Chapter Text
2 September 1971, Thursday
The first time Dorcas saw Marlene McKinnon, she was in Potions class. Standing by a cauldron in the front as Slughorn went on about proper brewing precautions. Eleven years old, the first day of classes. The first of a lot of things.
Dorcas stood stiffly, feeling constricted by the new Slytherin robes she wore. Another disappointment, the school year was already off to a terrible start. A house born out of hostility, where the first question was always about lineage.
How much are you like us? They all seemed to ask, and the answer was not enough, never enough. Dorcas was not one of them. She felt it just standing there, like the robes didn’t quite fit. She was a fraud, putting on a show for anyone looking.
She was already learning to keep her face neutral, to not react when they sneered. Even after only a day, she had begun to sneer back. She was lucky coldness came naturally.
Listening to Slughorn, she kept her head held high, pretending she didn’t notice when the other Slytherins glanced her way through snickers, wondering how she had gotten in. A stranger — a pureblood without any of the heritage they had. Not a drop of blood from the sacred 28.
Her eyes wandered around the room, to the Gryffindors where they stood apart from the other house, separated by an invisible line through the class. She stared, but not with longing, she had no longing for their house.
She had hoped for Ravenclaw, never for Gryffindor. A group of hot-headed idiots with hero-complexes. All of them were too loud and too brash and too quick to brag. Dorcas saw the way they all acted, a day was all it took to know that they thought they ruled the world.
They were almost as bad as the Slytherins. She might have said they were worse, but at least they weren’t purists.
Looking towards the Gryffindors, that was when she saw her; Dorcas remembered it even years later. She remembered it clearly, a vivid snapshot of the first time she ever caught sight of Marlene.
Standing beside another girl, already grinning. She wasn’t paying attention in the slightest, too busy laughing at something the girl had said, smile wide and blinding. Her robes were uneven, ill-fitted, and her tie was crooked. Her hair was in a braid that was already falling apart.
She looked like someone who’d just been running, someone who was used to knee-scratches and climbing trees, the kind of person prone to chipping a tooth. She looked a little bit wild, and Dorcas paused, she stared despite herself.
Brash like the rest of her house, barely concealing her lack of interest. The girl obviously had no respect for authority, did not care if she got in trouble. She had no visible fears, and Dorcas wondered if it was part of being a Gryffindor.
No sense of self-preservation.
The bell rang, and Slughorn cut off, dismissing them with a sigh about finishing during the next lesson. Dorcas got her satchel and picked up her books, turning to see the girl still there. She was waving over at someone else in the class, moving her way.
“Marlene!” The other girl — shorter with dark skin and hair in twists — hurried to keep up. She was at least a little more put-together, her robes smoothed out. Still she hurried through the classroom like she too didn’t have a fear in the world.
Marlene. Dorcas frowned at the name, turning just in time to see one of her doormates had appeared at her side. Geneva Bletchly, a pureblood who had already given Dorcas a few snide comments about her sorting.
For now though, she was playing friendly, smirking at Dorcas as her eyes flicked to Marlene.
“That’s the younger McKinnon,” The girl explained, before giggling, “A half-blood, obviously. You can tell too. Look at her, she’s not worth anything. Unless she’s good at quidditch like her brother.”
Dorcas said nothing back, dead silent. In her silence, Geneva gave up, wrinkling her nose and walking off without a word more.
Letting out a breath, Dorcas was relieved by Geneva’s departure. Even if she hadn’t said anything cruel about her specifically, Dorcas had already learned how these things worked. One day in and she knew. There was no such thing as a friendly conversation.
The second she talked back the snide comments began. No one was her friend, because in order to make friends you needed to be someone. Or else, you needed to learn to kiss the boot.
Dorcas would never kiss the boot, so she made herself sharp and hard and cutting. She made sure that no one would be able to hurt her without being hurt first.
Even still, as she slipped from the classroom, she watched Marlene McKinnon from the corner of her eye, saw her throw her arms around another girl, a redhead with freckles over her nose and a nervous brightness in her eyes.
Eleven years old, Dorcas felt something in her stomach, growing the longer she stared. She turned away, telling herself to put McKinnon out of her mind.
☾☾ ☽☽
3 July 1981, Friday
The day Dorcas learned of Marlene McKinnon’s death, it was blisteringly hot. An unavoidable kind of heat, even opening the windows didn’t provide relief. She had stripped down as much as she could, standing by the window just to wait for the wind to blow by, sweat on her brow already.
She had just returned from a mission, a night of work, staying out to watch and wait and keep an eye out from the shadows — meant to stake out where Dumbledore thought Voldemort was hiding. She was tired, she was meant to go out again that night.
Nothing had come, nothing changed. She didn’t think anything would.
She drank a glass of mostly ice, the water melting off with time. She used it to chill herself, cooling off from the inside. She thought about filling the tub with it and just climbing in, hoping that it might stop the feeling of suffocation that came with the heat.
But she didn’t think about that for long, because everything came crashing down before she had a chance.
Glass raised to her lips, taking a drink of the ice water, Dorcas heard a crack, the sound of apparition, and then a sharp knock on her front door. She stood, counting the days and knowing Marlene could not be back.
A bad feeling, but not one even close to as bad as it should have been. She went to find something to wear, throwing on an oversized shirt — one of Marlene’s — before heading off to open the door, finding Dumbledore behind it.
He stared, face grave and every wrinkle exasperated by the frown he wore; Dorcas stared back. She said nothing, waiting for him to get it over with, to spit out whatever had happened.
Her hand was tense on the door, he shook his head apologetically.
“Care to let me in?”
She stepped back, silent as he moved into her flat, walking right into the kitchen like he belonged there, still in heavy robes like he didn’t feel the heat at all, as if untouched by anything. He sat down at the table, motioning for Dorcas to do the same.
She did not, arms crossed, guard up. She waited, mouth tight.
Dorcas had never liked him. She liked him even less then, sitting there putting off whatever he had to say.
“What is it?” She asked shortly, tone neutral. She had gotten used to the bad news, to the attacks and the stories. She didn’t know why he’d come to her personally, but she knew that whatever it was would be just another drop of pain.
And then Dumbledore looked up at her, and she changed her mind. Seconds, and she felt her stomach drop. She had a pit remaining. His eyes were hollow, and he looked so very old in those few seconds, and she hated him before he even spoke.
“There was an attack,” His voice was quiet, like that would make anything better.
Dorcas took a step back, wanting to get away from whatever he said next. She knew just by his look it was going to be the worst thing she could think of. Someone she loved, her family or—
“Late last night. I wanted to tell you personally. Three Death Eaters attacked the McKinnon home. None were caught, and— none of the McKinnon’s survived.”
There was a ringing in Dorcas’ ears, she stepped back until she was pressed to the counter top, using it to hold her up. She couldn’t feel the heat anymore, too focused on her own tightening breath. Her head spun, she stared at Dumbledore.
“It seems like they fought until the end. There are signs of a struggle. Marlene was found in her parents room…”
Dorcas stopped listening, his words muffling as if her brain had decided to protect her from the details, even as images continued to flash, blood and bodies and broken furniture, the rubble of a house she had known.
Marlene’s eyes open and unseeing, the image so repulsive it made her face twist with disgust, forcing it down seconds later as she kept herself steady.
Dorcas was meant to have been there. She was meant to have gone back with Marlene, her missions from Dumbledore stopping her. She should have been there fighting with Marlene until the very end, until they were both killed together.
This was all wrong. She was never meant to be the one still standing in the end. She didn’t want to be left on her own.
She was angry with herself for not being there, but it was a drop in the ocean of her fury. A drop that meant little as the image of Marlene being hit with the killing curse replayed again and again, the shot of green light. Dorcas was focused on one thing, and that was the Death Eaters — a place she could put all her rage.
She was going to kill them; The thought was simple and grounding. She was steadier on her feet as it hit her, and the world seemed to snap back into focus. No more flashes of horrifying images, no more muffing.
She could hear Dumbledore clearly, but she still wasn’t listening.
She was going to kill them. She would do whatever it took. She would hunt every one of them down and make sure they paid. No more doing things Dumbledore’s way, no more waiting around for the Death Eaters to show themselves. She was going to hunt each and every one of those bastards.
She had joined the Order because of Marlene, and now she was gone. Dorcas had no loyalties anymore, she only had vengeance.
Dumbledore had stopped talking, staring at her as if waiting for a response.
“I know this is hard…”
“Get the fuck out of my house,” Dorcas said, voice as cool as ever, eyes narrowed in on him. She raised herself from the counter, refusing to waver even slightly, refusing to shake or show fear. She pointed at the door. “We’re done here.”
His look was pitying, staring at her like she was something pathetic, and Dorcas stood her ground. She was cold as ice, glowering, as he left. She stayed just like that until the door closed behind him.
After that, she jumped into motion. She had things to plan, and a festering energy. She could not slow, because then she’d risk the pain taking over. If depression took hold, if she lost herself to misery, she’d never do what had to be done.
She had things to do, and she had no time to mourn.
By the time night came around, she was already starting to pack.
☾☾ ☽☽
12 July 1981, Sunday
She went to the funeral before anything else. Her last goodbye, standing in the bright sunlight, another hot day out. She was in all black, trousers and a blouse. She stood farther back, avoiding people, not wanting the questions or the well wishes.
All four bodies were put into the ground. Buried side-by side.
Around her there were people she knew and people she didn’t. Marlene’s parent’s coworkers, their friends and Sam’s friends. Dorcas avoided them all. She stood back under the shade of a tree and watched the coffin go in, feeling like she should have been in one of them. She should have been lowered into the ground right at Marlene’s side.
It wasn’t right, but she was alive. She was alive, and she would make sure it meant something — she would make sure they all got what they deserved.
Their friends were around too. Sirius and Remus standing with a space between them, both dead silent. Lily and James were leaning into one another, as if even a hair of separation would make them both break down. And Mary, off on her own, standing with arms crossed.
She appeared the most similar to Dorcas, as if she too was trying to keep from breaking apart, as if she too had not let herself cry or mourn yet. She looked, in one word, uncomfortable.
Those who had tried to talk to Dorcas — Lily and Sirius and James for a bit too — had all failed. She was not in the mood, nor did she have any words left; a part of her was already gone. She could do little more than nod silently, hating every time they whispered about how sorry they were and how heartbroken and how much they missed her.
Dorcas would not cry with them. She would not cry at all.
A man stood by the tree with her, she noticed him as the burial went on. As people whispered, she looked over to see him standing still, in the shade of the tree.
She hardly recognised him, and she’d surely never seen him in the group Sam McKinnon had hung around. Dorcas frowned, and the man caught her staring.
Curly brown hair, overgrown stubble and a pair of square glasses, wearing a plain black button-up and looking nervous, rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed out of place.
Dorcas thought she might have seen him before, passed in the corridor of the school, but it was so faint it was hard to tell.
“How’d you know them?” He asked, his voice quiet.
Dorcas pressed her lips thin, turning away again. When she didn’t speak, the man stared at his feet.
“Sorry,” He said, “Guess that’s… You just seemed like you didn’t fit in here either. Standing out here, hiding from them all.”
Dorcas frowned again, wondering what he was doing there — especially if he knew he was out of place. When he noticed the look, the man grimaced again.
“Me and Sam… we were friends back during school. We were best friends for most of our life and then— well, we fought A big fight.. We fought, and I left.”
Dorcas tilted her head to the side. The man’s face had shifted, eyes shining in the light of the sun.
“Sorry, God, it’s just hard. After everything, I just threw it away. I guess… a part of me thought that someday we’d reconnect, like we had all this time. We would meet on some random street in London and I’d say ‘it’s been a while’ and we could just go back to the way we were. I was always just waiting for that, and it was fine, because I thought there was time. But there never was.”
He was staring at the ground, and Dorcas felt herself softening, traitorously feeling bad for the man.
“I’m Marlene’s girlfriend,” Dorcas explained, keeping her face neutral. “I was supposed to go home with her, on the trip. I was supposed to— I was supposed to be there.”
Dead silence, and then she watched the man crack a watery smile.
“Good for— I mean good for her, I guess. Did Sam know?”
“Yeah, he was good about it,” Dorcas said, “Maybe the best out of her family.”
“I’m Gil,” The man said, “I guess.. Well, I guess we both lost someone we loved today.”
“Dorcas,” She said back, even as she got caught up on the use of the word loved; Past-tense, she didn’t think any of her feelings were past-tense.
“You must be feeling it too. I just— I keep having this thought about what would have changed if we'd gone down a different path. Butterfly effect, what if I had reached out to him earlier? Would there be a chance—”
“It’s best not to think about it,” Dorcas said quietly, and Gil nodded, frowning again.
“You’re right. It does no good. I still— I just can’t believe they're gone.”
Dorcas nodded back, staring at the graves, the caskets now deep under the ground. Hidden within, she knew her girlfriend’s body lay.
☾☾ ☽☽
She went back home for her things, just enough to carry. A single bag, the insides made deeper, filled with clothing and money. She left everything else untouched, standing in nothing but the light of the setting sun, turning everything golden.
Her flat, her home for the past three years. The bedroom was still filled with Marlene’s things, one of her jackets thrown over a chair, a random Gryffindor-coloured sock lying halfway under the bed. She was never neat enough, and Dorcas would never be strong enough to clean the mess up. Not now, now it was a memory.
She walked out, off to the sitting room. Standing there, by the windows, and looking at the colours everywhere, clashing together. The old rug and the mismatch of the furniture.
Dorcas felt the weight of her leaving, but she was sure nonetheless. She and Marlene had bought the flat together, and so without her the place was alien and unwelcoming. Dorcas said her goodbyes to the furniture and the mess, the telly they had bought and the chips in the wood of the doorways that were scars from slamming the door too sharply.
She went to the bookshelf and she took a single book — just one. Finding it right where she’d left it, looking down at the cover with a deep resolve. Lips pressed thin, she put that into her bag too. She looked around once more.
Memories of them together, in the kitchen, in the sitting room, all played on in her head. She remembered when they’d first moved in, standing together right there — in the sitting room — as Marlene declared it was everything they needed, kissing her once.
“This is it. This is the beginning of our new life.”
That life had ended, gone. The rooms were all empty, and even the flush pink sky outside didn’t change the hollowness, the gaping holes in every room where Marlene’s laughter had been, where her passion had overflowed.
Dorcas would never be returning. She already knew that, standing by the doorway as she put her shoes on. Without Marlene, there was no reason to stay there. It was a ghost just like everything else. Dorcas said her goodbyes, she did not get sad.
The memories only pushed her forward, building the anger inside her. She let them, knowing it was for the best. She could not stall, not right then. She had to push forward, to keep going, to find all of them. She would get her revenge, she would make sure they all paid.
She would find Voldemort himself and destroy him for taking Marlene from her.
She walked out the door, closing it behind her, and began.
☾☾ ☽☽
13 December 1971, Monday
The first time Dorcas looked Marlene McKinnon in the eyes was in the potions cupboard.
The class had ended, and she picked up supplies to put away, leaving her cauldron and her partner.
That day they had been meant to brew forgetfulness potion, and it had been easy. The easiest potion they could have done. Only halfway through class, Dorcas had finished, and she’d been bored for the rest, ignoring the other Slytherins and ignoring her partner most of all — Bletchly, who never stopped with the snide comments.
Leaving her was a relief, Dorcas was glad to make her way to the cupboard. She was especially glad that she’d gotten the approval of Slughorn once again. No matter how many quips Geneva Bletchly made, Dorcas was the one making sure they succeeded. The girl still depended on her.
Knowing that made the cruelty hurt less.
She had just slipped through the doors when she noticed someone already there, McKinnon again. The same rumpled clothing and messy hair. She looked no different up close than when Dorcas watched her from afar.
Dorcas stiffened, pretending not to notice her as she placed her own ingredients back in their correct spots. Dorcas controlled her every movement, her every breath. And she kept eyeing McKinnon, watching out of her peripheral vision.
She felt when McKinnon’s eyes slid to her, felt them stay there for a second, as if startled by something — as if she had not heard Dorcas slip in at all. When a second passed of her gawking, Dorcas turned to stare back.
For the first time, they both looked at eachother, locking eyes. Marlene’s were a bright blue, vibrant and disconcerting. Every feeling she had was playing out on her face, and Dorcas could see the distrust already there, feel it as McKinnon seemed to decide things about her.
Neither spoke, and Dorcas frowned, wondering if McKinnon planned on explaining herself. She had learned enough about the other girl to know she wasn’t shy. But now she said nothing. Dorcas raised an eyebrow, eyeing her up and down — truly letting herself get a good look at McKinnon for the first time.
Up close, she could see every wrinkle a little better, the mismatched socks and the dirt on her shoes from time outside. Her hair was loose this time, no poorly-done braid. Beyond that, she looked just as wild, like a kid who hadn’t yet grown into her skin.
McKinnon’s face was growing more annoyed, frustrated by something Dorcas was doing. Dorcas felt happier for it, deciding that if McKinnon didn’t talk, she wouldn’t either.
She turned back to the shelves, putting everything she had away. McKinnon stared at her all the while, and Dorcas basked in it, basked in every second of them stuck in the same small cupboard, before she finished and she left.
She heard McKinnon scoff behind her, and Dorcas broke into a smile, a smirk that came with a thrill. She could tell McKinnon hated her, which was good. Dorcas hated her too. She hated how she ignored every rule, she hated how loud she spoke.
What she hated the most was how McKinnon sucked the air right from the room, as if the second she entered, she was the only one who existed there at all.
So, if Dorcas could make her feel even an ounce of that, then she was happy for it. She was glad for the scoff, for the thrill of that one moment. Getting her back, making sure McKinnon hated her too.