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They’re walking past the mostly boarded up buildings, hand in hand, when they spot the fresh wanted posters. Dorcas stops first, cocking her head at the sight. Marlene’s gaze tracks the movement, along with the sway of her black hair, captivated, before following Dorcas’ gaze and huffing out a laugh at the sight that greets them.
“I don’t suppose they could have found a worse picture of me.”
“You?” Marlene demands. “I look like the wrong end of a mountain troll.”
Dorcas leans in, so Marlene can feel gentle puffs of breath against her ear when she remarks, “I think you look dashing.”
Marlene’s cheeks heat at the word. Dashing, of all things.
But Dorcas is looking at her so seriously, Marlene can’t muster a thing to say about it, even if it is the height of ridiculous. She focuses on her picture, instead, trying to place where it was taken.
In the photo, she’s bleeding, a lone trickle of blood dripping from her brow and into her eyes. In the next instant, she’s engulfed by plumes of smoke, shouting something to whoever is out of frame.
If Marlene thinks about it, she can remember the fire burning the back of her throat, until it was all she knew. It’s reflected in the twist of her face, in the picture, as she turns so the scar running from her left cheek to chin is clearly visible.
Marlene doesn’t see anything dashing about it. Ghastly, maybe. But Dorcas is a soft touch when it comes to her.
“It isn’t Ministry issued,” Marlene remarks quietly. “There’s no seal. Nothing official.”
“Prophet, then. They’ve begun publishing the most wanted lists from the Death Eaters, haven’t they?”
“Looks like Strike Team Phoenix is at the top of the heap. I’m flattered,” Marlene says dryly.
“Come on, love,” Dorcas tightens her hold on Marlene’s hand, not liking something in her tone. “Date night awaits.”
In terms of their personal lives, Dorcas and Marlene have very little in the way of normalcy.
Whenever their days end, usually after bleeding one into the next, until they return to their flat and collapse in exhausted heaps, there is a cat that greets them.
Tabby hogs the bed, and complains loudly when they scoot her aside. Other than that, there’s Dorcas’ collection of books. She’s filled the wall to wall shelf Marlene constructed for her with Muggle mystery novels and trashy romance ones that she reads aloud, just to watch Marlene’s various expressions of amusement and horror.
Marlene has her love of scorching hot baths, and enough varieties of bath salts to supply a village.
On the whole, though, Strike Team Phoenix has too much on their plate to be the homebodies they probably were in another life. Thrown together when they were eighteen, Marlene was already hot headed and hard when Dumbledore paired her with Dorcas, known affectionately by the others as Doe.
At the time, it struck her as an odd match. Marlene’s silent fury and thirst for vengeance, and Dorcas’ cool, almost soothing focus. A little over a year later, they have the highest number of confirmed Death Eater kills between them. Sometimes, the boys especially try to play into the myths swirling around their partnership. They buy them drinks and ask about the numbers.
Is it true? One hundred and fifty in the first four months alone? Is it true?
Dorcas has a way with politely, if pointedly, shooing them away. Marlene is a little less gracious about it, unable to find anything dazzling in it when their actions have effectively painted a target on each of their backs.
That is this life. In another life, one without war, violence, and loss, Marlene and Dorcas would settle easily into being two twenty-something cat ladies. Marlene would take her baths, with Dorcas perched on the toilet, alternating between reading the scandalous bits from her books, and painting her toenails.
Marlene can imagine it perfectly, before Dorcas brings her back to reality by delicately clearing her throat.
“Something’s off.”
Marlene waits for Dorcas to continue, to explain the hunch that has Marlene’s shoulders tensing. But she merely continues scanning the menu in her hand. Her green eyes continue flicking over the list of choices, like she hasn’t just put Marlene on high alert.
When the streetlight nearest the diner goes out abruptly, Marlene doesn’t have to ask. Without really having to think about it, her body reacts on automatic, drawing her wand from its holster and taking aim before the next light outside goes out.
“Everyone clear out!” she shouts, getting stunned stares for her trouble.
They start moving once the lights in the diner waver and then go out. She’s already dropping to the ground, Dorcas falling with her, when the windows blow out, showering them in glass as the other patrons erupt in panicked screams.
“Out!” Dorcas instructs them, getting to her feet.
She begins herding them to the door, grabbing people off the floor and shoving them, before the entrance can be blocked. Marlene has her back as she works, her eyes scanning the recently shattered windows for any movement outside. They get a few families to safety before jets of light stream toward them, halting their progress.
“Everybody down!” Marlene shouts over the chaos.
This time they listen, huddling beneath tables. Trying desperately to remain out of sight as the diner is flooded with a wave of masked soldiers. Marlene tugs on Dorcas’ sleeve, and she follows her, over a sea of broken glass, into the mouth of hell, if Marlene asked, to a corner of the restaurant where they overturn a table and use it for cover.
“Looks like Tom’s not too happy with us,” Dorcas remarks, ducking back down to avoid enemy fire.
The table is temporary relief from the onslaught. They both know that it can be blown away with one well-placed spell, so they keep moving, as much to find new shelter as to keep the Death Eater’s from coming up with a plan of attack while they wait like sitting ducks.
“Not our fault his boys keep walking into the wrong end of our wands!”
The table they were behind moments ago explodes in a shock of light and splintered wood. Dorcas bursts into view, catching the Death Eaters off guard, with Marlene at her back.
Aim, fire, down. Aim, fire, down.
They’ve been in tighter spots than this and walked out alive. There’s nothing different about this diner, this hellish night, Marlene tells herself. They’re smarter, faster, better, even when they’re outnumbered and trying like hell to protect civilians, first and foremost.
Aim, fire, down.
They fight until they’re the last one’s standing. And only after Dorcas has sent a Patronus, and they’re sure there are teams coming to clean up the mess, do they take off, running like mad.
Marlene lets Dorcas tug her along. She sets their path, knowing which streets will be deserted, and which ones bring them closer to home faster than others. They run until they are both out of breath, nearly collapsing against one another as they draw in ragged breaths.
Dorcas slips an arm around Marlene’s middle, and Marlene gratefully sags against her, accepting a kiss on her forehead with a hum. They stay that way for a few moments, outside their flat, needing to take a minute to collect themselves before going in.
“Look what we have here.”
At her words, Marlene lifts her head, groans at the sight of the wanted posters tacked on the light post closest to them. Dorcas studies both images before freeing them from the post and clutching them under one arm.
When Marlene raises an eyebrow, Dorcas just smiles.
“Might as well add them to the collection. Besides, you really do look dashing.”