appeared to be very interested in Sash’s hair.
He played with it, running a strand through his fingers like it was satin, feeling its short length. Marlene wanted to tear her eyes away, but found she couldn’t quite do it. She didn’t know what she felt. It was a tangled ball of something she didn’t want to unravel, not here.
She should have looked away when he cupped her face with his other hand. She shouldn’t have watched when he brought it closer to his. And she definitely should have walked when the gap between them closed, and there was nothing to see but two people kissing in an empty corridor.
Marlene did turn away then, coming back to her senses. What was she doing? She didn’t even know Sash any more. She had no right. She had no right to be - to be - it didn’t matter. She’d decided already it didn’t matter. She hadn’t cared to see Sash at the party, hadn’t felt a thing glimpsing her in the hallways. So why did she feel like she couldn’t really breathe?
She cleared her throat, turning and going the other way through the passage, forgetting the large pothole in the floor as she hastened forward. Goose flew out of her arms as she tripped, landing neatly, but offended, as Marlene sprawled to her hands and knees, skinning her palm so deeply that she watched as the blood welled up when she brought it closer to her face. The pain came after a moment or two, and she bit back a crash of hurt that didn’t just emanate from her hand.
She could’ve sat in that passage forever, she thought to herself. Goose had pranced away already, to who bloody knew where. She didn’t want to just sit and wallow in miserable, self-loathing pity, but the cold stone of the floor stayed firm and unmoving beneath her, and Marlene stayed where she was.
Her palm stung more than she would’ve liked to admit, and her eyes stung too, although she refused to acknowledge it. Sash was no one, no one at all, she reminded herself. It was the pain in her hand that had brought on the lump in her throat, the childish shaking in her fingers.
She bit her lip, hard, forcing all the feeling out of her bones with little victory, knowing she had to get up and sort her burning palm out, dreading the hurt that would inevitably remain within when she did.
A loud and unmistakable meow echoed from down the passage, which was enough to shock Marlene out of her stupor.
She wiped her uninjured hand across her face, rubbing her eyes quickly and sniffing for good measure. She cleared her throat, stood up, shook her head. Steps that were small and manageable, but that still felt almost too wearying to bear.
“Goose? Goose, come back, or you’re getting no rats for tea.” She sighed and inspected her hand again, making her way forward as she tried to gauge the gash’s depth. “I mean it, you know.”
Someone cleared their throat, and Marlene’s neck nearly snapped at the speed she looked up.
“You,” she said, stupidly. Then, “That’s my cat.”
If Marlene hadn’t been so heavily inside her own head right then, she would’ve probably laughed at the look on Dorcas’s face.
“What? Oh, for Merlin’s sake. Out of everyone in the castle, of course he had to be yours.” She rolled her eyes. “Did I dream it, or were you actually calling him ‘Goose’?”
Marlene barely had the energy to blanch. Goose was a perfectly good name for a cat, and she just wanted to get back to her friends, get her wand, and fix the stupid gash.
“Yes, I was, and I need him back,” she said, but her words that should have been biting black with poison were a diluted, miserable grey.
Dorcas raised an eyebrow. “I’m many things, but I’m not a cat kidnapper. Take him.”
Marlene started to reach out for Goose, but the sting in her palm brought her back to her senses, and she pulled back, aware she couldn’t hold him as she was.
“Oh.” The word escaped Marlene at the same time as Dorcas said it, both of them realising the injury. There was a beat of silence, where Marlene could see Dorcas visibly face an inner beat of uncertainty.
“Just… just put him down. He might follow me anyway.” Marlene’s face burned as she spoke. Dorcas seeing her so weak was the only possible thing that could have made this whole evening worse.
She made to go, to walk past her, but Dorcas finally spoke, surprising Marlene to a stop.
“Wait. Can’t you heal it yourself?” There was no warmth in her tone. It was cold and neutral as glass.
Marlene’s eyes did flash then. Her nursing lessons with Madame Pomfrey for the last year said otherwise.
“Of course. I don’t have my wand.” Dorcas didn’t say anything. “Is that it?”
The words were a courtesy, and a sarcastic one at that. The last thing she expected was for Dorcas to roll her eyes, pull out her wand and say, “For Merlin’s sake, just let me do it.”
“And let you come near me with a wand? No, thanks.”
“Just shut up, McKinnon. You’ve left half the skin on your palm on the floor over there. It’ll take me two seconds.” Goose meowed from the floor, wending his way through Dorcas’s feet. “Come on. You’re not actually scared of me, are you?”
Dorcas’s gaze was a challenge, her dark eyes unflinching, questioning. Marlene didn't let herself blink, didn’t let herself lose. She hadn’t expected this, not at all.
“Fine,” she bit out. She brought her palm forward and watched as Dorcas took it into her own. Like last time, she was surprised to feel its warmth, its softness. Dorcas acted like she was all cold, hard edges, but her hands spoke otherwise. Marlene gave no further thought to the anomaly.
“Your hands are freezing,” Dorcas muttered, pulling it closer to her face to get a better look, bringing her wand towards it. She started to heal her, gaze centred on Marlene’s palm, a small divot forming between her eyebrows.
Marlene bit her tongue, wishing she could step back. Dorcas’s wand worked its way down the wound excruciatingly slowly, stitching skin back together, drawing away blood, directing the cells to their places. She shifted to get a better look as the angle changed, and Marlene knocked backwards at her proximity, habitually.
Dorcas’s concentration broke and a bit of the skin on Marlene’s palm stitched itself too far, leaving a small white line, a scar, where it lay near the bottom of her thumb.
“Sorry,” she said, before she could stop herself.
Dorcas sent her a quick glare. “You’re not making this very easy.”
“Well, neither are you,” Marlene shot back, although it was a poor response. She supposed Dorcas was doing the best she could.
Dorcas glared again. Marlene muttered, “Sorry,” for the second time.
She took back up her position to finish off the healing, wand to skin, palm to palm. They both watched as the wound closed up.
Marlene took a step back. “Well, thank you.”
Dorcas nodded. She watched Marlene closely. “What on earth were you doing down here?”
“I was just… you know. Walking. What does it matter?” It was strange. She desperately wanted to fall back into the ease of their usual arguing, but Dorcas had just fixed her hand, and much as she loathed to admit it, a disturbing tinge of gratitude was misting her usual contempt. It would’ve been a long walk back to the Gryffindor Tower, with her hand on fire and Goose undoubtedly not making things easier.
Dorcas didn’t look at all convinced. “Right. Well, remember your wand next time. You’re clumsy enough to need it as a safety net.”
Marlene was relieved at the jab. “I won’t be so clumsy when I win us the Potions competition.”
“Oh, of course. It’s not like you’ve ever accidentally inhaled two potions before.”
“One, just one potion I accidentally inhaled. The other one was very much on purpose, wasn’t it?”
“You’re right. It was quite deliberate.”
“And petty.”
“I think you mean successful.”
“Oh, absolutely. You successfully proved you were an arse.”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
There was another little silence, where Goose rubbed his traitorous whiskers against Dorcas’s leg.
“What were you doing here, anyway?” she asked.
Dorcas sized up the question, but deigned to answer, “I was on my way to the kitchens. Barty was whining about missing the profiteroles.” She shrugged. “Your cat appeared in the corridor and reminded me of the passage, so I took a shortcut.”
Marlene would be having words with Goose later. She nodded, stiffly.
“Well, good luck with the profiteroles. We probably managed to leave at least one.” She was only half lying.
“Excellent.” Dorcas began to walk away, continuing along the passage to the kitchens. “See you tomorrow, McKinnon. If you’re late, I’m un-fixing your hand.”
Marlene raised her eyebrows, watching her leave for a moment. She let the complete bizarreness of their meeting wash over her before turning to Goose, and sighing.
“Odds on I obliviate myself of this whole night?” She asked him. He just stared at her, unblinking like always. “Good answer.”
Running her finger over the new scar at the base of her thumb, she began to walk the opposite way to Dorcas, deciding the long way round was better than any more chance encounters that evening. Seeing Sash again was unthinkable, as was what she’d glimpsed standing in that damn passageway.
It didn’t matter, it really didn’t matter at all, she reminded herself, firmly. It also didn’t matter if that didn’t quite ring true. She picked Goose up and together they left the half-light of the passage, beginning the trek back to the Tower.