Marcus McKinnon

Oh Marcus looked keen – or was she just projecting onto him the only reaction that made sense to her? Narcissa knew she needed to be cautious about that sort of thing; one never knew how half-bloods were going to jump, and it wasn’t as though she had spent any great lengths of time with people of that sort to have acquired the experience necessary to gauge their reactions correctly…but he looked keen.

He sounded it, too, throwing out tidbits of information and gushing with compliments: proving his worth, proving his gratitude. Maybe it was just obedience, an oversized House Elf waiting for orders. Cissy tried to temper her reaction, to not let her own eagerness run away with her…but oh she thought she could taste the eagerness wafting off of him in waves.

She took another sip of her bubbling gillywater, as though it might clear her palette.

“Aren’t you just darling,” she said with a broad, beaming smile. His own smile seemed thin and bleak suddenly, shadowed despite the glow of the flowers – or was she imagining that? Likely it was just nerves, she decided; he had made his pitch to his master, and now he was waiting to see how it would be received. Anyone would be nervous. It was no different from how she or Lucius would have reacted after making some offer to the Dark Lord – how they would still react, albeit now more from fear of discover than worries of being thought inadequate; the Dark Lord had proved how little he truly valued their contributions now and there was no more need for nerves at being thought lacking, was there?

Nott’s ascension proved that as well as anything – but with Marcus’s oh-so-heartfelt help that might yet be turned to the Malfoys’ advantage, too. And if she could use it as a pretext to draw Marcus closer, maybe to her personal advantage as well…

“Lucius and I would be delighted to offer whatever small assistance we can, of course – to you and Alexander. Facilitating a smooth working environment can only be to everyone’s benefit, and my husband and I would consider it not just our duty but our privilege to help…in whatever way we can,” she added with a pointed arch of one eyebrow – a silent acknowledgement that they were talking about Silent Dagger business, and not just ordinary Ministry networking. Then she softened her expression and said, as though that were the explanation for Marcus’s nerves, “You needn’t have any fear of Alexander. I’ve heard he can be intimidating to his subordinates–” a tinkling laugh, as though the idea of finding Nott intimidating were utterly unfathomable; as though she and Lucius would never let anyone consider themselves subordinate to the man no matter how prestigious were the Dark Lord’s appointments “–but I assure you, he’s harmless.”

She said that last part quite loudly, enjoying the thought that she might undermine his reputation as a strict and unforgiving taskmaster before he even took up his place on the Wizengamot, all under the guise of reassuring a nervous underling. It was hard to restrain her wicked, giddy grin – and perhaps that was what carried her into such delicate territory as to make her next suggestion: “I’m sure Alexander is quite ensconced in well-wishers and sycophants already, but Florence is sure to be in a more approachable position…I don’t believe the two of you have been introduced yet, have you?”

The very idea of introducing someone like Marcus McKinnon to Florence Nott would have been laughable under ordinary circumstances – but he was going to be working for her husband soon. Wouldn’t it be helpful if they got to know each other first?

Stepping through the wards that protected the grounds, Marcus was instantly submerged in distractions; the fear he wore like a cloak, the lights, the trappings, the food. But he had come here for a reason--for many reasons, in fact. To support his now-superior at the Wizengamot Office. To make himself useful. To prove he was worth the air he breathed; that killing him would have been a mistake. There was only one way to do that and it wasn’t by bickering with James Potter or flirting with Gabriel, though it had been... fun? More confusing. If it even counted as flirting.

To make such introductions. Subtly, Marcus’ glanced the crowd in a half-hearted attempt to locate Alexander Nott’s wife. It would have been a bold move, approaching Florence Nott himself, not that Marcus wouldn’t have considered it. As an administrator, however, Marcus was practically part of the furnishings, or an accessory like the pocket-watch he’d seen Diggle wandering around with that hollered at him anytime he was late. Marcus was accustomed to only being acknowledged at the office when a member of the Wizengamot required a body to order around or remind them of their schedule. Any introduction he initiated between himself and people like Florence Nott had to be done delicately, or he’d blow his only shot at making a strong first impression.

“We haven’t,” he said. Florence was nowhere to be seen, but the party continued inside the manor and as of yet, Marcus hadn’t managed to gain entry. That invitation hadn’t been extended to him. Yet. Next time, perhaps. Marcus was working on it. “I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”

Marcus suspected they both knew why. If it wasn’t for Narcissa, he would still be washing dishes in between cigarette breaks in some dingy backalley chip shop. The chances of running into a Nott there weren’t necessarily next to none--he’d met Regulus Black in a similar environment, after all--but they weren’t exactly high either. “But it would be a shame if honour was given only to her husband when this is a promotion that will affect the whole family. The Wizengamot keep long hours at the office. Some trials last days. She’ll receive more than a few owls from me during her husband’s career, I’m sure of it.”

Marcus kept his tone even, but his heart had started beating faster the moment Narcissa mentioned an introduction with the witch. This was an assignment, or close enough. It started in his chest, spreading through his limbs, the rush of knowing he was about to carry out a small step in a bigger plan. Here was the patronage Marcus hungered for. It started with introductions, a job at the Ministry. The ability to pay his fucking bills. Was there anything more desirable than that? How far would it take him?

It was addictive, being a Silent Dagger. Without it, Marcus was restless. Which was why his heart sank when Rabastan Lestrange appeared at Narcissa’s side, lightly placing his hand on her shoulder, eyes shifting to Marcus, heavy with scorn. Anger flared up in Marcus, momentarily seeing himself through Lestrange’s eyes, some lowly Death Eater leeching off people more important than him. And the worst part was that Lestrange wouldn’t be wrong. It was only Marcus’ complete lack of arrogance and undo confidence that prevented him from wanting to leech them dry. 

A churning sea couldn’t make her feet move from their stop in the doorway. Mary knew exactly what he was thinking in that moment; the very thing that she had thought seeing him standing at the end of the hallway, she hoped. There was a selfish, extremely selfish, part of her that wished to stay here forever. All of her screamed that this — whatever they’d become — was wrong. That her relationship with him, strong and feeble all at once, was a crime not only to her own beliefs but to the Ashen Phoenix’s. But a storm couldn’t move her. Not even a lightning bolt from God himself could get her feet to kick.

A minute with him, again, couldn’t hurt, after all.

She swallowed, closed her eyes, and looked up at him. The charms faded ever so slightly, unable to sustain themselves under his gaze. Maybe that was what had done it in the first place. Those damn eyes had always had a innate way of seeing exactly into her soul. They stood, alone, by the fireplace, and Mary wanted so desperately to let her hair down; to let the red seep through the blonde. He could see it, anyways. He always could. Why pretend anymore?

The charms slipped and for a second Mary thought she might too. His voice made her want to crumble. It was breaking and she was was toppling along with him, rolling down a hole that she knew would only make their situation worse.

But God, had she missed him.

The conflicting voices rose once again, fighting angrily inside her brain. She closed her eyes again, trying to stop the color from changing back. Her hair color remained, though. Mary was unable to keep all of her wards up around him. She’d never been able to. Despite his decisions, despite his actions, Mary’s world would always be twisted upside down by Marcus McKinnon’s very presence.

“I’m here,” she confirmed, quietly, almost like a whisper. In fact, afterwards, Mary wasn’t even sure she’d said the words aloud. So, she said them again. “I’m here. Um.” In another circumstance, Mary might’ve laughed at his words. Might’ve wished she could take them back. But they both knew, despite how much they may have cared for each other, that they were fighting on the opposite side.Mary’s anger flared once more at the thought of Marcus with a Dark Mark but then his hand was on her cheek and everything felt as if it were going to be alright. She allowed herself to fall into his touch, eyes closing for a brief moment. “Godric, I hope so,” she said, laughing in disbelief.

Then, her eyes opened, back to reality. She still couldn’t move her feet but her mind was whirling now. “This is mad, isn’t it?” she asked him, quietly. “I’m going mad. I shouldn’t have even stopped you but— Bloody hell.”

Mary realized, then, that she couldn’t move her feet because the storm was inside her, keeping her planted firmly to the spot. If she were to move, she very well might explode.

Marcus wanted so much to be angry--that she’d risk her life coming here, when nothing was more important than keeping her heart beating. Anger was what he knew. He had felt it burning inside him so long that he could stomach it far more easily than whatever he was actually feeling now. This was far too heavy an emotion to be happiness or relief. Seeing her here was like coming home to find the locks changed, new furniture through the window. This life wasn’t his. Grief then? For the life he’d lost, a life that might have been spent with Mary? An alternative reality in which Marcus had followed the same path as Mathew and Marlene, and joined the Order?

But Marcus wasn’t Matthew or Marlene. He cared what happened to muggleborns and those who defied the Dark Lord, but more than that, he cared for himself. He just wanted to stay alive.

Mary though... Mary made him question everything.

His eyes stung, and he leaned his forehead against hers so she wouldn’t see it. His mind swam with all the decisions that had led them here, him branded, Mary wanted by the Ministry, surrounded by every political power in magical Britain. She needed to leave, but she was so close and he had been so sure he’d never see her again. He didn’t have time to feel shy--or maybe seeing Mary wasn’t as sobering as he thought. Maybe it was another form of intoxication altogether, so that Marcus wasn’t merely drunk on champagne and euphoria but memories and hopes that would never come true.

"Not you,” was what he said. “I won’t watch you die as well.” They’d both seen enough. Marcus was sick of it. If he had to watch one more person he loved be hurt or killed... He couldn’t take it. Being a Death Eater was nothing compared to that. He pulled away enough to see her face. And her charms. They were wearing off. And to think he’d asked her to hide him. She was the one who needed an exit.

“You’re here for a reason.” And Marcus wasn’t it. They were close once, but not like that. “I’m not going to ask you to abandon whatever it is you’re here for.” What right did he have? He felt the Mark on his arm as if it throbbed with pain, but it was only her judgement he felt, or rather his fear of it. “So let me help you.” Just this once. “What do you need, Mary? But then you have to get out of here. They’ll kill you if they see you.” Marcus knew. Fuck, did he know. “I’ll help you, if you just leave.”  His eyes took in her face. Soon it would all be memory.  “I can’t--”

Lily swore as her platter fell to the ground. She’d been trying to get back to the kitchens, get away from what ever fracas was starting to happen – maybe they’d have to abort the plans, if the attendees were starting to turn on each other. As she knelt to help the frantic wizard clean up and more of the screams started to ring out, and the whisperes started, it was her turn to feel nauseated. 

               What had Mary done? 

“Here, I have it, sir,” she murmured, sweeping the broken shards up with her apron. “Are you all right?” She kept her head down – now would be the worst time to be recognized – but snuck a glance at the man and was struck with a dreadful sense of familiarity. She felt herself reaching for her glamoured nose, to tug on it and make sure it was still in place, in case Marcus McKinnon had the same moment of looking at her and recognizing his sister’s former friend. 

Suddenly it occurred to Marcus what he was doing. And who he was. Gabriel might be burning with one mark, but Marcus’ arm was permanently branded with another. He was a McKinnon, survivor of blood traitors, but he was a Death Eater all the same. “I’m fine,” he snapped, dropping the shards he’d collected onto her platter and checking his hands. They were shaking. Uncut though. No blood. Relief washed over him, chased by the sickening awareness of his reaction--how weak he must look to anyone with eyes.

Marcus didn’t sound amused, which made James want to laugh. They looked at one another for a few moment, Marcus seeming to wait for something that must’ve never happened because he continued on, talking about different sort of drinks. “I already said I can’t drink,” James pointed out. It didn’t really matter what else they were serving because he wouldn’t be able to have any of it. He thought that, maybe, even if he were, he would stay away from the liquor anyway. Being forced into One Army meant he always had to stay on his game. It was like Quidditch in that way. Only he was the Quaffle - people were always throwing him around.

But he didn’t think he’d be able to keep his wand down, his tongue bitten, if he were to drink more than a sip of that god-awful drink. Sirius and him preferred something much stronger and a lot less sweet. If he’d gotten into the brandy or whiskey now, he thought he might just end up cursing one of these knob-wackets and getting himself, Lily, and his child killed.

Marcus kept talking and James’ eyebrows moved up farther on his forehead. He wondered how much the younger boy would end up saying if he just stayed quiet and refused to answer back. Would Marcus feel so uncomfortable that he’d end up letting it slip just why he’d taken the Mark in the first place? Maybe James should try that tactic, but the word friend brought a sardonic smirk to his face. 

It wasn’t exactly untrue. Marcus was probably his closest friend here. But James would never call him that. Padfoot - Moony… they were his friends. Peter… once. James had never been in the market for more. “I’ll make sure to thank ol’ Gabriel, then,” James replied, eyeing the way Marcus’ lips turned upwards, not reaching his eyes.

James had seen a Mckinnon smile on Marcus’ sister. Knew what it looked like when it was real. And either Marcus just didn’t have the same charisma as Marlene or else… “You’re mad at me,” he stated bluntly, a mean sort of laugh coming to his lips. One, short chuckle. “Come on, mate, you can’t really be mad at me over making fun of your drink. I never would’ve pegged you for such a snowflake. There’s a bloody war going on. I was just kidding. I mean, it is a drink I wouldn’t be caught dead drinking or else find myself with pink hair and a cock enchanted right on my face the next morning, but I was just having a laugh. Could all use one right about now, don’t you think?”

“I’m not mad about a drink.” But his protestations only made him seem more the snowflake James had accused him of being. And maybe he was a little mad about the drink. James’ judgement in general. Was it really so bad Marcus didn’t go for the strong stuff? Marcus didn’t buy into this competitiveness, this game of outmanning each other, one, because it didn’t matter what you drank (as long as it wasn’t blood), and two, because Marcus had never been much good at it. Unless swimming was involved, Marcus crumbled in the face of competition. Which was why he’d only ever been a reserve on the Hufflepuff quidditch team, and why he’d never have gotten a Ministry job without the Malfoys’ good word. But so fucking what. He had the job now, didn’t he?

It was just like being around Marlene and Matthew, always poking him with jibes and pissing him off. It was so comfortable and familiar and annoying, that it only made Marcus more pissed off at James, for making him remember what it was like to be the younger brother to a family that was whole and together. Now it was just Marlene and him, the vampire and the wizard who was afraid of his own sister. 

“And you don’t need to remind me there’s a war going on, as if I hadn’t noticed.” Like he wasn’t fighting in it. Marcus supposed it was unwise to let his anger show in front of James, but wasn’t that why he’d sought him out instead of talking to any of the party guests? Marcus needed a break from them, even Gabriel (especially Gabriel), and James was the closest to a break Marcus would get tonight. He never wanted to be part of this war. He’d been dragged into it kicking and screaming, literally. Until his throat was raw.

With no table nearby to set it on, he chucked the glass into the flower bed. “At least one of us is laughing.” Laughing at him. “I’ll laugh when something’s actually funny. Like if someone were to transfigure Amycus Carrow into a niffler. I don’t suppose security would let that one slide?” 

Mary almost thought he’d figured it out just then. Maybe the cookies and milk had given it away; too specific for a party so full of grandeur and caviar. But Mary had never known what caviar tasted like and she refused to try it, anyways. Fish eggs were only eaten because the rich got bored. Not lazy. Bored. She couldn’t imagine what they would do if they continued to be unopposed. Mary refused to let them continue to scavenge the Earth until there was nothing left except jewels around their neck and diamonds on their toes.

And even despite the rage in her bones at the thought of these people, Marcus’s smile took her away from it all. God, all she wanted to do was tell him it was her. She wanted to wave her arms and yell and scream until he realized that he needed to come back with her. That she could keep him safe. Would keep him safe. Her heart broke at the thought that he didn’t think they could save each other, when Mary knew, deep in her bones that they would just be safe if they were together. It was silly, maybe. Naive. But Mary had to have one naive thought. It got her through, after all.

Mary wanted to take his hand as he spoke. He looked so small, then. So vulnerable. Everything in her screamed to touch him, for the first time in years. Yet, her hands stayed by her sides. “Your secret is safe with me,” she said, smiling brightly. It was hard not to while he was around, despite everything. “As long as you keep mine too. I’m supposed to be working, after all.” A shrug soon followed her words and she tried not to wince at Death Eaters. She hadn’t actually heard him use those words before; he’d been shying away from them for so long that it felt almost strange to hear them so straight-forward. “It is a palace isn’t it. Mad to think some people live like this.”

Her eyes scanned the room, fingertips grabbing on to the fabric of her work shirt. Mary felt out of place almost everywhere now, but here? She felt like she was in the waiting room for hell. Taking a breath she managed a small smile. “To be honest, I feel like I shouldn’t be here myself,” she laughed, trying to match his tone, and failing desperately.

Then, Marcus said that he’d love to go with her and she felt like her knees might give out from under her. There was only so much she could take, and maybe she should’ve known, talking to him. Maybe she should’ve stayed away. But she couldn’t help it. Seeing him was a magnetic pull. “Bloody hell,” she laughed, running a hand through her hair, trying to hide the pain her eyes. Walking down the hall, pulling on a panel, she opened a secret entrance door for the kitchens. “Do you give all the girls that line?” She was treading a line here, one that she was positive he’d figure out. This felt almost too normal now; god, what had she gotten herself into?

“The jungle? Oh you mean… with my parents. Yea, well my mum was around more… Da always had some kinda work thing to do so mum and I were together. Often. She knew every animal there was to know.”

Her voice sounded far away, like he’d been submerged in the rising tide and forgotten to move his limbs. A light had switched on inside his head. It was supposed to be a good thing, wasn’t it, light? Sunlight was warm. Nurturing. It caused flowers to bloom, crops to grow strong and healthy. But in Marcus, it only exposed everything that was wrong with his life, everything about him that was broken. In darkness, Marcus could be anything, or at the very least pretend. But standing here, in dress robes he had paid for with their money and favours, marked, in front of her... It didn’t matter how much giddy pop Marcus had drunk. All his misery rose to the surface.

“But you are here.” His voice was the sound of breaking. She had moved on in the conversation, but Marcus was stuck on the words that had come before: I feel like I shouldn’t be here myself, she’d said. It was the Scottish lilt to her voice, those eyes, the milk and cookies, the way she looked at him like he mattered, even her lies about the jungle. That smile. How had he not seen it sooner? It was her. But she was... different. Slight changes to mask her identity, but Marcus would know that pain anywhere because he’d seen it before, wished he could take it away, sensing what he now knew for himself; that kind of pain didn’t go away. You carried it forever. 

“What are you doing here?” He was so sure it was her that he took her hand and stepped into the entrance she’d uncovered, pulling her with him. His mind was reeling, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “No. Shit, don’t answer that. I already know.” His eyes shifted to her uniform. If they didn’t say it aloud, there was no evidence against them. Olive Fawley was working. 

His eyes found her face again. What would he say to those he’d loved and lost if he got the chance? It was a question that tormented Marcus in the quiet hours of the morning. What would he say to Mum? To Matthew? To any of the ones he’d lost and could only hope were still alive?

To Mary.

He would kiss her. Like he’d always wanted to but never had. Wasn’t that his biggest regret with Mary? That in all the words he’d poured into their letters, he’d never told her how he felt? What came after, Marcus couldn’t say. He was sworn to the Silent Daggers, tangled up with the Radical Alliance. He didn’t have a heart to give anymore. It was all shrivelled up, bled out; where it’s corpse lay was impossible to say. And besides, kisses weren’t something to be taken, and it had been so long since he’s seen her. They’d changed, maybe too much. 

“Is this real?” he breathed, barely a whisper. Finding her would be too much goodness at once and the world was too cruel for it to ever be true. “I’m not going crazy.” For a moment he had been so sure. Now doubt was creeping in. What if his mind was playing tricks? What if he’d finally snapped? What if he was just drunk or passed out, dreaming, and she was nothing but a figment of his imagination? He cupped her face, brushing her cheek with his thumb. Merlin, he’d missed this face. 

There was Marcus McKinnon, trying to look subtle in the glow of Nott’s enchanted flowers. The boy was clearly doing his best to fit-in with the pure-bloods and peacocks of the party. Narcissa was forced to hide a smile in her flute of bubbling gillywater – a sensible precaution for a woman who wanted to keep her wits about her while still looking like she was enjoying the party, and a perfectly acceptable beverage for one to quaff as a chaser in between elaborate cocktails and liquors, so even if someone stepped close enough to smell what she was drinking, no one would think anything untoward or salacious – so that he would not notice her smirking at him.

He looked dashing tonight, for a half-blood. (And at least he wasn’t just wearing the same robes over and over again at every party, like Severus.) Still a bit drab, without the proper jewelry to accent his robes. Perhaps she and Lucius should look into dripping a bit more gold into his pockets…but no, drab was probably more appropriate give his tragic circumstances. Just because he had been bought and paid for by the Malfoys didn’t mean any of them wanted him to look it.

“Yes,” Narcissa agreed, turning to Marcus and taking a step closer to draw them to a proper distance for polite conversation. “Who would have thought the day would ever come?” She kept her voice light, her smile cheerful – as though she were pleased to see Nott advance while her own family held stagnant. “Truly it is an evening worthy of celebration.” Worthy of something anyway – but celebrating? That wasn’t what fit Cissy’s mood at all.

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have your familiar and solicitous face around during the trials of taking up such a heavy responsibility,” she continued brightly, already turning-over in her head how best to turn the potential of the situation to her – and the Silent Daggers’ – advantage. “I’ll have Lucius drop a word in Alexander’s ear about how helpful and hard-working you are,” she suggested. Just a friend offering a favor to a friend…but the favors all went one way, and the Malfoys and the McKinnons had never been friends. There was a price for all of this, and Marcus had no idea that Narcissa was weighing personal interest into the costs she counted against him. Even Lucius didn’t know that – but then, Lucius wasn’t the one who had recently developed fangs.

Here was the true magic. Not spellwork, just a few words in the right ear. And what wondrous results they produced. Narcissa’s suggestion stirred a hunger in Marcus. He watched her a moment. Subtlety was not his strong suit, but he was one of many at a party whose eyes lingered on the Malfoys, given that they were among the most powerful people in the room. Words hung on the tip of his tongue. What do you want with me?

Maybe he ought to be afraid of the answer to that question. Instead, it was that same hunger. To be needed, to be accountable for something. A clear purpose. A goal to work towards. Maybe it was misguided to equate that with worth, but Marcus knew what happened to the spare parts in society. They were slaughtered and replaced, without so much as a hint of remorse. What would the Malfoys do with Marcus if they decided he wasn’t worth the trouble?

"We’ve been working closely with the Maintenance Department, renovating his office so that it’s ready for his arrival.” Marcus knew that office inside out, and exactly who would be held to blame if anything were to go amiss. It wouldn’t be him. 

“I hear he finishes the day with a Dragon Barrel Brandy,” he said, feeling a smile tug at the corners of his lips. What was a gift today could be a weapon tomorrow. Maybe Nott’s closest associates already knew his preference for the stuff, but Marcus had gone great lengths to find out that piece of information. Nott was a private man, and Marcus could see why, if Gabriel’s speculations were true. 

“We’ve done all in our power to make his arrival at office most comfortable.” To anyone overhearing this conversation, Marcus’ words might seem odd. Worse than that; dull. An example of small-talk not to be emulated. But Marcus’ wanted--no, needed--Narcissa to know he was ready. So far the whole experience of joining the Silent Daggers had been anti-climatic. Like he was holding his breath, waiting. Stagnancy was the same as death. Marcus had to keep moving.

“Of course, nothing would go further than a good word from yourself or your husband. I never thought--” The words caught in his throat, as if the magic of the dagger were at work. But it was just the words themselves. He never thought alot of things, and yet... He let out a sigh. “I never thought I’d meet such gracious people.” 

Seeing his smile made her wish she could say his name as if she’d known it for years. Mary’s heart broke at the thought of having to leave him behind after tonight. Hearing his voice once more was like hearing grass whistling on a summer’s day. She wasn’t sure how to go back to the Ashen Phoenix now that she knew he was here and not somewhere else. Maybe that was why, when his face looked puzzled at the mere mention of their never having been in the same vicinity before, her heart broke. Marcus knew. On some level he’d figured out who was truly standing in front of him.

“Unless you’ve been to the jungle recently,” she teased, although she hated lying to him. Anyone but him and she’d feel perfectly at ease, letting the lie slip off her tongue as if it were an old friend. Then again, Mary had never particularly liked lying. But who did? She sucked in a breath of air before executing a perfect smile. Dazzling him was all she could do at the moment.

She didn’t know how to react as he said his last name, unsure of whether to pretend not to know or to send her condolences. She bit her lower lip, instead, nodding. “I’ve heard wonderful stories about your family,” she said, deciding to go vague in order to keep her own sanity. “It’s lovely to meet you, Marcus.”

Then, though, he mentioned that this man was practically his boss and her heart sank. Mary knew exactly what that meant; knew exactly who Marcus would be working for if his boss was hosting this party. But then, that small little bit of hope prodded at her stomach. He doesn’t want to be here. Mary knew that Marcus would never willingly fight against her, just as she would never willingly fight against him.

At least, that’s what she would like to think.

Before she could say anything, though, his head was pressed against a door and a small laugh escaped her. Gently, she pulled him away from the wall and righted his shoulders, swiping at the dust on his lapel. “Listen,” she said, softly. “Yes, I’m working, but your so-called boss has hired so many helpers tonight that I’m not particularly needed right now. Would you like to come down to the kitchens with me?”

Her head tilted, eyes meeting his own. “I may not be able to whip you up your favorite food, but we do have cookies and milk. Which may seem odd for a party like this but… I’ve always rather liked that combination. Besides, we’ve got a fireplace in there and chairs. No one will know. You have my word.”

Mary would never break her promises. Especially not to Marcus.

Marcus could get lost in those eyes. Maybe he already was. Everything about this Olive was so lovely. It set her apart from everyone else he’d encountered tonight, like she didn’t belong here, but he was glad she was--here, that is--and that he got the chance to meet her. Where had she been hiding all these months? Wherever it was, he hoped she had been safe, just as he hoped her kindness was genuine and not a trick. Maybe it was the elixir coursing through his veins, or the fact it was late and he was tired, but her general loveliness made him ache for home, that place where you knew you were untouchable, from judgement if not Death Eaters or vampires. Nowhere was safe from those monsters.

“I can’t recall the last time I ate cookies and milk by a fireplace.” Constructing the memory was easy enough though. Marlene and Matthew slouched across the sofa, Marcus taking the floor, packets of biscuits passed between them, laughing about things that weren’t funny to anyone else. That last Christmas Mary had been there too. He could barely remember her smile now, it felt so long ago. Grief wrapped itself around the details of his memories like a fog. Now all he had left was a sister he was afraid of and a letter or two in Mary’s handwriting from before--before Marcus got in too deep and writing became too risky.

Building the memory was no trouble at all. It was the immense sorrow that followed on it’s tail that was difficult.

“But look, Olive. Please don’t tell...” Marcus bit his bottom lip, silencing the words. He’d been about to say James Potter, who had already judged Marcus for drinking giddy pop, but bringing a soldier from the One Army into this felt wrong, so he let the sentence end there. “I wasn’t given a handbook or anything, but I’m guessing Death Eaters aren’t supposed to have milk and cookies at these things.” Nott hadn’t gotten where he was today by hiding in kitchens eating sugary snacks, had he? “I wasn’t even invited. To the garden, yes. But not the house.” Then he glimpsed the hallway behind Olive, it’s grandeur. “Excuse me, the fucking palace.”

The night had continued without anything major happening. James had been doing his job - keeping an eye on the gates, watching the people in the grounds. He’d been to a couple of these things already - he knew what to expect, for the most part. Back when he was still in the Order - when the Order still existed - he’d assumed that Death Eater parties were something completely different. They would spend the hours worshiping the Dark Lord and belittling the help. Some of it had been true - but, in the end, parties were parties, it turned out. People could get drunk here in the same way they’d done so in the Order. There was even the same sort of laughter here as he’d remembered from the past. Only - it was very likely they were laughing about something completely different.

He’d heard enough tonight about the werewolf society as the butt of a joke that all he really wanted to do was leave. Even his spare bedroom at Evan’s was better than being reminded of Remus or Sirius, James’ chest lurching every time. It physically hurt to be away from his friends. He missed them. But he missed Lily too - and she was the reason James couldn’t even think about bolting right now. He had to stay because that’s what Evan wanted. He had to play the Dark Lord’s game because that’s what would keep her and their child alive.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, one of them around his wand. After the party tonight, he’d have to put it back in the magically protected case at Evan’s house. He couldn’t be trusted to use it when on his own. Evan believed James would try and send a patronus to Sirius which, admittedly, James would’ve done. But now, he can move his fingers across the smooth wood and be tricked into thinking he was safe because he had a weapon.

Then the footsteps behind him and James turned, looking to see Marcus Mckinnon walking towards him. Not the worst company, all things considered. But James had been having a good enough time not being bothered by anyone as well. His lips quirked upwards at the sides as Marcus said what he thought James wanted to hear. He wondered if Marcus was so damn obvious about everything he did. “I’ve been outside this entire time so, no, I haven’t. I’m sure it’s perfect for the occasion, though.” He said the last bit sarcastically, but truthfully, he meant it. James still didn’t quite understand what Gabriel’s role in this society was, but he’d always been in charge of the parties where the food and decor fit whatever ridiculous theme the host and hostess wanted.

“No, we aren’t,” James said at the same time he took the drink from Marcus proffered hand. He sipped quickly before shoving it back. It was reckless, but perhaps there was still that desire to break the rules inside him somewhere. James had never been one to follow along the beaten path and, now that he was, he was almost desperate to linger away from it sometimes. 

He could feel the bubbling of something move through his throat, a smile almost forced on his lips at whatever cheering charm or potion had been mixed with the drink. It tasted sweet, which made James’ eyebrows raise judgmentally at Marcus’ choice of beverage. “What the hell is that?”

Was James Potter really going to judge him for his choice of drink? Here? Marcus let out a low laugh. “That is a cocktail they’re calling Giddy Pop,” he said. “And your expression is priceless.” His tone was dry. He watched James’ face for a moment, but either the drink took longer than a couple seconds to take effect or James... maybe he was just too miserable. Judging Marcus for his drink? Really? When they were both at a party with Death Eaters, practically dancing on the graves of all the loved ones they’d lost. When James was working security for these people.  

“They have stronger stuff going around. Brandy, whisky...” But this had been the drink that intrigued Marcus. Was this the secret to how they could stand it? Drinks laced with the elixir? The key to plastering that smile on their lips as they committed murder? Marcus hoped so. At least then Marcus would know he had something in common with them aside from being a fucking coward, selfish enough to want life when everyone in his family had died. He had Marlene, of course. She’d still died though.

He drew in a long breath. “But what friend would I be if I let you miss out on all the fun.” 

Friends. That was a stretch. How could you be friends with someone when you were barely yourself? The word felt juvenile after everything they had been through and all the real friends they’d given up on to survive. 

He smiled, but he could feel it didn’t meet his eyes. The muscles in his face were tight, making it almost painful. He needed the elixir, he supposed. “If you ask me, Gabriel’s doing you and all the other security wix a favour. Not everyone’s a happy drunk. You might turn your nose up at the taste, but the euphoria inducing elixir is pacifying, so if you can’t keep the peace tonight...” His eyes followed a tray as it approached, as if summoned by their conversation. “...at least this can.” He took a glass from the tray and held it to his nose, smelling the contents.

@asphodelroot

That scream. Dread pooled over Marcus, filling every corner of his being. His heart lurched to his throat. He wished he could say he’d never heard a scream like it, but that would be lying. His face twisted with pain, the memory resurfacing. He could stand it when he knew it was coming, when he braced for it, but when it came out of the blue like this... When it caught him off guard... 

Marcus felt nauseous. He had to get out of here, but then the crowd shifted and his eyes landed on Gabriel. Not Gabriel. He could almost smell the meat cooking and he could hardly breath.

He’d drunk enough euphora that he shouldn’t be feeling this, and yet it was there, overwhelming, devastating pain. A scream like that was sobering. It was enough to turn back the last year and place Marcus in his back garden, his family lined up for the kill. One by one, sucked dry. He took a step back, bumping into someone or something, and whirled around as a crash rose up from his feet. Tray on the ground, glasses shattered. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. Guilt bled into the pain and his voice came out strained. “I’m so sorry. Let me...” He knelt to the ground; scrambled around for the broken glasses with his bare hands, forgetting his wand. But then he stopped, because that scream was joined by another, and another, and all around him people were gawking, whispering.

@ladylycorine

Marcus straightened his sleeves, rolling back his shoulders so that he stood an inch taller. He was learning. He had dressed his best, but not so well that he had the look of someone trying too hard. His robes he had purchased especially for parties like these, and they were plain because they were the only dress robes he had in his possession. The golden embroidery was subtle, and Marcus had taken to twisting it with a spell between formal events so that it took a new design each time he wore it. Tonight, it formed a neat braid along the cuffs. Anything more would be ostentatious for one who had climbed up from a pile of corpses.

If Narcissa had noticed him hovering, she didn’t show it. But then he would never have expected either of the Malfoys to acknowledge him so openly. He was just a McKinnon (and Marcus feared that was all he would ever be)--they had no reason to. But Marcus wanted more. What, he didn’t know exactly. Answers maybe. A map, someone to tell him what the fuck he was doing. A distraction from the past and the memories that replayed in his head every time he closed his eyes, every time he got even a whiff of iron or rust.

He waited until her conversation had ended and the wix she’d been speaking to moved on. Then he made his move, standing some two feet from Narcissa, observing the flowers decorating the hedge as if he wasn’t immune to any beauty they might possess. Oh Marcus saw it alright--these flowers were luminous, clearly imbued with magic--but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. These people had so much, while Marcus had sold his soul just to have a roof over his head. 

εжз : What about nature do they find calming? What about nature do they find disagreeable? 

Sent by @ladylycorine​.

@markedpotter

To Marcus, these parties were like standing on ice barefoot. Slippery and painful, but at the end of it all, numbing. Marcus hadn’t got to that numbing part yet though. He had reached stage two of the evening, where people had thrown spirits on top of their cruelty and started acting like they were burning bright with superiority. They got cocky, and that’s when they decided to use Marcus as a verbal punching bag. Talking like he wasn’t there--about him, rather than to him. Ripping his parents apart as if their murders hadn’t been punishment enough. Forgetting Marcus was supposed to die with them. Not even mentioning Marlene because even death had some dignity in it, but transitioning into a vampire? Not a chance. 

And it hurt. Marcus could feel it everywhere. He held a glass of Giddy Pop in his hand, not wanting to drink it, hating the idea of feeling happiness without them. But he just wanted to skip to the numb part. 

When Marcus first stepped through the gate onto Nott’s estate, he had scanned the garden, searching the sea of faces, and one of the faces he’d been hoping to find was James’. They didn’t even get along that well. Marcus just needed to know he was there. And so he’d kept a look out for James all through the evening, knowing if something was to kick off, he wanted to be in distance of him when it happened. Was this faith, he wondered? An irrational confidence in another person, even when that person was just as deep in shit as you were? If so, it was such a small piece of Marcus. Just a splinter. 

But now he was walking right up to him. For a moment, he didn’t speak, anger holding his tongue captive; just stood there holding onto that fucking glass. He drew in a breath. 

“These things are ridiculous.” It left his lips before he could help himself. “Have you seen what Gabriel’s serving?” He forced his lips into something shaped like a smile. “The word mermaid has been thrown around a couple times, so I’d stay away from the goat’s cheese. Is security allowed to drink at events like these?”