✻ tired & angry ✻

             There were always whispers about there being a certain madness passed down throughout the Black family. Sirius had never paid it much thought. To him, it seemed like an excuse someone deep within the ancestral tree had conjured up for being a terrible fucking person that was later twisted to be projected on those that turned their backs on pureblood society. He’d heard the jagged comments before he left: Andromeda’s gone a bit mad, hasn’t she? No one in their right mind would marry a muggle.              Essentially, he used to think that the “Black Family Madness” was bullshit. But after the past year, he’s starting to wonder if there was some validity in the old wives’ tale.              Paranoia was an old friend. He was used to seeing shadows in corners full of light, to suspecting those with a record far cleaner than his own. Hypervigilance was a character trait by now (oh how proud Moody must be), but over the past few months, paranoia had begun to feel less like ghosts and more like a genuine threat. He’d be more than happy to fight it off, turn it to cinders with the swish of his wand, but it looked too much like her.               Marlene McKinnon was dead. He’d buried her, and he’d drunk his way through her funeral to the point he was hoping he just wouldn’t wake in the morning. Yet she haunted him. She showed up in his dreams first, and he’d been able to meet her like an old friend. He’d told Lily, and she’d sworn that it was a coping mechanism of sorts, nothing to worry about. But then she started to materialize in other places. The corner of the Leaky, atop the stairs to his flat. She never looked quite herself, and Sirius began to accept that perhaps the key to Black Madness was loss coupled with an inability to let go. He learned to live with her ghost.               When Dumbledore suggested he take the mission to America, Sirius didn’t expect to carry her ghost with him. And for the first month, he didn’t. Feet on new ground, a purpose spread in front of him for the first time in months, he felt more centered than he had in ages. Maybe it was the beginning of moving on, or maybe he was mentally stealing himself for the next loss of his life. He may have been disowned from the Black family, but he’d never lost his glaringly affectionate spot for Regulus. He’d been sent to retrieve the Horcrux at all costs, yet there was a small part of him that was holding out for the possibility of making an even greater difference.               Whatever the reason, Sirius had peace. It was him, the Norton, and weeks of tracking his brother from town to town. It was him stopping at various wizarding libraries to see if he could uncover any new information on the nature of Horcrux’s. It was him getting his life back together – and then she started appearing again. But she was different this time, less translucent, less willing to stay in one spot. He only caught glimpses of her before she was gone again. This time, he wasn’t living with her ghost: he was running from it. The paranoia settled in yet again, and he felt as if he were the one being tracked. He wouldn’t put it past Regulus to try a trick like this to shake him off the trail, yet Sirius plowed forward, devoting all his energy to the chase in hopes it would relieve whatever was after him.                It worked, until it didn’t. It was the anniversary of Marlene’s funeral, one year of life without her, and Sirius took himself out of commission. It was a joint on the corner, a bottle of vodka from a gas station, and a cheap hotel room with a television set inside. He turned the volume up so loud that his neighbor came banging at the door. For five minutes, he ignored it, yet anger began to mount within him as the banging continued. Didn’t they know he was far too gone to care about niceties?                “Hey, asshole!”                Well, if the fight came to him. Sirius sprang from the bed and swung open the door, brow cocked and head tilted. “What?” he asked.                Then he saw her. It was just a flash of dark hair that quickly stepped inside a door on the ground floor, but he knew it was her. His neighbor was still shouting at him, but Sirius pushed passed him roughly. “Fuck, mate. Go on in and turn it off if you want, see if I care,” he said just before running down the stairs and across the parking lot. He paid no mind to room numbers or privacy, just tried the door immediately.                Locked. It was locked. Someone was in there, someone that looked startlingly like her. He slipped his wand from his back pocket and cast a quick alohomora under his breath. The lock clicked, and he stepped inside.                Her. It was her. After a year, after running, after moving on, her ghost was back. And this time it wanted nothing to do with him. There was irony in that, how he’d chased her for years before her disappearance and how he was chasing her even now, in the afterlife. Between such cruel irony and the vodka, he laughed. He even dared to take a seat on the bed, making himself at home, because he knew she’d be gone again in an instant.               “I thought I’d finally shaken you, Kitten.” 

It’s nobody’s fault but her own, at the end of the day.

Blaming Dumbledore would be easy, but it wouldn’t be honest, and loneliness forced introspection, regardless of how bitter the truth tasted. No one forced her to step out of line, to intervene & save an innocent at the risk of sacrificing herself - no one blamed her either, of course, the bounty on her head nothing but a beacon on all of their backs, a single target risking too many in her efforts to do the right thing. 

So in a night, everything changes; it’s either her or them all, and what was Marlene McKinnon if not a martyr for the cause? The best soldiers came with bloodstained hands, bowing to the tremendous burden that was asked of her to spare the lives of all the others by sacrificing her own. It’s quick & dirty work, transfiguring a rotting, disfigured corpse to have her face, her hair, her eyes, blue and empty and dead and staring back at her, reflecting every bad decision she had made to earn this ending to her story. 

(Within hours of her leaving the country, the werewolves came for “her” & her family. It would be deep in the heart of Georgia, two weeks after her abrupt departure from England, that Marlene would overhear all the gory details of the tragic story of their passing; the McKinnons five ruthlessly torn to shreds, barely identifiable when the Aurors arrived on scene, such was the bloodbath that had unfolded. The folklore always said that when a wolf got a taste for blood, the whole pack went into a frenzy, barely leaving investigators with bodies to bury. The brutal murders were elevated to national news, because they were made an example out of, and wizards everywhere mourned what the death of the McKinnons stood for - a change in times, when feral beasts could cash in grudges, and get away with it.)

And so, she doesn’t just sacrifice her own life; apparently, without realizing it, she sacrificed the lives of her kin in exchange for saving the Order, Dumbledore failure to intervene only further cementing the bewildering reality of Marlene’s new life. She left her wand behind, allegedly ‘confirming her identity’ by being present on scene (since “her” face wasn’t much help); she’s assured that she can’t get a new one either, lest the Death Eaters or werewolves find a way to track her magic. Robbed of her roots & trapped in America with no ability to communicate home, save for the few times Fawkes may visit to send her a protocol update, but even that occurrence became a rarity as fall bled into winter, and winter bloomed back into spring.  For a bit, time dragged on ceaselessly, no routine or purpose nearly driving Marlene mad, chasing down the feeling of anything at all, drowning her sorrows in vices & what little virtues she had left. 

Until one blazing hot summer’s day, while deep in the pines of Colorado, the phoenix joined her barbeque and delivered her first mission in months, Marlene having long since convinced herself that her membership with the Order had lapsed. A high stakes, long term tailing mission, that no one else could take thanks to the subject matter: Horcruxes and their destruction. Fawkes stayed the night with her, enjoying some freshly flayed rabbit as a reward for his intercontinental journey, before delivering her confirmation back across the pond the next morning. She made quick work of getting her bike ready for the haul back to the east coast, where she was instructed to meet her target within the next few weeks after they shipped in to Ellis Island - she had a lot of riding to do, and not much margin for mistake.

To be honest, that was what the next six months looked like, in essence. Marlene and her bike, winding across state highways and back routes, no true destination but wherever her target led her. She had been advised to keep her distance, lest she spooked him if she got too close. Oftentimes, she lost him, still unfamiliar with the terrain of the New World and at a noticeable disadvantage without magic. Sometimes, she got lucky enough to collect a clue or two as to where he was heading next, but for the most part, he gave her a good run for her money. So good, in fact, it took her almost two months of chasing the kid before finally getting close enough to realize she wasn’t following just any Death Eater around the continental United States; no, she was following none other than Regulus Black.

Unsurprisingly, this recognition elevated Marlene to a level of ... unprofessional antipathy, not finding Dumbledore’s mission very stimulating anymore; instead, she was angry, angry at what she had lost, angry at what she’d been given as if it was some kind of consolation prize, angry that she had traded her life to be the bloodhound of a man she barely respected, let alone liked. She felt like Atlas, shouldering the world, bearing the weight of humanity despite not knowing the personal cost - always half truths and white lies, when it came to Dumbledore, and it’s nearly impossible to shoulder the heaviest parts of her now-jaded worldview and continue forward. Somehow she does, but she lacked enthusiasm, and the time wasted by her shattered motivations spurred Dumbledore to make an adjustment in his bloody master plan. 

She doesn’t even realize it’s Sirius, her Sirius, when she happened across him the first few times, actually assuming she had miscalculated her distance from Regulus and crossed his path too soon, doubling back until that move proved incorrect. It took around a month of wasted gas and back tracks to finally figure out that Regulus hadn’t conjured a body double, or gotten a large supply of Polyjuice potions. By the time her deductions make sense, she was faced with another impossible choice: to continue her mission like the good soldier she had given everything & proven to be, or to finally stop chasing down the ghosts of her past. She hadn’t made her choice. It would seem as if she chose the good soldier route, like she always did, but after two months of tailing her favorite ghost of all, she couldn’t help but accept the truth - he was simply better at this than her, and maybe, her time in the Order was finally coming to a close. Maybe that’s what Dumbledore had wanted her to realize months ago, when he had first sent Sirius along her path, signaling the end to her messy tenure. Funny enough, it’s this very thought that’s gnawing at Marlene as she traipsed into her motel room, not ignorant to the day’s date either as she set the brown bag down heavily atop the mini-fridge, uncapping the fifth of gin and taking several long swigs, until the burn of the liquor finally burned her nose and throat enough that her eyes had begun to water. Squeezing them shut kept them from overflowing, although she barely has a moment of peace before her ( previously locked ) door swung open unceremoniously, revealing none other than her personal ghost of heartache’s past, bleary silver eyes staring at her like she was fucking divine, before the man had the audacity to bloody laugh and make himself comfortable on her bed. 

She must’ve been drugged. Yep, that was it, the store clerk had drugged her gin. She had seen something on Dateline about that, probably. It was the only explanation for why Sirius Black ( her Sirius ) would be sitting in the motel room of his ex-partner on this night, of all nights, despite Marlene having followed him for months at this point without him barely taking a second glance back at her. 

“What’re you.... doing here...?” her voice far away and breathless and unsure what was unfolding in front of her was real or maybe not an accidentally drug-fueled delusion, but just a product of too many months on the road alone, chasing dark locks and shifty movements that reminded her of sunsets and burnt petrol and freedom, day dreamed projections of what once was replacing the truth. 

“Shaken me?” Marlene repeated back dumbly, rooted in her spot, her entire body straining to settle down beside him, to find a comfort she had been robbed blindly of just one lonely year ago. She was afraid if she moved even an inch, she would shatter whatever wonderful illusion had fallen over them, that allowed Marlene a moment of reprieve from Sirius’ signature Black family anger that she was positive she had earned. She had often lost herself to the daydream of a confrontation between them, not that she had much to say; apologies didn’t erase her epitaph, but it would’ve been a decent place to start. She had no idea why it had taken until today to occur, sure Sirius had caught sight of her before but never having acted on it, his lack of behavior only left her to assume the best. 

“Sorry, is this some kind of joke to you? You see a dead person, and you laugh?!”

𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖊 𝔪𝔠𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔫, 𝖝 𝖝 . . . . . . .    

She’s a flower, born to be planted but kept from blooming. Fragility was a privilege she had never earned; her father and his kin see to that, hardening her for the world to come, doling out severities in the name of love. She’s born of rage, of storms, of prejudiced hate - the poisoned ground of The Farm was no place for her to grow, but they try their damnedest to keep her rooted there, despite the inevitable future to unfold. 

Seven years pass, and she’s given a fighting chance to be more than the darkness spoon fed from birth. She found a family within friends, a home within the castle, a heart within her hate. It’s messy, and large, and overflows with love she doesn’t have an outlet for, outside of flying and friends and fickle foolishness.      

There’s another, but he’s dark like her, and eats through love selfishly, without worry or woe of what he could give in return. And he leaves, as she always feared he would, and something delicate inside of her breaks under the burden of festering affection with nowhere to go. All she can feel is her born-again rage. It takes everything not to rip them both to shreds in her acrimony; somehow, she survives this heartbreak, but it costs her the softness she had finally found in the comfort of his arms.     

There’s a war on the horizon, and she’s not blind to her place in it. Her dreams almost fall wayside so she can take her place in the good fight, until she’s told it’s not her battleground anymore. An opportunity is presented to her - to do more than just die for the cause, to be another soldier in a grave, to meet the same fate as those who stood before her.

A spy mission to Bulgaria wrapped in a red, green, and white bow, under the guise of being recruited for the European League, a pretty little Beater without anywhere else to play thanks to those filthy mudbloods infiltrating the British & Irish League. An easy ruse to lean into, her anger never waning as frigid winters and cool summers bled together seamlessly, no suspicion placed on her as McKinnon pure blood eased the worst of her transition. For two years, there’s no one. No letters are allowed to be written, no holidays spent back home, nothing but the occasional international Prophet to inform her of the death and decay of her old life.       

Her target finally goes into the wind, and she’s called back home to take up arms and resume the battle, like she had never left. But she had, and although most don’t care, one still remembers. He still remembers.       

She’s been painted black, though she used to be golden. It hurts in the way a scar may ache with phantom pain, despite the wound healing itself years before in a contorted mess. Every time she looks at him, it stings a little more, but there’s nothing she can do. Three years have indoctrinated her to the constant pain of being alive but alone, her suffering becoming easier than breathing. The margins where they used to fit together so peacefully have become their own war zone, time & distance creating a chasm that she doesn’t know how to cross, even if she wanted to. She keeps telling herself that their love was just another casualty of war.       

& all the kids cried out  “p l e a s e stop you’re scaring me!” i can’t help this awful energy.

i paced around for hours on empty, i jumped at the slightest of sounds & i couldn't stand the person inside me i turned all the mirrors around

                              i'm bigger than my b o d y                      i'm colder than this h o m e                               i'm meaner than my d e m o n  s                     i'm bigger than these b o n e s

O P E R A T I O N   лъвска глава (lŭvska glava) tr.               L  I  O  N  ‘ S  H  E  A  D          05.1 9 7 8  --  10.1 9 8 1

“State your name.”

“Seriously?” Marlene sighed, arms folding over her chest, tone quietly exasperated though falling in volume as more Order members seemed to file into the room by the minute now that the official proceedings had started. Familiar faces didn’t award her any relief - in fact, she was only more nervous now, fingers folding and pressing blunt nails into scarred palms. She was still fighting to keep the annoyance from her features when Emmeline Vance raised a silent brow at her, awaiting her response as patiently as ever. 

No time like the present. Another sigh as Marlene kept her gaze trained on Emmeline, pointedly ignoring other faces entering the room ( him, of all people, still late as always ) as she focused on her breathing. Deep breathing. She knew this was coming - she had time to prepare. Still, she was unsettled; she ignored the quelling of fear in her chest as she opened her mouth, practically blacking out as soon as she began to speak.

“Marlene Alexandria McKinnon.”

Operative Vulpes was stationed in Vratsa, Bulgaria, a little over 100 km from the capital city of Sofia. The official mission of Lion’s Head was to infiltrate an underground unit of Igor Karkaroff’s Death Eaters, operating in the Slavic region with a focus on recruitment in Bulgarian ghettos. Given the previous information gathered on Karkaroff and his corruption of local Ministry authorities, Vratsa was identified as an intelligence hot-spot. Op. Vulpes was assigned to become recruited by the Bulgarian European team, the Vultures, to establish a connection within the gang and feed intelligence back to the Order on any outstanding threats or attacks that could be carried out.

There was an overall motivation to identify the communication hierarchy within the Death Eaters, specifically in relation to Igor Karkaroff and Malcolm McKinnon, his alleged foreign contact. No official evidence of their contact was collected*. Malcolm McKinnon was never spotted in Bulgaria, or the Slavic region, despite Op. Vulpes best attempts.

Op. Vulpes succeeded in establishing a cover and operated for three years in Vratsa. Operative was joined by Op. Moony from 1979-1980 to secure a second cover within the underground faction; Op. Moony was reassigned 02.1980 for reasons unrelated.*

Op. Vulpes overall mission was an established success, despite its failure outcome. For reasons unknown to the Order’s intelligence network, all of Op. Vulpes’ contacts, informants, and evidence in both Vratsa and London seem to have disappeared without any explanation. ** Op. Vulpes exceeded her stay abroad and was brought home by her handler, Op. Zeus, to continue intelligence work on 10.1981. Operation Lion’s Head was officially disbanded on 10.1981. 

Successful assisted missions are as followed. Operation Alleystrike; Operation Cavewater*; Operation Error; Operation [King of] Spades*; Operation Opal*. 

Failed assisted missions are as followed. Operation Bulldoze; Operation Fly Free*; Operation Moon Watch; Operation Orchid*; Operation Scorched Letters*

Official body count: 127 Estimated innocents: 84 Estimated suspects: 43

NOTES: Deep undercover surveillance has had an obvious effect on the operative. Op. Vulpes exhibits several nervous behaviors, including (but not limited to): grinding teeth, shaking hands / clenching fists, shortness of temper, emotional displacement from environment; frequent & obsessive identification of exits, and highly reactive to sudden sounds & movements. These behaviors are only exhibited when Op. Vulpes addressed specific missions that seemed to have a personal effect on her, most obviously being Operation Spades and Operation Fly Free. Both Operations are NTK and therefore, cannot be expanded upon further as their influence over Op. Vulpes mental well-being. 

OP. VULPES IS NOT CONFIRMED FOR ACTIVE ROSTER***

it’s crazy when the thing you love the most is the detriment             { & let that sink in. }

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

“No guts, no glory. No legend, no story.” “Well fed devils behave better than famished saints.” “A mess of beautiful contradictions makes her whole;                                 she wears fire for skin but there’s a storm in her soul.” “Some days I am more wolf than woman & I am still learning not to apologize for my wild.”

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Marlene Alexandria McKinnon NICKNAMES: Mar, Marls, Marley, McKitten, McKiller AGE: 21 BIRTHDAY: August 2nd GENDER: Female PRONOUNS: She / her

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Marigold McKinnon FATHER: Matthius McKinnon SIBLINGS: Malcolm (30), Markus (26), Miles (24)

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Naomi Scott BUILD: Petite HAIR: Naturally wavy; recently took to keeping it cropped above the shoulders  HAIR COLOR: Raven black EYE COLOR: Dark brown SKIN COLOR: Soft brown w. pink undertones DOMINANT HAND: Right ANOMALIES: Birth mark on the upper right side of her lip; general slew of tattoos & scars SCENT: Cigarette smoke, artificial strawberry, brown sugar & coconut, soft musk ACCENT: British ALLERGIES: Molluscs DISORDERS: PTSD, anxiety, manic depression FASHION: Punk rock / pre-grunge  NERVOUS TICS: Biting lower lip, clenched jaw, clenched fists, chain-smoking QUIRKS: Constantly fidgets if bored; tucks hair behind both ears when focused

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: Couch-surfing ? temporairly BORN: Firbank, United Kingdom RAISED: The Farm, on the west hill near the River Lune PETS: Stevie, her pygmy tawny owl that she had since her first year of Hogwarts. They were recently reunited after Marlene returned from her mission abroad.

CAREER: Beater, Wimbourne Wasps EXPERIENCE: Three years on the Gryffindor House team, three years on the Vratsa Vultures in Bulgaria EMPLOYER: British & Irish Quidditch League

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Member of the Order of the Phoenix BELIEFS: Anti-blood purity, pro-muggle / muggleborn  MISDEMEANORS: Yes [[ REDACTED ]] FELONIES: Yes [[ REDACTED ]] DRUGS: Yes; et al SMOKES: Yes, regularly smokes Marlboro Reds ALCOHOL: Yes, et al DIET: Mostly takeout or simple meals she can make easily since she’s a terrible cook

LANGUAGES: English, Latin, Bulgarian & its derivatives - Russian, Ukrainian, Polish, Serbian, Czech

PHOBIAS: Falling from deadly heights HOBBIES: Tinkering with muggle gadgets & technology, mindlessly strumming her guitar, running to clear her mind, reading, vinyl shopping TRAITS: { + }: practical, spontaneous, rational, loyal { - }: stubborn, insensitive, non-committal, self-sabotaging

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: London SPORTS TEAM: Montrose Magpies GAME: Gobstones, stabberscotch, Bulgarian roulette MUSIC: Journey, Genesis, The Rolling Stones, REO Speedwagon, Blue Oyster Cult MOVIES: Rebel Without a Cause, Easy Rider, The Wild One FOOD: Pizza, fries, chinese - local or bust BEVERAGE: Firewhiskey, regular whiskey COLOR: Burgundy red

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Gryffindor WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core): Eleven inches & slightly yielding, red oak, phoenix feather AMORTENTIA: Fresh roasted coffee beans, cigarette smoke, baked apple tart PATRONUS: Red fox BOGGART: Her brother, Malcolm, in all his Death Eater glory 

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic good  MBTI: ISTP-A: The Virtuoso MBTI ROLE: Assertive ENNEAGRAM: Type 8 ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Challenger TEMPERAMENT: Responder WESTERN ZODIAC: Leo - the Lion CHINESE ZODIAC: Pig PRIMAL SIGN: Quetzal HOGWARTS HOUSE: Gryffindor TAROT CARD: The Sun TV TROPES: Tiny Badass, The Head vs The Heart, The Rebel Daughter SONG: Nightmare - Halsey; Miracle - CHVRCHES; Renegade - Paramore

Bellatrix stepped back after sending the tree branches in Marlene’s direction, taking a second to compose herself and sort her dress out. Unlike Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix didn’t feel the need to look pristine at any given moment, but given the fact that Marlene wasn’t giving her much of a fight at all despite all her bravado, Bellatrix had time to spare. 

Now as Marlene lay still, Bellatrix saw her chance. Sauntering towards her victim, Bellatrix saw the blasting curse too late. Her wand slashed in the air to try and shield it but her magic wasn’t powerful enough to block the strength of Marlene’s curse. The floor slipped from underneath her and Bellatrix was flying through the air before she knew it. 

A pained groan escaped from her lips as she hit the floor, a large rock impacting right at the small of her back. Rolling over she pressed her hand to her back and it came away wet with blood. It appeared that the impact of her fall had split her skin. Her ears were ringing with the impact of the curse and her head was spinning. Infuriated, power burned within her and she forced herself to stand. The pain in her back was nothing compared to some of the pain that the Dark Lord had unleashed upon her and she could work through this early. But the pain was a reminder of the mission at hand - to restore her full power. 

Her mouth had filled with blood - filthy blood - and Bellatrix saw red. Spitting out the blood she roared in fury, a sound so ferocious that if there were any animals in the vicinity they would have turned and ran at the sound of a predator preparing to sink her teeth into prey. 

Casting quietus on her feet so that Marlene wouldn’t hear her until it was already too late, Bellatrix began to creep towards her. Her wand flicked and upon command the knives hovered just behind her, moving forward as Bellatrix did. A grotesque smirk played on her lips as she spotted Marlene ripping a tree branch from her side. Now she moved with purpose - she’d had enough of this child’s play and wanted to get to the real fun.  

Her wand slashed in the air and the knives moved to pin Marlene down, deeper than before. A knife fight Marlene had wanted, was it not? And yet the woman was so far out of her depth it was laughable. “You had your chance to show me a real fight, McKinnon. You proved that you’re all talk, no power. It’s no surprise really, merely confirming what Malcolm has told me,” Bellatrix crooned, crouching beside Marlene. Reaching for one of the blades, Bellatrix drove it hilt deep into Marlene’s left side, replacing the wound that Marlene had just healed.

As blood, pure blood rushed over Bellatrix’s hand from the fresh wound, a sick smile carved itself upon Bellatrix’s lips. With her other hand, Bellatrix used her wand to tap against Marlene’s temple. Now that the woman was out cold, Bella wrapped her fingers around Marlene’s wrist and disapparated them to the cellar of Lestrange Manor.

Marlene barely had a chance to react to Bellatrix’s words, a deep furrow in her brow and thinly veiled surprise in her eyes, before the witch sunk one of the knives deep into Marlene’s side. The gasp of pain on her lips was lost as Bellatrix’s wand touched her temple, effectively knocking her out as everything went black. 

When she finally woke up, she could almost convince herself she was dreaming. It felt like she was floating, but she couldn’t figure out why as she took in her surroundings under bleary gaze. The room was dark aside from a few candles flickering, the dancing shadows making it hard to discern what was actually around her and not a trick of the light. She tried to suck in a shuddering breath, but was met instead by a stabbing resistance, the familiar agony causing her to cough raggedly. The noise would give away her consciousness, but she needed to figure out where she was, her unknown surroundings causing fear to prickle uncomfortably in her gut. Blood and spit dribbled down her chin as Marlene made a concerted effort to pick her head back up and lull it backwards, only just now realizing the predicament she was in.

A smug smirk of satisfaction played on Bellatrix’s lips at the way Marlene’s emotions played out so clearly across her face. It appeared everything had worked perfectly - and if Marlene was as foolish and inexperienced as Malcolm had suggested, then it was unlikely the pair would be interrupted. How fortunate she was that the ministry had thrown an event which gave the Death Eaters a wide playground, causing all sorts of havoc amongst wizards and muggles alike. 

Everyone was so busy sorting out the mess that had been made beforehand that nobody would miss Marlene McKinnon.

Not until it was too late.

Cocking her head in interest as her enchanted knives pinned Marlene to the nearest tree with a degree of force Bellatrix didn’t know they had, Bella took a few steps forward. She expected Marlene to break free with ease - after all, Bellatrix hadn’t disarmed her yet. Her dagger still firmly gripped in her left hand, Bellatrix almost hoped that Marlene chose to do things the muggle way and run at her. Carving into a victim with her dagger was far more intimate, far more degrading than a diffindo could ever be.

Watching Marlene from a distance for some time had told her that the other woman was fiery, and ready to fight at a given opportunity. Certainly she talked a big talk - the idea that this woman, this blood-traitor, could best Bellatrix Lestrange was a laughable thought. And yet part of Bellatrix wanted Marlene to prove herself - to give her the fight that she’d craved when she’d enticed Potter, when she’d enticed Lupin. The fight that she knew she would get if she could get her hands on Sirius. He, at least, wouldn’t disappoint in that matter. 

Bellatrix’s gaze followed Marlene’s wand and her own wand was pointed above her in an instant, the branches that were now on fire hovering just inches above her head. In the darkness of the alcove, Bellatrix was sure that the fire was illuminating the madness in her eyes all the more - Marlene truly had no idea what she’d allowed herself in for. “Marlene, my dear, if you are going to try and duel someone the first rule is to not be so obvious about your moves.” A lazy flick of her wand and Bellatrix sent the burning branch hurtling at speed towards Marlene. 

Another step towards Marlene.

Upon Bellatrix’s lips was a grotesque smile as she aimed her wand a few inches above Marlene’s head, wordlessly casting expulso. The tree behind Marlene shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, small pieces of splintered wood flying in every direction. A protego ensured that Bellatrix was not harmed, but Marlene would surely not be so lucky. 

“Are you going to give me a real fight? Your friend James kept throwing pathetic little jinxes at me, jinxes that one might expect a second year to use in the Hogwarts corridors. He was easy to break, easy to pull apart. All I had to do was threaten Evans and Black and he broke. Will you be the same, or will you offer me a fight that’s worthy of my time? Malcolm told me all about your powerful bloodline, and I confess….so far I’m relatively disappointed in you, Marlene. This is child’s play.”

A fair critique, given Marlene was now on the other end of a rapidly approaching ball of fire. A gasp heaved at her chest as she relied on instinct alone, not thinking as her wand jerked in a tight circle above her head, a white halo spun wordlessly from her wand. It was some dumb charm Magnus had taught her, after learning her natural affinity for fire spells, in an effort to keep her safe from herself. It was an okay move to make, considering when the cluster of branches hit her dead on, she’s not immediately burned beyond recognition by its boiling flames. 

She was, however, basically hit by a tree, and coupled with the wooden bomb that went off behind her, Marlene’s understandably thrown through a very literal loop.

Collapsed to the alcove ground, her nose sunk into the rotted leaves and stench of decay, she had no choice but to lay dazed for a moment as Bellatrix began speaking, struggling to make out her words. That was, until Marlene realized the witch was taunting her, mocking her ability to fight; a single ember only needed a breeze to become a flame again, Marlene grimaced into the mud and took the slowest, deepest inhaling breath. She needed to focus her anger inward. 

She managed to stay still, allowing Bellatrix the illusion of playing with her food, trying to pin point exactly where she stood without Marlene looking up and giving away her only advantage yet. Her hand suddenly tightened its grip, funneling all her sinister hatred towards Bellatrix into one deafening burst, her Blasting Curse’s echoing roar drowning out the second half of her incantation. 

In fact, it’s so powerful, that Marlene found herself being thrown backward through the air, like a rag doll, from the sheer force of the blast, landing hard against a mess of rocks, dead trees, and unexpectedly hard soil next to the clearing. At first, she thought the resounding impact knocked the wind from her lungs, mouth gaping pathetically as she tried to suck in a breath. She never realized how sweet air tasted until she was gasping for it. It’s hard to focus on much of anything with the ringing in her ears from the explosion, coherent thought lost as she roughly slapped at her left side until she felt a sharp burst of pure agony. 

Her hand was warm and wet as fingertips grappled foolishly against a... branch? A jaggedly sharp shard of tree, perhaps, given the unfamiliar splintering underneath her palm. Marlene can feel that it’s a gruesome injury, knowing she’ll buckle under the pain of impalement that much more if she actually sees it. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled, with her last burst of energy as she rode out the numbing wave of adrenaline, until it gave way and slid from its juncture between her ribs.

Instead of feeling like something was keeping her from breathing, now Marlene simply couldn’t breathe, the gaping wound left behind making it impossible for her lung to fill with air. It was a hurried maneuver to shove the tip of her wand, still miraculously in hand, against where her body ached the most, the near excruciating pain beginning to lift as her brain screamed ‘Episkey!’ though her lips barely moved. It took two more that were panted underneath her breath before Marlene felt a wave of healing magic sweep across her body, mostly focused on her internal bleeding as it seemed most of her surface injuries remained. 

A swell of courage alights her chest as Marlene’s eyes wrenched open, ready to hop to her feet and continue the fight. Not dead yet. Instead, she realized with blood chilling clarity that Bellatrix’s footfalls sounded not nearby, but practically on top of her. It’s already too late as Marlene wrenched her head backwards, limbs fumbling to push her to her feet again, too focused on the haunting horror of Bellatrix’s nearly approached form to hear the cacophony of metal blades clinking together above her. 

This time, her instincts weren’t ready as the enchanted knives made their return, deftly raining down on her and pinning her to the forest floor, sinking hilt-deep into the ground to secure her in place. Marlene realized with a very sudden, painful tranquility that regardless of what happened next, today may very well be the day she died. It’s with this annoying sense of clarity that she gazed up at Bellatrix looming over her, having the audacity to huff with indignation at her undeniable loss. As if they were two kids having a jest in the school yard. 

“If you let me go, I’ll show you a real fight,” she spat out, despite the obviously deteriorating scenario unfolding around her, to which she had no advantage over. Still, Marlene would rather be run down like a fox during a hunt than die like this, on her back, like a victim. Her agitation was quite clear as she struggled against the blades binding her to the ground, to no avail, much to her growing terror.

It had been some time since Lily Evans had dirtied Bellatrix’s pure blood with her muggle blood. 

The majority of the time since leaving St Mungos had been spent plotting, a plan that came together ever so slowly. Bellatrix Lestrange was not a patient woman, but something like this required a meticulous plan. She’d gathered supplies ever so slowly so as not to arouse much suspicion, and had spent weeks pouring over pure-blooded lineages to find the perfect victim. Their blood had to be powerful enough to remove the muggle-blood that now ran in her veins, but also could not be from those within their ranks lest news of her filthiness spread far further than she would wish.

Her first choice was Sirius Black. But Sirius Black continued to avoid her.

It was his turn soon.

Slowly, things began to fall into place. Bellatrix had been willing to take her time to plot this fully, and Merlin she had been rewarded for it. Whispers began to make their way to her shortly after she had tortured James Potter - that a few of his friends had been overheard pledging revenge. A spark of hope had festered within her, a hope that one of those friends may indeed be Sirius Black. She could cleanse her blood, and cleanse their family tree - two birds with one stone. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. But what did become clear was that Marlene McKinnon was the perfect candidate for her ritual.

Young, inexperienced, foolish, hot-headed. All words that Malcolm McKinnon had used to describe his younger sister after consuming a fair amount of firewhiskey in the White Wyvern one hot summer’s night. Reasonably confident that he was drunk enough not to remember the conversation in its entirely, Bellatrix had pressed him for more information on the power in their bloodline under the pretence of mere interest. 

Now knowing the power in their bloodline, Bellatrix had researched Marlene McKinnon. Best friends with James Potter and Lily Evans, a new recruit to the Department of Mysteries. Some careful watching over a period of weeks from a distance, and a few well placed spies later, and Bellatrix had solidified Marlene as her victim. Bellatrix had even spotted Marlene creeping around with a man in London one night and sent a much lower down Death Eater to follow them quietly with orders to only report if Marlene said anything about Bellatrix or persons of interest such as Potter, Black or Evans - he was a silent witness to their antics in the pub where Marlene had so boldly claimed that she would take her chances in a knife fight with Bellatrix than be a slave to Rodolphus. 

She would have her chance.

The chaos following the Puddletown attack afforded Bellatrix the perfect opportunity. Ministry departments were thrown into a huge panic to deal with the aftermath of the attack, and the knowledge that Fabian’s cousin had been an unfortunate victim gave her a small window. Knowing that Marlene McKinnon sought her chance with Bellatrix, Bella was more than willing to set up that opportunity. She sent an anonymous tip to Fabian Prewett’s office. Assuming that the tip did make it’s way to the woman whom Bellatrix sought, this was her chance. Her chance to cleanse herself. Well planned, well timed. There was no way this could go Marlene’s way - Bellatrix would catch her off-guard, and all she required was a hand on her person somewhere in order to whisk them back to Lestrange manor. 

She had warded the alcove earlier to prevent anyone who apparated in from leaving without Bellatrix’s express permission. If Marlene wanted to escape, she would have to run. Just as planned, Bellatrix only had to wait a short time after sending her owl before Marlene appeared before her - evidently expecting to find Bellatrix heavily injured.

Foolish girl.

Stepping forward with her wand in one hand, dagger in the other, Bellatrix smiled wickedly at Marlene. 

“I heard you wanted a chance at a knife fight with me, my dear,” Bellatrix cooed before flicking her wand. A set of knives that she had enchanted and laid out behind her earlier levitated in the air before zooming towards Marlene - enchanted to miss by just a few inches. Terrify her into action - that was the goal. Wear her down to a point of exhaustion - all of Bellatrix’s training with Voldemort had given her an extreme stamina.

“Take your shot.”

Confusion registered across her features, but Marlene doesn’t exactly have time to be surprised as she whipped around, gaze following the mocking croon. Her wide-eyed stare met Bellatrix’s, who was looking very healthy and not at all fatally injured. A trap indeed. This horrifying realization, however, was nothing compared to the plethora of knives that suddenly rose over Bellatrix’s head before careening toward her as Marlene slashed her wand across her body, not thinking as she gave a shout.

Her haphazard ‘Protego!’ protected her from the worst of the blades, but that doesn’t stop Bellatrix’s enchantment from finishing itself, only momentarily distracted from its intention. She might as well have tried swatting them away with the back of her hand. The knife points caught sharply against the seams of her robes, nicking the skin underneath as they powerfully dragged Marlene backwards. To her surprise, her torso met the bark of a tree with a resounding amount of force, head whipping against it rough enough that Marlene saw stars for a moment. 

Constant vigilance. It’s the only phrase roaring between her ears, heard in Moody’s voice as his face swam into her blurred vision. He had tried to teach her to carefully think through plans and strategies, adjusting her tactics based on her opponent... But to be honest, Marlene’s already forgotten those lessons she had sought, specifically for this moment. Dazed as she tried to understand what Bellatrix said, but not for long. Dueling alone sparked a fire in Marlene not many had seen, a side of her magic she kept hidden and controlled since that day out in the meadow, when she’d nearly burned down the Farm over a silly game. With Bellatrix on the other side of the glen, stalking toward Marlene with that psychotic hunger she only ever seen once before, in the eyes of her own brother... Restraint wasn’t exactly an option anymore.

In fact, a familiar explosion of heat bombarded Marlene, extending to each of her limbs, fighting off the enveloping numbness that was threatening to incapacitate her. This would not be how she died - this would not be the end of her story. Fear wasn’t an option. In its place sizzled her now exacerbated need for justification, vindication.... later she’d call it courage, but in truth, it was the burning desire for revenge. 

She felt something warm trickle down the back of her head, but she paid it no attention, her characteristic one track mind now set on retribution - nothing less would satisfy the dark hunger in her gut, craving to dole out the same pain Bellatrix had bestowed on the people she loved. An eye for an eye - or maybe both, if Marlene could manage. 

The fire inside her had been lit, and now, there was nothing she could do but succumb to the blind rage detonating inside her. “Relashio!” she spat out, the knives clattering to the ground around her, bearing them no mind as she approached her target. Hadn’t she always claimed the best defense was a deadly offense? Now was the time to test such a theory. 

“Why settle for a knife fight? I have a better plan for you,” Marlene snapped back; no fear, no nerves, nothing more than a deadly devotion to this battle ending with one of them in a grave. Her brown eyes burned like lit embers, a sinister wildfire beginning to spark under her skin. Marlene’s arm slashed upward through the air again, her favorite spell falling from her lips as she aimed at the branches above Bellatrix, snarling her ‘Incendio! and hoping to Merlin she would get the chance to watch the she-demon burn alive.

Since Fabian’s sabbatical began the day after the Puddlemere disaster, Marlene had been left on her own at work, largely unsupervised aside from the few Unspeakables willing to step into the mentor role for a passing day or two.  It was fine, though, because it left Marlene the entire day to fill with passing daydreams, brow furrowed as she worked on the crystal ball assignment Fabian had left for her, but her mind was elsewhere.

A figure swirled in the glass, much to her astonishment, and Marlene let out a yelp before realizing it was simply a reflection of an owl that had perched on Fabian’s office window. A soft smile touched to her features, rising and approaching slowly, accepting the various mail attached before beginning to flip through it distractedly. 

It was a nasty habit she needed to break. It was only because she was alone, and utterly bored, that she had started opening Fabian’s mail - she knew it wasn’t okay, a potentially fatal rip to their delicate relationship if he ever found out, but that was sort of the point. Fabian wasn’t here, and what if one of these letters were urgent? Could he fault her for being curious, when he’s been encouraging it out of her since she had arrived weeks before? Wasn’t his mail simply another mystery to be solved, except without a department dedicated to it? It was this line of reasoning that has her carefully working open each of the envelopes and scrolls, meticulous in her wrongdoing so that she could repair the seals and leave Fabian none the wiser. Better than staring at a broken crystal ball...

It’s rare for them to receive Order assignments this way, so Marlene found herself colored with surprise when she extracted a familiar manila document. She’d seen Fabian collect one only once before, and he had been understandably wary to share it with her. Now though, there was no one to stop her. Marlene could see her fingertips shaking as she carefully extracted the intel, taking a precursory glance around the room, a nervous tic for a troublemaker about to do something bad.

She can’t believe the words once she’s reading them, hungrily consuming mission details that weren’t meant for her. If she had any sense or authority in the Order, Marlene would check for the correct security protocols, wave her wand over the page to expose any secret information, confirm this letter was real and significant and not a hoax. The problem is that Marlene has neither authority nor sense, and she doesn’t even check the code name the letter was signed with, having promptly thrown the page onto Fabian’s desk as she left his office with newfound purpose.

Bellatrix Lestrange..... The devil woman herself, the person who had nearly taken James from her, the face of everything Marlene despised about pureblood society; the name alone sent her blood boiling.... Critically injured, remote location..... At a reasonable disadvantage, it seemed - Marlene knew she was strong, had heard the bone-chilling story of James’ experience at her hand, but under the right circumstances? Maybe she had a chance to turn the tide of this war... Do not call for backup. Support will meet you there.... If it all went according to the half formed plan in Marlene’s head, they’d arrive just in time to take away Bellatrix’s recently deceased corpse. A mental image that sent Marlene practically running through the halls of the Ministry, this level of excitement nearly intoxicating at the opportunity presenting itself, so much so that it’s dizzying thrill kept her from thinking critically about what she was inviting to unfold.

A few steps through the Floo Network and one perfectly placed Apparation later, Marlene found herself standing in a darkly shrouded alcove of trees. It wasn’t what she expected, to say the least - it was still late afternoon, and yet, the trees reached so high in this forest that the sun seemed to disappear all together. It’s cold too, eerily so, the kind of chill that seeped into her bones and instantly sapped the blind courage from her veins. A soldier who had rushed head first into a battle only to find a dead end. It was..... foreboding. It was disheartening.

Somewhere behind her, a twig snapped. A second too late, and Marlene realized, this was no Order mission - this was a trap. 

After years of crafting intricate plans and executing ridiculously complex pranks, Sirius was used to a few strategies coming up a bit short. Despite the inevitable disappointment, there was always a sense that the next time would be grander to make up for the misstep. There was always the possibility of another day, another prank, another chance to raise just enough of a riot to create life. 

He didn’t feel that way now. He had miscalculated, misstepped, and misspoke. And as Marlene walked away, he knew that there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow. She was closing the door between them, locking it and tossing the key out of reach. It shouldn’t sting as much as it did, considering he had been the first to begin their ruination, but he still suddenly felt too heavy, too foggy, too dismal to do anything about the growing distance. 

See, she was right. As much as Sirius loved to argue with her, this was a case where he knew every word from her mouth to be that of truth. Instead of pretending that they had never made a mistake, he was forced to acknowledge that what he had done carried consequences that couldn’t simply vanish because he wanted his… what? Friend felt too weak a word, soulmate too strong. Marlene was simply Marlene, and damn it, he wanted her back. 

But he didn’t want to give up the part of himself that she needed. She had asked too much of him, he had given what he could, and instead of meeting halfway they had fallen apart. Standing here, alone in an alley, felt strangely appropriate with that in mind. There was nothing like the smell of stale whiskey on his shirt and regret on his tongue to remind him that their ragged edges were now sharp and jagged instead of complementary. 

Even as he thought of how their friendship had shattered, his fingers splayed against the closed door to the Leaky. All he had to do was turn the knob, step inside, and offer an apology for… well, he wasn’t sure, but he could start with leaving, then segue into his inability to love the way she wanted. He could feel the speech beginning to form, and his fingertips grazed the door handle before a loud crack filled the alley. 

One day, Sirius would learn humility. Tonight, he decided his evening would be better spent forgetting the past few months.