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"You know, the fire's running low
Can you feel the flame, her fading glow
You know, we are slowing down
I can hear your footsteps drowning out
-
The light has fallen from the stars
Now we are sinking through the night
Out of sight, we've fallen underground
Pick up the pieces left of us."
– Circles, by Ludovico Einaudi ft. Greta Svabo Bech.
Marlene lied in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, spreading her arms out.
Gryffindor had won their last match of the year earlier that day and, by extension, won the Cup. While Marlene couldn't be happier, the Firewhiskey seemed to have put a damper on her mood. She had left the party in the common room and made her way back down to the pitch as silently as her drunken steps could take her. It would be bad enough to get caught out of bed past curfew, it'd be even worse to be caught drunk and out of bed past curfew.
By the time she reached the Pitch, the bottle she had taken with her was empty. Marlene let it drop to the soft grass and then plopped down herself. Her intoxicated body didn't take too well to the sudden movement, and she found herself lying on her back, staring up at the dark sky.
The night was cool, the cold wind caused goosebumps on her arms. Not that she felt it, of course; the alcohol running through her veins kept her warm enough.
She watched as the dark clouds moved slowly out of the way, letting the stars blink down at her. She imagines what it would be like to be a star: beautiful, and distant. Probably lonely. Sure, stars belonged to constellations, but they were still far away from each other. Still. If she were a star, she would shine every night down at the humans below, and she would be admired and talked about. And people would probably give her a stupid name and make up a stupid story. They'd make her out to be this mythical thing of beauty, while she silently, slowly, burned towards her death; wearing herself down to lighten the night for other wandering souls.
Phew, that was depressing, Marlene snorts to herself.
Sirius would know, she thinks. After all, he was a star. He had a stupid name, with a stupid story behind it and he belong to a constellation of stars that couldn't be farther away from him. Hm. Maybe he would know. She should definitely go find him and ask.
She languidly moves her head to the right, towards the castle she cannot see due to the stands and the grounds between her and it. He is so far away, though. Just the thought of getting up makes her limbs feel heavy with exhaustion.
Besides, she’s good here. Her fingers tangle themselves in the grass, pulling some out of the ground before digging into the dirt.
She would be able to fly if she was a star. Then again, she wasn't a star but could still fly like the best of them. Nah, she'd probably miss the ground. Did stars fly? More like they floated or hovered. After all, they didn't move. She would miss moving. Nonetheless, she feels like a star; the burning to her death part. It was just a feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Marlene didn't know how long she lied there. Probably long enough that Madame Hooch would have a fit once she saw the two mangled holes of dirt and grass she left on the usually perfectly cultivated pitch.
She feels him before she sees him, before she hears him. She just knows that it’s him. There was just something in the air whenever he came close. Like maybe her fire was being shared and she wasn't burning alone. Funnily enough, it was a reassuring thought. She doesn't want Sirius to supernova and turn into a black hole until there is nothing of him left.
He lays his body down opposite of her, legs pointing far above her and his head right next to hers.
"I was looking for you," he says.
"Why?" she asks, surprised when her voice slurs just a little.
"I don't know."
She feels his shoulder move slightly against hers as if he shrugged. She copies his move. Marlene doesn't look at him, not even from the corner of her eye. She keeps her gaze locked ahead and can feel his eyes focusing on the dark blanket of the night just like hers.
"Don't you just get tired sometimes?" she asks after a lengthy silence. He was looking for her, he said, but then nothing. She knows that he would probably have told her the truth if she'd let him simmer for a while, but her curiosity got the best of her and she couldn't help it.
"Tired of what?" he asks, and this time he turns to look at her. Again, she copies his move, and now they are eye to eye - even if he's upside down. It makes her dizzy for a second before her eyes focus on his.
"Burning."
Sirius frowns, clearly not on the same page as her.
"Canis major," she says in place of an explanation. "The Sirius star, burning away up in the sky." She looks up again, but can still feel his eyes on her.
She knows all about the brightest star; she had made it a point to learn once she accepted Sirius as a friend - after all, he had stolen James from her. It would have been a miracle if they'd gotten along from the start. Pfft, as if.
"Marlene, how much Firewhiskey did you have?" Sirius' voice is half-amused and half-concerned, and she finds herself rolling her eyes at him, which somehow leads to her rolling her whole body in his direction. She folds an arm under her head and looks at him. Just looks. His brow smooths out and the amusement leaves his eyes, and he just looks back at her, still lying on his back.
"I suppose. Sometimes," he says, finally. And Marlene can't quite help raising a hand to touch the locks of hair that are falling on his forehead.
"Does it hurt?" She asks next. "The burning."
This time, it doesn't take him long to answer.
"Sometimes. But it's a good hurt, for a good cause."
Marlene hums in agreement, eyes fixed on the dark lock of hair contrasting on the fair skin of her palm.
"Marley..." he turns onto his side, mirroring her position, "are you alright?"
The silence stretches, ocean-blue eyes locked on sky-blue ones. Funny, how she's got eyes from the sea, like her name: Marlene, which in some language, in some way, for some reason, means 'star of the sea'. And he's got eyes from the sky, for obvious reasons that she knows and doesn't have to explain to herself in her own head.
Sirius raises a hand and mirrors her again, getting a lock of her dark blonde hair and gently twisting it between his long fingers.
She doesn't look at him; she looks at his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his hair. She traces a faint scar on his chin with her fingertips, and then his lips.
"Marls," he asks without asking, and she can't make herself look at him.
"I think..." and she stops, because it's hard to think about it. She doesn't want to, she wants to stay, she doesn't want to fall into a black hole. And she was never one for Divination, but there's that dread in the pit of her stomach that won't be ignored. So she whispers it; because it's okay for Sirius to hear it, he's the only star that she trusts to not turn this confession into a misguided wish and make it come true. He wouldn't, she knows this. So she whispers it, only for him. "I think I'm burning out."
"What makes you say that?" he is whispering now too, and Marlene wonders if he had the same thought as her, to not let the other stars hear their conversation.
"I just have this feeling," she chances a look at his eyes, and then she can't look away. She is trapped. She would say she was drowning, but she's the ocean in this scenery and he's the sky. Maybe she isn't trapped then, just floating. Flying. Hanging in the air. "I just feel like the fire is running low," she breathes the words out more than speaks them.
The night is so still, like the universe wants to eavesdrop on them. Sirius doesn't let it, though. He gets closer, so close that their foreheads are almost touching. So close that they're both forced to close their eyes. He kind of regrets not lying down next to her properly. She regrets it too.
She wraps an arm behind his head, awkwardly hugging it to her and buries her hand in his hair, absent-mindedly massaging his scalp. Sirius reaches out to run his fingers through the length of her hair.
"Listen to me," Sirius says, and she has no choice but to do as she’s told for once. Her breathing hitches, her stomach swoops, and she feels moisture forming on the corner of her eyes. "You are not going to burn out. Okay?"
"But I can feel it," she whimpers.
"Come on, don't you trust me?"
Of course she does, but she doesn't answer. Before the silence goes on for too long, Marlene startles as he abruptly pulls away. Sirius is back before she can feel disappointed. He had turned around, properly lying down next to her. His knees and thighs touch hers. He puts an arm around her waist and pulls her incredibly closer while folding his other arm under his head. Marlene hadn't realized how cold she was until his warmth seeps into her. The alcohol is leaving her system, the buzz fading along with her heat. She can feel the dew seeping through her clothes and hair. Her nails leave dirt on Sirius' white shirt, but he doesn't seem to care. She could probably stand without swaying on her feet, but while the alcohol and the warmth have left her, the dread is still there.
She stays cocooned in his embrace. She'll probably regret it in the morning, regret being so vulnerable in front of anyone other than James. Maybe.
She only realizes she had forgotten to answer him when he speaks again.
"I promise you, alright? You'll be fine. There's plenty of fire in you yet." It's a stupid analogy, she thinks - now that she is mostly sober, at least. Her drunk-brain thought it was brilliant. It encompassed her desperation, and fear, and dread, and exhaustion, and maybe even a little depression, perfectly.
The war hasn't even begun; not really, not for them safe and sound at Hogwarts, and she's already so bloody tired. She thinks Sirius has too much faith in her. Huh. Maybe she's a better actress than she thought.
"And if you ever need it, you can borrow some of mine," he adds, once she failed to answer him again.
She keeps quiet. She doesn't have an answer, not one that would please him, anyway. She focuses on her dirty fingers against his shirt, and runs them around his chest, leaving faint brown marks in their wake.
She does know she's got plenty of fire left. After all, she's not about to go down without a fight. It doesn't mean the fire isn't slowly but surely running out. And it's not so much her fire running out, it's more like her time is running out, and any minute now someone's going to come along and throw a bucket of water over her head.
Marlene looks at Sirius. He's been staring at her this whole time, trying to get inside her head, brows furrowed in worry. She looks at him and thinks: he's so beautiful. He has a smudge of dirt on his cheek from where her fingers had wandered earlier, and a small smile pulls at the corner of her lips.
They'll be leaving Hogwarts soon, and they'll be going out to fight, and who knows when that bucket of water will hit her. Her stomach turns into knots. They won't have forever, but they do have right now.
"Thank you," she says, slowly wiping the dirty spot on his cheek.
"For what?"
She smiles. "Exactly." And she kisses him.
She presses her lips to his and uses the hand that had been on his cheek to cup the back of his head and pull him impossibly closer. He's in his element now, Marlene can tell, and the slight hesitance that coloured his comforting words turns into the confident movements of his tongue against hers. His hand grips her waist before going to tangle itself in her hair.
They pull back panting, breathing each other in, and she rests her forehead against his.
"I love you," she whispers, because she doesn't want the universe to hear that either. The dread in the pit of her stomach is still there, but it fades a little, like it knows it's not time yet and so it's taking pity on her.
"Marlene..." he whispers back, almost a whimper, almost. He closes his eyes as he presses himself into her, the hand on the back of her head holding their foreheads together tightly.
"I know." Because she does. He doesn't say it, he doesn't have to. It actually means a lot that he can't. Knowing him, she'd be more worried if he was able to just throw the words around.
"Good." He kisses her again, and again, and again. Every kiss rekindles the fire, makes it burn hotter and hotter, but it doesn't hurt. Every kiss makes the dread fade a little, at least for now.
He was right, after all; sometimes the burning is for a good cause. Marlene can't think of a better cause than kissing Sirius Black.