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Dorcas has never been religious. Not when her mother died. Not when she learned there was a spy in the Order. Not even at the worst of the war. Never in her life has she looked to the sky and prayed for a sign, for an answer, for salvation. But now. Now is different.
Now, Dorcas would give her own life for belief in a higher power. For a reasoning behind every action. For this war, these lives, to mean something.
How can the world keep spinning, the sky keep pouring, the war keep waging, when Marlene is dead? How can her absence not have purpose?
She believes, wholeheartedly, as she stares at the rain pouring down the headstone, that her life will forevermore be categorized as before and after Marlene.
People are beginning to leave. James and Lily rushing home to Harry, Remus guiding Sirius away with a hand to his back, Peter helping Emmeline put up her hood, Frank and Alice holding hands under their umbrella. Dorcas will never have that. Not again.
She is stuck.
Stuck here, at this headstone. One in thousands. Like the raindrops pouring down her face, pouring down the evidence that yes, once upon a time, Marlene had lived, this instance is ordinary. It has happened hundreds of times, and it will happen hundreds more. But for Dorcas, this is the end. This singular headstone in the graveyard, this singular raindrop in the thunderstorm, is all she will ever have.
Unlike the rain in the sky, however, someone is to blame.
Someone has caused this.
And that is enough to keep her moving, for now.
She presses a gentle kiss to the stone, drops her fingertips into the overturned grass, and gets up to follow the others.
They meet at the Potters’. It’s got room for both Harry and Neville to play, and for all of their friends to sit in one room. All but one.
They get drinks; drinking fancy whisky from fancy glasses, sitting in fancy chairs, dressed in fancy outfits, as if the world hasn’t ended.
Sirius is the first to speak. “It’s not right.”
Dorcas almost scoffs. Peter has been rubbing her back, she’s not sure for how long, but it’s the only thing tethering her to this conversation.
“Of course it’s not. It never will be.” James is referencing, of course, everyone else. Fabian. Gideon. Effie. Monty. Edgar. Benjy. Even Regulus.
Because, again. Marlene is not the first. She will not be the last. But, selfishly, Dorcas thinks that she will always be the most important.
The conversation continues on, but Dorcas doesn’t even try to hear. She won’t hear the voice she yearns for, anyway. Instead, she plots. She plans, and she thinks, and, most importantly, she seethes.
Someone has killed Marlene. Killed her entire family. Someone has to pay. And she may not know exactly who it is, but she knows enough.
The spy.
Marlene had done nothing to broadcast her location. Her worth. Nothing to get on their radars- nothing more than the rest of them, at least. The only explanation is the spy. Someone had warned them of her power. Her abilities. She was the best nurse the Order had, one of the only things still keeping them together. But there was only one way they would know that.
“We can’t get lost in this,” Dorcas hears, distantly. Lily. “We have to keep fighting. For her. She wouldn’t want more people to die because we were too reckless in her wake. We need to move on. Push through so we can all come out on the other side.”
On the outside, what she’s saying is perfectly reasonable. It’s the smart thing to do. Maybe even what Marlene would’ve wanted.
And still, Dorcas scoffs and stands, shrugging Peter’s hand off her back, her glass shaking slightly in her fingers. Maybe she had drank more than she had realized. Or maybe she was just furious.
“So, what? We just forget? Like we did with Fab? With Gid? With Edgar? Do you think Molly is just moving on? Do you think Amelia has forgotten? It doesn’t work like that, Lily! It never will! Not for the people who actually care.”
At this, Lily stands too, although James keeps an hand on her back, keeping her calm. Dorcas has no such restraint. “I’d be careful of the things you imply, Dorcas. You are not the only one grieving.”
And, Merlin, she must be angrier than she realized, because she throws her glass to the wall, taking satisfaction in the sound it makes when it shatters. “Really? Because it sure as hell feels like it! Marlene is gone. And that’s not going to go away because we, what, fight it off? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“We don’t have many other choices, Cas. What else can we do?”
She reels towards Remus. “We can catch her fucking killer!” At this, he flinches.
Lily is speaking calmly now, like she’s talking down a scared animal. As if she’s being the bigger person. “That’s part of fighting, love. We have to keep going, so we can make sure she didn’t die in vain.”
“But she did. Why do none of you get that? She’s dead! She’s gone! Fighting won’t change that!”
“Cas.” It’s James, now.
They’re all looking at her like she’s going crazy. Like she’s out of her mind. Like she’s breaking down.
Even Peter is looking down at the floor.
She scoffs at the sight, and turns to leave, ignoring the calls behind her.
Before she even decides where to go, her feet have started to take her there.
Marlene’s apartment.
She just… needs to see it. Empty. Devoid of life. Without Marlene. She needs to see.
The boys had cleaned it out a few days ago, finally getting rid of all traces of her. Of their life.
She walks in a daze, and when she reaches the complex, she realizes she doesn’t have a key. She never needed one.
She alohomoras it open, and it feels fundamentally wrong. She’s never had to do that before.
She steps inside, and the first thing she notices is that it’s dusty. Marlene was a clean freak. It’s just another thing that’s so wrong.
So much evidence of the things that changed, and yet so many memories that have stayed exactly the same.
The burn mark on the wall from a forgotten cigarette, stranded in the wake of a kiss. The scratches on the floor from Lily’s dancing shoes. The faint smell of Sirius’ cologne, leftover in the air from when he cleared out her furniture.
A singular ring, scattered in her doorway.
It’s hard to spot, honestly. She probably wouldn’t have even seen it if she hadn’t almost tripped right over it.
At first, Dorcas believes it may be Marlene’s, left behind, but she quickly see’s it can’t be. It’s a gold ring, and Marlene only wore silver- not to mention it’s much too large for her fingers. Curious, Dorcas picks it up.
It’s Peter’s. A ring gifted to him by James in 6th year, on his 17th birthday. It’s got his family crest stamped in the gold, and it’s incredibly recognizable. He loves this ring, cherishes it the way James cherishes Harry. He must’ve dropped it when clearing the house.
Dorcas slips it on her finger, so she can return it to him once she’s cooled down and ready to face her friends.
She understands what they were saying, she really does. They can’t afford to stop and grieve. Not for more than a day. But it’s just… wrong. Marlene deserves better. And she knows it’s not her friends fault, but she needs to blame someone. Until she finds the spy.
She’ll go back and apologize soon. Just… not yet.
For now, she draws her finger through the dust on the wall, and walks slowly through the apartment, trying to remember it in its glory.
It’s not hard. Her happiest memories are here, and the dust, over three weeks buildup, is so significant that it leaves visible patches where the furniture was.
A thick strip of clean floor gives way to where the couch was. She and Marlene had laid there, just a month ago, kissing, watching movies and laughing, as if they could ignore the war forever.
A pristine white patch on the wall reveals where the artwork used to be. One spot in particular, the biggest in that room, had always been Dorcas’ favorite. Marlene had found it at the market, a few years earlier, and had quite literally jumped up and down in excitement when she found it. It was an oil portrait- a muggle one- depicting Persephone, on a throne of pomegranates. That myth had always been her favorite.
A clean, ring sized patch on the floor in the entryway.
But that doesn’t make any sense.
There is no way for that much dust to have accumulated in only three days, and the floor beneath where the ring had been is practically pristine.
Dorcas is suddenly hit with an uncomfortable hot flash.
Peter hadn’t cleaned out the apartment.
He had backed out last minute, leaving it to James and Sirius on account of ‘secret order business.’ He was using that excuse more and more frequently lately.
He must’ve dropped by at some other point recently- but when?
The floor is clean. If he had stopped by after they had realized that she was… gone, there would’ve at least been a small film. But the buildup is so obvious that you can see the layers on the sides where the ring dug in.
Which only leaves one other answer.
And suddenly it’s like everything fits
The excuses.
The accusations
The absences.
A week earlier, Peter had cornered Dorcas after a meeting, when she was seething and vulnerable, trying to plan a funeral for the love of her life, and had tried to plant an idea. It had seemed weird even then, his insistence. But now, it made sense.
For weeks, he had been saying it. Subtle, but clear. He thought Remus was the spy. He thought that his once monthly absences had now grown too common, that he had switched sides to be with ‘his kind’. It hadn’t made any sense, at the time, because, yes, Remus had fought harder than any of the others about the rights of the werewolves on the other side, but he had been turned by Fenrir Greyback himself. He wouldn’t work for him. Not willingly. She had chalked it up to paranoia, but now she could see. It was a ploy. To keep up the routine. Pray on the easiest, most obvious answer.
She slowly stands from where she had knelt on the ground. Peter had killed Marlene. It seems outlandish to think it, even now. Peter, who had always been the sweet one. Who had rubbed her back only an hour ago at the funeral. Who had been feeding information to the Death Eaters for months, now.
And yet, something tells her this was his first kill. First real one, at least. If he had been there for the others, if he had pulled the trigger on Benjy, or Caradoc, he wouldn’t have made a mistake this big this time. Not when he knew it hit harder than any of the others had.
Which means Marlene must’ve been some sort of… initiation. Proof that he was all in. That he was willing to do what it takes.
It makes her sick just to think.
Before she even notices, she’s thrown open Marlene’s door, and sprinted outside.
She’s going to do this now.
She’s going to kill Peter.
And she’s going to make it hurt.
She sends a flare up, something you would have to be stupid to do in times like these, and, maybe she is. But she’s also angry, and desperate, and it’s his fault.
Once the flare is spent, she sends a Patronus to Peter. Letting her eyes well with tears, she begs him to meet her at Marlene’s, because she thinks that he’s right, that it’s Remus who killed her. Once it’s been sent, she laughs and waits.
She doesn’t have to wait long. It’s still raining, when he arrives, but the sun has set. He’s shrouded in darkness.
“Cas.” He says. As if he has the right. But it’s cautious. She knew, of course, that it would be. There’s probably at least 4 others hiding here, somewhere, in the darkness. She wonders, briefly, if this is how they took out Marlene.
“You’re a coward,” she spits, unafraid of him, or the others, unafraid of Voldemort himself. All that matters is this.
“What?” he pretends. “Dorcas, what are you talking about?”
“Marlene. Your way into this sick little cult. Was the tattoo worth it, Peter? Did it make you feel better? Being part of a team?”
“Dorcas-“
“Did you really think we wouldn’t find out? You’re a murderer. A monster.”
He sighs, as if this is but a mere inconvenience. “That’s a little harsh, Dorcas, don’t you think? We were losing. I had no choice. I want to live. Don’t you?”
“Did Marlene? Did Gideon? Did Edgar? His children? You are a monster, Peter.”
“And what does that make you, Cas? You’ve killed. Taken dozens of lives. They had families too. What makes us any different?”
“I didn’t lie. Hide. You went to her funeral, Peter.”
“And I went to Caradoc’s, and the Prewetts’, and the Bones’, and Benjy’s. I’ll go to others, I’m sure.”
Dorcas goes blind with rage.
“Crucio!”
The green from her wand illuminates the street, revealing three others. Lucius Malfoy, Igor Karkaroff, Avery Mulciber. They’re set up in a triangle around the two of them, Karkaroff behind Peter, Malfoy and Mulciber flanking her.
She focuses all her energy on making her unforgivable curse as truly unforgivable as possible, before she rips her wand away from Peter to stun Malfoy. He’s the strongest spell caster, and the faster she can incapacitate him, the better. He deflects her spell well- which she was counting on- as she ducks and let’s the curse bounce off his shield and hit Mulciber directly. He’s large, and she couldn’t beat him if she lost her wand. With him down, the rest will be easy.
She blocks Malfoy’s curses with a simple Protego, and uses wandless magic to grab onto the wand of Karkaroff- who is known within the order to have terrible aim, so she’s not really bother to hide from his attacks- and pull, letting it clatter to the pavement behind her once she’s got it.
She breaks her shield for one second, rolling to the ground to avoid being hit, and petrifies the now defenseless man. When she stands, her leg stings. Poison. There was potion on the ground. Of course there was.
But Peter is still writing in pain. Mulciber is stunned on the ground. All that’s left is Lucius. No problem. She’s trained for this.
Lucius always takes defensive, because he’s absolute shit at offense. If she can just get behind him, for three seconds, she can have him down long enough to take him out.
Keeping her wand on offense, she wordlessly casts a Confringo behind him, setting the tails of his robe on fire. It distracts him enough that she can Knox the street lamp as he wandlessly puts it out, and slip behind him unseen, taking the pleasure of knocking him over the head with a rock she grabbed along the way instead of using a spell.
She takes a single moment to catch her breath. It’s a moment too long.
“Dorcas Meadowes,” a voice rasps from behind her.
She whips around, casting her strongest Bombardo- one that is quickly deflected.
Instead of some other Death Eater goon, she comes face to face with Lord Voldemort.
“You’re shorter than I was expecting,” she says, terrified, but soothed by the sounds of Peter’s pained whimpering in the background.
“You are strong. Powerful. It’s a shame, really.”
He lifts his wand slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world as she pants, falling down to one knee, and lifting her own.
There’s something off about his wand, like magic is just leaking out of it, like it can’t be contained. It terrifies her.
She blocks his first few assaults, but then Peter is recovering, starting to get up, and it occurs to her, for the first time, that she really is hideously outnumbered. She hasn’t told anyone she’s here.
“You were such a fine Syltherin, Dorcas. You could’ve made a fine Death Eater, too. I would’ve welcomed you. You are strong. Powerful.”
“I would rather die,” she spits, trying to stun Peter behind him.
“So be it,” Voldemort says. And then the world turns green.
It is said that in death, you manage to have a thousand thoughts at once. A life flashes before your eyes. It’s true.
In the time it takes the spell to hit her, she comes to a quite sad realization. Before she died, Marlene did not have the luxury that Dorcas did, to know that you are walking into danger. She likely even felt comforted, when she saw Peter, before he and his friends started slaughtering her family.
In the time it takes for her eyes shut she feels only agony. Not in pain, but in knowledge. She has made a mistake. In her rage, she has told no one. Warned no one. No one will know of Peter’s betrayal, because she was too hurt to see clearly. Her only comfort is that, soon, so, so soon, she will be with Marlene. Back in her arms, safe and sound. As safe as the dead can be, at least.
In the time it takes for her to hit the ground, her final thought is this: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Dorcas can only hope that this, her equal action, will spur on the opposite. That her loss, Marlene’s loss, will result in the saving of a life. Just one. If just one person lives because of what has happened, it- her, this- would mean something. Finally.