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Chapter Text

The candles floating above the long tables in the Great Hall flickered gently, casting soft light over the rows of students. The Sorting Hat had just been removed after another round of its usual theatrics, and the newly sorted first years were settling into their seats. The buzz of conversation grew, filling the hall with a warm hum of voices and clinking silverware. At the staff table, Dumbledore rose, his half-moon spectacles glinting.

“A few reminders before we begin our feast,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the hall. “The Forbidden Forest is, as always, off-limits to students. Mister Filch has asked me to remind you that dungbombs are not welcome in the corridors on pain of … something, I can't quite remember. And this year-” His tone shifted, a touch of mischief in his smile. “We are introducing something rather special.”

Marlene McKinnon, seated at the Gryffindor table between Sirius and Mary, leaned back in her chair, her eyebrows raised. “What now?” she muttered, cutting a glance at Lily, who was attempting to keep a straight face as Sirius made exaggerated guesses.

“A dueling club?” he whispered loudly. “Maybe a dance competition?”

Marlene rolled her eyes, but her curiosity was piqued as Dumbledore continued.

“To encourage inter-house camaraderie,” he said, “we have instituted a Pen-Pal Partnership program. This enchanted matchmaking system will pair you with another student close to you in age, chosen by the magic itself as someone you are most compatible with. Friendship-wise, of course.”

“Of course,” Sirius snorted, nudging Marlene who wore an expression of utter horror.

The Gryffindor table erupted with chatter. Across the hall, at the Slytherin table, Dorcas Meadowes was distinctly less amused.

“This sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” she said under her breath. She was sandwiched between Pandora Rosier and Regulus Black, who were listening with varying degrees of interest. Pandora was sketching idle flowers on her napkin while Regulus, ever composed, merely hummed.

“Disaster for some, amusement for others,” Barty Crouch Jr. chimed in with a smirk from her other side. “Imagine the secrets people will spill.”

Dorcas shot him a glare. “Not everyone has ulterior motives, Barty.”

“Not everyone,” he said lightly, “but surely some.”

Evan Rosier, a seat down, chuckled. “You’re just mad because you’ll have to write letters. Can you even write without sneering?”

Dorcas ignored him, returning her attention to Dumbledore.

“Each pair will communicate through letters, which are to be deposited in the enchanted box in the Great Hall.” He gestured to a simple wooden box near the teachers’ table. “The magic will deliver your letter to your partner’s bed at night. I trust you all to respect the anonymity of this process and use it as a means to foster understanding and friendship across houses.”

Marlene snorted. “As if.

“It’s ridiculous,” Dorcas murmured at the same time, her voice cutting through Regulus’s quiet laugh.

But as the feast began and plates filled with food, neither of them could stop thinking about the same thing: who could their so-called “match” possibly be?

Chapter Text

In the Slytherin common room, the fire crackled softly, casting shadows over the green velvet couches. Dorcas sat at a desk near the corner, her quill poised above a fresh sheet of parchment. Pandora lounged on a nearby chair, twirling a strand of her hair and pretending to read. Regulus sat cross-legged on the floor, meticulously arranging the pieces of a chess set, while Barty, as usual, sprawled across the sofa with an air of mockery about him.

“Are you really doing it?” Barty asked, his voice lilting with amusement.

Dorcas ignored him, her lips pressed in a thin line as she concentrated.

“She’s taking this very seriously,” Pandora murmured, leaning over to look at Dorcas’s work. “That’s her third draft.”

“Some of us,” Dorcas said without looking up, “aren’t content with scribbling nonsense on parchment like a five-year-old.”

Regulus smirked, moving his knight into position. “It’s not a NEWT, Dorcas. It’s a pen-pal letter.”

“Yes, and first impressions matter.” She straightened, rereading her words.

Dearest Match,
I must admit, when Headmaster Dumbledore announced this program, I was sceptical. But after some thought, I find myself intrigued by the opportunity. There’s so much to learn about someone when we’re unburdened by preconceptions. I hope this letter finds you well and that we might share something meaningful through these letters. Tell me about yourself. Your favourite place in the castle, the spells you enjoy most, or even what you wish to do after Hogwarts.

With warmest regards,
your secret pen-pal.

Pandora tilted her head. “It’s... very formal?”

“Exactly.” Dorcas blew lightly on the ink. “No need to embarrass myself with anything too personal. It’s perfect.”

“And utterly joyless,” Barty quipped.

Dorcas rolled her eyes and tucked the parchment into an envelope. “Joyless is better than whatever drivel you’d write.”

✧ 

Across the castle, Marlene was having a far less productive evening.

“Ugh, this is impossible!” she groaned, ripping yet another piece of parchment in half. She flung it dramatically onto the pile of discarded drafts littering the Gryffindor common room floor.

“Come on, Marls,” Lily said from her spot by the fire. “It’s not that hard. Just be honest.”

“Honest?” Marlene stared at her, incredulous. “What do I even say? ‘Hi, my name’s Marlene, and I’m terrible at writing letters’? That’ll go over well.”

Sirius snorted from his perch on the arm of Mary’s chair. “Honestly, I think you’re overthinking this. Just scribble something vaguely charming and call it a day.”

“Charming isn’t exactly her strong suit,” Mary teased, ducking as Marlene tossed a balled-up piece of parchment at her.

Marlene groaned and slumped in her chair. “Why couldn’t I just get paired with one of you lot? At least then I wouldn’t feel like an idiot.”

“Because magic clearly decided you need to branch out,” Remus said with a small smile, looking up from his book. “You might even end up liking this person.”

“Unlikely,” Marlene muttered, reaching for yet another blank sheet of parchment. She scrawled:

Hello.
I don’t know what to write, but here I am anyway. Hope you’re not expecting Shakespeare.

Then she grimaced, crumpled it up, and tossed it aside.

“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” Lily suggested gently. “Just... be yourself. Whoever this is might actually appreciate that.”

“Be myself?” Marlene laughed bitterly. “I don’t even like myself half the time. Why would they?”

Sirius sighed and ruffled her hair affectionately. “All right, pity party over. Let’s go raid the kitchens and forget about this nonsense for tonight.”

“Fine,” Marlene grumbled, stomping on her way out. “But tomorrow, I’m burning that stupid box.”

 ✧

Meanwhile, Dorcas, thoroughly pleased with her work, placed her envelope in the enchanted letterbox the next morning. As it vanished in a swirl of magic, she allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

“Good luck, whoever you are,” she whispered.

✧

The first letter appeared on Marlene’s bed the next evening. Having accompanied Mary as she retrieved a book Lily had lent her, she collapsed on the blankets.

She was already face-down in her pillow, groaning about the coming day’s classes when Mary pointed it out.

“Oi, Marls. Looks like you’ve got mail.”

Marlene rolled over and frowned. The creamy envelope stood out against the Gryffindor-red blanket.

Down in the common room holding the letter out from her as if it was radioactive, Marlene looked around in mild terror.

“Go on,” Lily urged, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the chair. “Open it!”

“Bet it’s soppy,” Sirius called from where he was sprawled over Remus’s lap, taking up most of the couch as he flipped through one of his textbooks. “Some lovesick fifth year, pouring their heart out.”

Marlene groaned but sat down next to Sirius and broke the seal. Her friends leaned in, expectant. She read aloud:

“Dearest Match,
I must admit, when Headmaster Dumbledore announced this program, I was sceptical. But after some thought, I find myself intrigued by the opportunity. There’s so much to learn about someone when we’re unburdened by preconceptions…”

She trailed off, staring at the page.

“Well?” Mary prompted. “It’s sweet, right?”

“Sweet?” Marlene’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s ridiculous. Who writes like this? ‘Unburdened by preconceptions.’ What does that even mean!?”

“It means,” Remus said patiently, “they’re trying to be polite.”

“It means,” Sirius countered with a smirk, “they’re boring.”

Marlene dropped the letter and flopped back onto the couch, dramatic as ever. “I’m bloody doomed.”

“Or,” Lily offered, “you could write back and give them a chance. Maybe they’re not as drab as their writing makes them sound.”

"Oh sure" she retorted "Normal and well adjusted people definitely write like 18th century aristocrats."

"Well at least you've got something" pointed out Mary "The rest of us are woefully letter free"

The next day despite her defeated attitude Marlene resolved to give the letter writing thing another go. After all how would she feel if her pan pal ignored her. It wasn't this person's fault that they had apparently been possessed by the spirit of some flowery dead bourgeoisie.

Tearing a page out of her almost empty notebook (she wasn't much for paying attention in class) Marlene finally sat down and scrawled out a couple lines.

Hello,

Thank you for your letter, it's very… thoughtful? I really don't know what to write here, sorry, but I'll try my best to answer your questions. I guess that my favourite place in the castle would be the astronomy tower I guess it's just nice up there. My favourite spell is probably accio, I lose things a lot. So, what about you? Tell me about yourself.

From your slightly apprehensive pen pal.

She would never admit it but she hated meeting new people. The friends that she had were good enough for her. What use was this branching out, it only brought her stress. Dumbledore must have gotten really bored over the holidays to inflict this new horror on them. She threw down her quill, this was good enough, maybe? She had to post it right away lest she lose her nerve.

A short run later and she was standing, out of breath, in front of the box.

"Hello, whoever you are" she whispered, almost like a prayer as the letter dissipated in a buzz of magical energy.

Chapter Text

The letter arrived late the next evening, fluttering onto Dorcas’s bed in the Slytherin dormitory with a faint shimmer of magic. She recognised the telltale scrawl immediately. Haphazard handwriting on a scrap of lined paper that looked distinctly out of place against her neatly folded green duvet.

“Finally,” she muttered, plucking it up, carrying it downstairs to the common room before unfolding it.

Regulus glanced up from his book. “Your pen pal reply?”

“Yes.” Dorcas sighed, scanning the unevenly inked words. Her nose wrinkled as she read.

After having read through the full letter twice, Dorcas stared at the it for a long moment, her brows furrowing. “Thoughtful?” she repeated aloud, her tone disbelieving.

Pandora, lying on her stomach on the rug, craned her neck to look. “Well, they’re honest, at least.”

“They didn’t even finish a sentence without apologising,” Dorcas said, exasperated. “And they’ve used ‘I guess’ twice in as many lines. How hard is it to write with a bit of confidence?”

"Maybe they're nervous," Pandora suggested gently.

“Or lazy,” Dorcas snapped.

Barty smirked from his usual sprawl on the sofa. “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Like a certain someone who ruined your Potions grade in third year?”

Dorcas shot him a withering look. “Don’t remind me.” She set the letter down and reached for her quill. “Fine. If they can’t manage a proper letter, I’ll just have to teach them how.”

She dipped the quill in ink, her movements precise as she wrote.

My dearest Pen Pal,

Thank you for your reply, though I must admit, I wasn’t expecting such brevity. It’s refreshing, I suppose, in its own way. The Astronomy Tower is a lovely choice for a favourite place. I enjoy it as well. There’s something calming about the stars, isn’t there?

As for me, I’d say my favourite place in the castle is the library. I spend a fair amount of time there, and I find it to be both peaceful and productive. My favourite spell would have to be Lumos. It’s simple but effective, useful for finding clarity in darkness.

Tell me more about yourself. What do you enjoy doing in your free time? What’s the most memorable experience you’ve had at Hogwarts so far? I’d like to know.

With best wishes,

your match

“There,” Dorcas said, folding the letter neatly. “That’s how you write something worth reading.”

“You’re putting a lot of effort into this,” Pandora noted.

“Because I have standards,” Dorcas replied, sliding the letter into an envelope and sealing it. “Unlike some people.”

Dorcas put off sending the letter out of spite. It was only on Friday, sweeping past the enchanted letterbox that she finally deigned to drop the envelope in, trying not to think too much about who might be on the receiving end of her carefully chosen words.

 ✧

"I wasn't expecting such brevity. It's refreshing I suppose, in its own way." Marlene read aloud in affronted disbelief, slamming the pristine paper onto the table at breakfast the next morning in disgust. "Exactly what type of prick has this thing paired me with?"

"Don't you think that you might be reading into this a bit too much?" Said Lily tentatively reaching over the table to read the letter for herself. "Look, this bit about the tower is lovely!"

The letter must have arrived sometime on Friday night, or she had simply not noticed it when she had collapsed into bed. Marlene had woken to find it crumpled in her arms, (not the best look). Anyhow she was really starting to dislike her 'match', it was like superiority radiated of those perfectly pressed pages.

"Honestly Marls you need to get into the spirit of this thing..." Added Mary, wiping jam off her fingers as she plucked the letter from Lily's hands "Foster unity in the school and whatever. And," she added with a conspiratorial look "You heard what Dumbledore said, it matches you with someone you're compatible with."

"Well there must be something wrong with the old gits system," retorted Marlene "There's nothing compatible between me whoever I've got."

"I don't know about that, you both like the astronomy tower." Lily pointed out.

"Yeah but then they go on and on about the library. You know better than anyone I've never willingly stepped foot in that hellhole!" Said Marlene, slumping further in her chair.

"Very true," mused Mary smirking slightly as she read the letter "However they do say opposites attract?"

"Give that back!" Marlene lunged forwards and snatched at the letter, knocking over several stands of toast and jars of jam in the process.

"Ooooh feisty aren't we this morning?" Sirius grinned at her as he clambered onto the bench next to her, followed in quick succession by Remus, Peter and James.

"Another letter already!" exclaimed Remus "Whichever lazy sod got me hasn't even bothered to write once yet!"

"Hey, that reminds me Moony, I've got to send mine off." said Sirius clapping him on the shoulder, and then shifting closer to Marlene "Soooo, what has your secret admirer sent now?"

"Not my secret admirer, freak." replied Marlene, flattening out the letter from where it had crumpled "Just some stuff about their favourite place in the castle and spells. It's not like someones going to spill their guts to me in the second letter."

"I don't know about that," smiled Sirius. "My letter was pretty intense," he leaned in closer whispering conspiratorially "You know I think I might have found my soulmate!"

Marlene rolled her eyes and elbowed him hard in the ribs. Ignoring his affronted cry she turned to talk to James on her other side, a far more invigorating conversation about the ensuing quidditch season.

✧

It was only on Tuesday, holed up the back of history of magic, sandwiched between an asleep Mary and a horrifyingly alert Lily, that she remembered the letter. Feeling a twinge of guilt at her first rather lacklustre response she resolved to try a little harder this time.

Remembering something intellectual sounding that Lily had once said, she nudged her and asked "What's that thing you say, brevity is the something of something?"

"Brevity is the soul of wit?" replied Lily, not breaking concentration from Professor Binns.

"Yeah that's it" Marlene whispered back, flipping open her journal and ripping another page out.

Good morning, or at least it is when I'm writing this,

They say brevity is the soul of wit, don't they? Well I'll try harder in the future to pique your interest dear match. The stars are lovely from the Astronomy tower, but I have to say what I enjoy of it most is the height. Looking down and realising how small you really are.

I can't say I've ever really enjoyed the library, something about the silence doesn't sit well with me.

In my free time I most enjoy quidditch, the chaos, the speed, and the excitement of it.

The most memorable moment I've had at Hogwarts, I would say is around six months into my first year. I was so worried about not meeting people, and then just the general process of making friends. But halfway through that year I suddenly looked around and I realised I had done it, I was surrounded by people who I loved and who loved me. I felt safe if that makes sense.

Tell me what you like to do, I want to know what your favourite memory is, and then to lighten the mood tell me what you had for breakfast.

From your eternally curious Match

It was strange writing to this nebulous person, someone she would have passed in the halls a hundred times but never noticed. She felt a strange desire to open up, to spill her darkest secrets, if only to see them on the page, to know that they were real.

In the gap between History of Magic and Potions she dragged Mary and Lily off course to deposit this next letter in the box. Ignoring her friend's strange looks she hurried off without a word on the topic.

Chapter Text

The second letter, if you could even call it that, was sitting on Dorcas’s bed just as she was returning from the library Tuesday evening, her satchel slung over one shoulder and her Astronomy textbook tucked under her arm. She paused at the sight of the scrappy piece of paper, bearing closer resemblance to a page haphazardly torn from a notebook than an actual neat and tidy letter such as the one she had sent her match, Dorcas noted.

“Another gem, I’m sure,” she muttered under her breath as she sat down and opened it.

Dorcas proceeded to read the letter twice, her expression shifting from faint annoyance to reluctant amusement. “They can’t seem to decide if they want to be insightful or whimsical,” she muttered.

“What’s that?” Pandora asked, glancing up from her sketchbook, where she was working on a detailed drawing of a dragon.

“My match’s latest attempt at communication,” Dorcas replied, passing the letter to her.

Pandora read it quickly, her lips twitching into a smile. “It’s charming, in a way.”

“Charming isn’t the word I’d use,” Dorcas said dryly. "They dislike the library- of course they do." She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "And Quidditch. It always comes back to Quidditch."

Barty and Evan, who had been debating the finer points of potion brewing nearby, caught her last comment.

“Quidditch?” Evan echoed, leaning over. “Is your pen pal one of those obnoxious Gryffindors who only talks about broomsticks and glory?”

Dorcas smirked faintly. “Seems likely.”

“Well,” Pandora said lightly, handing the letter back, “they’re curious about you. That’s something, isn’t it? Maybe they’re trying. Not wholly obnoxious at least?”

Dorcas tilted her head, considering. “Maybe,” she allowed, reaching for her quill. “But I won’t make it easy for them.”

Not wanting to seem too eager she waited a perfunctory two days before sending off her response.

Dear Match,

Your letter was… intriguing. I’ll grant you that. It’s an interesting perspective, to enjoy the height of the Astronomy Tower for the way it reminds you how small you are. I suppose there’s a certain freedom in that, though I’d argue the stars themselves are the more captivating sight.

Quidditch is chaos, speed, and excitement, yes, but for me, it’s also a rare escape. There’s something about the open sky that feels limitless, don’t you think?

My favourite memory at Hogwarts is sneaking out to watch a meteor shower in my third year. The sky was alive with light that night, and for a moment, nothing else mattered but the view above.

As for breakfast? Toast and marmalade, alongside far too much coffee. I’m curious to hear about yours. Do you have a preference for sweet or savory in the mornings?

With best wishes,
Your one and only pen-pal partnership <3

Dorcas walked through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, the letter clutched in her hand. The parchment was cool against her palm, the envelope sealed with a neat flick of her wand. As she made her way to the enchanted letterbox in the Great Hall, her thoughts churned in a mix of annoyance and intrigue.

Quidditch. The Astronomy Tower. The chaotic scrawl of her match’s handwriting. Each detail stuck in her mind, weaving a picture she couldn’t quite complete.

Who are you?

The thought came unbidden, a flicker of curiosity she wasn’t entirely sure she welcomed. Still, she quickened her pace, as if to shake the question loose.

By the time she reached the Great Hall, the long tables were mostly empty, save for a few stragglers nursing cups of tea or quietly chatting. The letterbox sat near the entrance, glowing faintly as it hummed with magic.

Dorcas dropped her letter into the slot and watched as it vanished with a soft shimmer, whisked away to the dormitory of her mysterious match.

As she turned to leave, she nearly collided with Regulus, who was leaning casually against one of the stone pillars, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

“Delivering another masterpiece, Meadowes?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery.

“Hardly a masterpiece,” Dorcas replied, brushing past him. “But leagues better than what I’ve been receiving.”

Regulus fell into step beside her, his hands tucked into his robes. “Still convinced your match is some hopeless Gryffindor macho-man?”

“Who else would ramble about chaos and Quidditch?” Dorcas said, her tone dry.

“Fair point,” he conceded. “But isn’t that the fun of it? You could be paired with anyone, someone you’d never expect.”

Dorcas shot him a sidelong glance. “Speaking from experience?”

Regulus’s smirk faltered, just for a moment, before he shrugged. “Let’s just say my match has been… enlightening.”

“Careful,” Dorcas teased. “You almost sounded optimistic.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about meddling headmasters.

When they reached the Slytherin common room, they found Barty and Evan sprawled in their usual spots by the fireplace. Pandora was perched on the armrest of an oversized chair, humming softly as she added delicate shading to her sketch.

“Back already?” Evan asked, glancing up.

“Dropped off the letter,” Dorcas replied, sinking into a nearby chair.

“Let me guess,” Barty said, his grin wicked. “Still pining for your perfect match?”

"Hardly.” Dorcas arched a brow. “If anything, I’m trying to figure out how they’ve managed to scrape through life this disorganised.”

“They sound fascinating,” Pandora said, a teasing lilt in her voice.

“They’re a mystery,” Dorcas admitted, leaning her head back against the chair. “And I can’t decide if I want to solve it or ignore it entirely.”

Regulus smirked, taking a seat across from her. “Oh, you want to solve it. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Dorcas opened her mouth to retort, but Pandora cut in, her voice light and curious. “What would you do if you met them?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, and Dorcas frowned, considering. What would she do? Confront them? Laugh? Walk away?

“I’d probably ask them how they survive without a single ounce of structure,” she said finally, earning a laugh from the group.

But as the conversation shifted to other topics, Dorcas couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t dislike the mystery as much as she claimed.

✧

Marlene was thinking, a horrifyingly rare occurrence, when the third letter fell directly onto her face.

"What the hell," she muttered scrabbling for the thick card of the envelope.

She had been staring at the shifting shadows decorating the ceiling while a strange cloying sensation rose in her throat, before she had been so rudely interrupted. however, a strange feeling, of anticipation perhaps, was making her heart race as she held the letter in gentle hands, like a crease would sully it. Not wanting to wake Mary and Lily, sequestered in their own four posters, she crept over to the puddle of starlight falling thorough the window and sat down to read.

She tore through the letter, reading it once and then twice, absorbing the words written in that infuriatingly perfect hand.

"There’s something about the open sky that feels limitless, don’t you think?" she whispered and the words hung there in the air before seeping into her. She didn't know how she felt, looking out into the night and thinking that someone, far away could be looking back.

And then she sat staring at the stars above as if for the first time and contemplated her response. She carefully tore off another sheet of lined paper, arranged her ink and quill in the sparse light and wrote.

It is night and I find myself looking up at the sky as if I've never seen it before. I fear that you may be right in the best part of the Astronomy tower. I feel safe in the inconsequentiality of me underneath something so large and complete as the sky.

Do we live to feel limitless? I hope so Match.

I think that we can live forever in moments like that, when your very self is dissolved in the face of the world.

And to answer your question, a few days ago I spilt the jam jar over the table and took it as a sign to lay off the stuff. Generally I stick to savoury, does the (relative) maturity of my palate make up for the rest of me?

Tell me, are you asleep tonight, or is the wonder of the sky holding you captive as it is me?

yours in awe, Match

She folded the scrap of paper in half and then in half again as if its contents were too valuable to be held by one bend alone.

The castle was quiet at this time of night, she had snuck out unable to leave the letter till morning. Even now it burnt at her, itching to be sent, to be stolen away to some distant corner of the castle, for some stranger to rove their eyes across the page, hear like a whisper her deepest thoughts.

She was painfully aware that it was past curfew, stopping around every corner looking for the tell tale flash of a cat that would indicate Filch's presence. She had ducked into one such alcove when she backed into someone already there. Biting out a muffled curse she spun around to see… no one. The alcove was shadowed yes, but it was completely empty. she stretched one hand out feeling through the air before she hit something that wasn't there, a thing that felt suspiciously like a face, and a face that let out an all to familiar "Hey! Get off me!" Suddenly Sirius' head appeared, like a rip in thin air, floating as if it was separated from his body.

"What the hell?" She whispered in shock

"For Merlin's sake shut up!" Hissed Sirius, and with a groan held open what appeared to be an oddly translucent cloak, revealing his flannel pyjamas. It must be an invisibility cloak she realised, they were supposed to be wildly rare and valuable, where on earth did he get it from? "Get under this" Sirius waved his semi invisible arm impatiently "Do you fancy a detention?!"

"How long have you had this?" She muttered as he swung the cloak over her shoulders.

"It's James's. Shut up"

"That prick!" whispered back Marlene

"Do you want to get caught McKinnon?" muttered Sirius

They crept through the hallway, the distorted view through the cloak lending the darkened castle an almost ominous air. Marlene quickly realised that Sirius was leading them exactly in the direction of the great hall, and it was also then that she noticed the folded envelope sticking out of his pocket. When they reached the wooden box she gave him a pointed look and pulled her own scrap of paper out.

"I think this falls into the category of things we'll never talk about." She said as Sirius watched his letter disappear in a whorl of magic.

"Like how we don't say you're a fake blonde?" He replied with a smirk.

"Shut it." She retorted kicking him in the shins.

 ✧

She woke, groggy, the next morning to the sound of her name being called.

"Marls, Marlene! Come on we'll be late."

"Urgh." she replied, still face down and tangled in her sheets. The muffled sounds of Mary and Lily getting ready drifted over, their low morning conversation a faint buzz as she sunk back under the surface of consciousness.

"Another letter already?" Lily's voice floated down to Marlene, cutting through her haze. A letter? her drowsy mind was slow to put the pieces together, like wading though syrup. The Letter! The one from last night, she must have left it there, on the floor by the window! A bolt of adrenaline shot through Marlene, now well and truly awake she shot up and leapt out of bed to see Lily holding the thick card envelope, turning in over in her hands. Now, Marlene was famously quick on a broomstick, but nothing compared to the speed at which she hurtled across the room to swipe the letter out of her friend's hand.

"Wow Marlene, protective much?" Came the dry tone of Mary leaning against the door frame. "Now I'm even more curious then before."

"It's private." She retorted, avoiding eye contact as she hurriedly changed, tugging on her robes, she tucked the letter safely into her pocket. And at the odd looks that the other two shared, when she looked up, she put on a markedly lighter tone "Well don't think I haven't noticed all those pink letters you've been getting Lily."

"Alright have you secrets then." Lily said raising her hands in surrender, but Marlene didn't miss the furtive glance she made to the small stack of pink stationary on her own bedside table.

"Let's go girls!" Called Mary from halfway down the stairs.

Marlene slung her backpack over her shoulder and hopped over, pulling on her shoes as quickly as possible. "What's up with her this morning?" She muttered to Lily, who turned to her, bemused.

"What's up with her? Marls you're the one acting crazy."

She did have to concede on that point.

✧

They made their way to the great hall, pushing past a gaggle of fourth years giggling at the sparks of magic that flew as they deposited letters into the box.

"Everyone seems to be really getting into the spirit of this thing." Mused Mary, Marlene's outburst thankfully forgotten. "Old Dumbledore might have been onto something after all."

"Who do you think your match then?" Asked Lily, bumping Mary's shoulders playfully. "Are you fostering inter house relations already?"

"I think so. If I had to guess from the breadth of vocabulary, mines a Ravenclaw. But we seem to be getting on." Mary smiled almost imperceptibly "And you Marlene? Who do you think your mysterious late night letter writer is?"

They had now reached the lads at the table and were sitting down at what looked like the aftermath of a nuclear bomb composed entirely of toast. Marlene caught Sirius' eye, a silent understanding of last night passing between them.

"I'm not sure" said Marlene, sweeping the crumbs scattering her section of the table over to Sirius opposite her "I think she could be a Ravenclaw, I hope to dear God she's not a Slytherin. Though," she said pausing to consider "her letters are pretentious enough for one of those pricks."

"Wait!" Cut in Peter leaning across the table, a bit of jam still smeared round his mouth, "How do you know it's a girl?"

"Oh, well," started Marlene, feeling a slight flush burning in her cheeks. "Just the way she writes I guess, all poetic and whatnot, and I've never seen a boy sign off with a heart."

"Interesting" said Remus, propping his elbows up on the table and leaning his chin in his hands,"You have a pretentious yet poetic girl, possibly Ravenclaw or Slytherin. I think we could figure this out."

"No!" Exclaimed Marlene, and at her friends curious looks " I mean it goes against the whole system right? We aren't supposed to know who they are." She felt this strange need to keep the person on the other end of the letters nameless, it was almost as if knowing who it was would sully the whole experience, or solidify something she'd rather leave nebulous.

Thankfully the conversation quickly divulged into the usual Gryffindor gossip, one of the Bones sisters had been caught trying to sneak into McGonagall's office. Marlene performed an adequate farce of paying attention, but in reality her thoughts were far away, drawn like a moth to a flame, by the shabby wooden box at the hall's entrance.

Chapter Text

Dorcas awoke sometime in the early morning hours to the faint rustling of parchment against her cheek. The letter must have had arrived not long ago, settling gently on her pillow as she slept. The handwriting was unmistakable. Crooked lines on lined paper, a far cry from the crisp rolls of parchment she usually wrote on. Groaning softly, she sat up, casting a quick lumos charm to allow her to read in the dorm without waking any of her friends, brushing her hair out of her face and unfolding the letter.

As she read, her grogginess faded, replaced by a quiet hum of interest.

A small smile tugged at Dorcas’s lips as she folded the letter back up. It was far from polished, but there was something in its messy sincerity that struck a chord. The kind of vulnerability she never associated with anyone she knew, not even her friends. Certainly not with the frustrating chaos of someone like Marlene McKinnon.

The smile vanished.

Of course, McKinnon wasn’t her match. That would be impossible. McKinnon couldn’t string together a thought about the stars to save her life. This match of hers however? They had potential.

Still, the thought lingered as she threw herself back onto her pillow to get a few more desperately needed hours of sleep before she inevitably had to wake up again to get ready for the day.

✧

Dorcas woke earlier than usual not even two hours later, her mind already buzzing with fragments of phrases she wanted to include in her next letter. The quiet hum of the castle at dawn was the perfect backdrop for writing; her dormitory was still, her roommates asleep, and the sky outside the window faintly tinged with pink.

She smoothed the parchment on her desk, her quill poised as she carefully drafted and revised, ensuring every word carried just the right balance of curiosity and elegance. By the time she sealed the letter and tucked it safely into her bag to deliver later, the dormitory had emptied, and the clock struck dangerously close to the start of her first class.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, snatching up her potions textbook and practically sprinting out the door.

✧

The Potions classroom was already alive with the low hum of chatter and clinking glassware when Dorcas slipped in, her robes slightly askew and her breath a bit quicker than usual. She scanned the room for an empty seat, but her stomach dropped as she realised there was only one left, next to Marlene McKinnon.

Marlene was already seated, looking even more smug than usual, a hard bar to beat, as she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. Dorcas hesitated, considering the prospect of skipping class entirely, but Professor Slughorn was already watching her with a raised eyebrow.

Reluctantly, she crossed the room and slid into the seat, her jaw tight.

“Well, well,” Marlene drawled, barely bothering to hide her grin. “Didn’t think I’d ever see the day when the great Dorcas Meadowes showed up late.”

Dorcas ignored her, unpacking her materials with deliberate precision. “Some of us have lives outside of the classroom, McKinnon.”

Marlene snorted. “Is that your excuse? Because you’ve got some ink on your wrist, and I doubt it’s from writing an essay.”

Dorcas glared at her, pulling her sleeve down. “Do you ever get tired of being a nuisance?”

“Do you ever get tired of being perfect?” Marlene shot back, though her voice carried more irritation than humour now.

“Constantly,” Dorcas muttered under her breath, focusing on the instructions on the board.

The class passed in tense silence between them, punctuated only by Marlene’s muttered comments whenever Dorcas adjusted the flame under their cauldron or added an ingredient with meticulous care.

“You don’t have to stir like it’s brain surgery,” Marlene grumbled at one point.

“And you don’t have to breathe so loudly,” Dorcas snapped back.

By the end of the lesson, the potion was finished, gleaming faintly as Professor Slughorn passed by to inspect it.

“Well done, ladies,” he said with a smile. “A textbook execution.”

Dorcas barely resisted the urge to point out that she had done all the work.

As they packed up, Marlene leaned closer, her voice low and needling. “You know, Meadowes, for someone so desperate to be the best at everything, you sure do a lot of micromanaging. Ever think about loosening up?”

Dorcas shot her a withering glare. “Ever think about trying harder?”

Marlene grinned, clearly pleased with herself, and Dorcas stormed out of the classroom before she said something she’d regret.

✧

Still fuming, Dorcas stomped her way to the Great Hall to drop off her letter. Pandora was waiting for her near the enchanted letterbox, sketching idly on a corner of the Slytherin table.

“You’re late,” Pandora said without looking up.

“I got paired with McKinnon,” Dorcas gritted out, slipping the letter into the box.

Pandora raised an eyebrow, finally glancing up from her drawing. “And survived, I see.”

“Barely,” Dorcas muttered, dropping into a seat across from her friend. “She’s insufferable.”

“Funny,” Pandora said with a sly smile. “You seem to get along just fine with your match. Maybe you’re more adaptable than you think.”

Dorcas shot her a glare but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she let her mind drift back to the letter she’d just posted, her words already echoing in her head.

My dearest darling Match,

Your letter this morning was... unexpected. Lovely, yes, but also surprising. I didn’t expect you to describe something so grand; the stars, the sky, with such clarity. It almost makes me wonder if you’ve hidden your poetic side from the rest of the world.

Do we live to feel limitless? I think we live to be both: small and vast. It’s the moments when those two states blur that we feel truly alive.

As for your question: last night, I slept soundly for the most part. I did wake briefly, though, when your letter arrived. It was the softest of interruptions, as I woke to the feel of paper brushing my cheek. Of course, I couldn’t help but read it straight away. And after I did, I fell asleep again, somehow more content and steady than I’d been before.

Tell me, do you think the chaos of life and the peace of the stars can coexist? Or are they meant to be separate worlds, clashing and competing like oil and water?

Yours in reflection,
Your one and only Match

✧

Marlene stormed, of all places, into the library, she had gotten caught in the flurry of students as she left Potions. However, thankfully she had spotted Lily heading in that direction.

"Dorcas Meadowes," she spat out, slamming her bag on the table next to Lily.

Lily blinked and looked up from the tome she was reading, a faint line creasing her brow. "What about her?"

"She's completely insufferable." Marlene slumped down in her chair, throwing her arms up in derision.

"Oh?" said Lily "What's prompted this then?"

"She arrives late, glares at me as if it's my problem, and then spends the rest of the lesson hogging the cauldron! Shooting me dirty looks the whole time as if its all my idea…" Throwing her head back Marlene continued, "It's like she cannot conceive that a bumbling idiot like me could even be worth a second of her precious time"

"Remind me why you hate each other again?" Lily whispered, unlike Marlene, both aware of the lurking presence of Madame Pince, and fond enough of the library to mind being kicked out.

"Why she hates me, I couldn't care less." said Marlene, looking for all the world like she really did. "She's rotten down to the core. That perfect face, perfect grades, perfect flying, it hides this vindictive, pretentious soul."

"Oh I remember! This is because she's better than you at Quidditch, isn't it?" Lily glanced at Marlene, barely suppressing a smile.

"No!" exclaimed Marlene, and then at the shush of Madame Pince echoing across the shelves, a surefire harbinger of detention, in a much lower tone. "I hate her because she doesn't care, she's above it all, floating over the rest of us in her own bubble of self importance" She paused, thinking over the morning's events "She's got something to hide, I don't think shes been late once in all 6 years."

"Hmmm." was Lily's only response, turning back to her book.

"Whatcha reading?" asked Marlene, shaking her head slightly as if it would dislodge the thought of Dorcas Meadowes. "Please tell me its not for an assignment." The slab of pages that Lily was bent over was covered in dense writing, interspersed with wiggly drawings that Marlene couldn't quite make out, and she felt her stomach sink in anticipation of another godforsaken essay.

Lily replied not looking up from the book. "Dragons of the British isles."

"And why are you reading that?" said Marlene incredulously

"I, unlike some of us, like to learn." came the reply.

"You know you're no fun anymore Lils." said Marlene, loudly cracking her neck.

"Good," she replied "At least one of us will pass our NEWTs."

✧

The rest of the day passed in a fugue of irritation. The one shining beacon of hope at the end of the dark and dreary tunnel that was classes, was the first Gryffindor Quidditch practice of the year. Herbology dragged on mercilessly, Marlene stole glances at her watch, counting down the seconds, as if she could speed up the march of time through pure spite. The very moment they were dismissed, she grabbed her bag and sprinted up the slope back to the castle, as if a serial killer were chasing her.

Reaching Gryffindor tower red faced and out of breath, she choked out the password (Poppycock), and took the stairs up to her room two at a time. She was fumbling through her trunk for the scattered pieces of her Quidditch robes, really she should have unpacked by now, when she noticed it. Another letter. She held it in her hands for a moment, fingers brushing over the thick creamy card, before she turned and opened it, ravenous for the words beneath.

When she made it to the pitch the letter was tucked safely into the inside pocket of her robes. She followed her team into the changing rooms where Frank had set up his blackboard.

Marlene spun disjointed sentences over in her head, and the one floating to the surface with an intensity that felt like it was shaking her skull, and at once like a whisper in her ear. "I woke to the feel of paper brushing my cheek" It was intoxicating in a way she didn't really understand.

"McKinnon. Earth to Marlene!"

Marlene flushed, (or had she been already blushing?), and looked up to see Frank who was pointing at some squiggly lines and sketches on the blackboard.

"Like I was saying," he continued, "James and I have been brainstorming new strategies. Sirius and Marlene, you two are going to work separately on some new beater tactics. I'll walk you through it while James and the chasers do formations."

The beater strategies mostly revolved around combining Marlene's deadly accuracy with Sirius' strength. Frank ran them through his increasingly absurd ideas, it was very evident that he had never played the role of beater.

"Wait" said Sirius, interrupting Frank, "You want us to do what?"

"Fly underneath and deflect the bludger up into them." Replied Frank, demonstrating with one hand underneath the other."

"Are you insane Longbottom?" Asked Marlene shooting a bewildered glance at Sirius, who in turn looked equally perplexed. "I mean the angles would have to be perfect."

"That's why Sirius is hitting it and you're deflecting it Marls," said Frank with one of his wide smiles. "I'm sure with your talent you won't find it difficult."

Marlene looked at Sirius who shrugged, and back at Frank who was still smiling with the intensity of a man is bewitched body and soul by the prospect of winning the Quidditch cup. "Alright lets give it a go." She said with a matching grin, "Flattery always works."

They began with dry runs of the move, batting tennis balls, fine tuning their angles until Sirius could hit the projectile at top speed and Marlene was able deflect it so it shot roughly upwards with a sickening thwack.

With the welcome distraction of Quidditch, and the letter tucked close to her heart Marlene felt the days stress slip off her, all traces of Dorcas Meadowes erased in this newfound wash of joy.

She fell asleep, pleasantly warm from her after training shower, disjointed and half formed thoughts whirling through her head.

Later, at dinner the next day, Marlene ripped out some paper and wrote her reply. She asked Remus, briefly looking up from the page, what he thought the meaning of life was. She had a strange desire to impress this anonymous girl, to prove she wasn't some bumbling idiot. Engrossed in her letter so, she missed the interested and slightly confused looks that her friends were shooting each other as she wrote. Marlene hesitated, writing out the final line, and inked a small heart.

Sweet Match

Are the parts that we hide from the world what truly make us up? Is a person the sum of what others see, or are they what is deeper, buried underneath? I think that the old man was onto something with this system, if not for the goal of house unity. It is hard to hide behind my own face when you don't know what I look like.

I once heard that the meaning of life is connections, with the world, with people, you can't know what it means to be human without it.

To answer your question, I believe there is peace and chaos in everything. Yes life brings chaos, but when you stop and listen, to your breath, and to the wind, does peace not also live there? And the stars, aren't they burning too, don't they live and die like us? Oil and water are both liquids, are they not? Opposition is a sort of harmony.

For you, Match, I ask, mundanely, what your favourite colour is? For, in lieu of your name I find myself wanting to know everything more about you.

Yours faithfully,

Match ♡

Without a word to her friends she folded the letter and rushed to deliver it. The box almost glowed as she reached it. The glimmers of magic as the letter was whisked off looked to her that night a little like stars.

Chapter Text

Dorcas found the letter on her pillow, folded neatly, the lined paper slightly creased from the journey it had taken to reach her. She had just returned to the dormitory after lingering in the common room, pretending to finish an essay while Pandora meticulously wrote her latest pen pal letter on her signature pink stationery decorated with little silver stars.

Setting her things down, Dorcas unfolded the letter. Her eyes skimmed over the words, each line pulling her deeper into her match’s world. She traced the delicate, slightly slanted handwriting with her finger as she read, her breath catching at "opposition is a sort of harmony."

But then, at the bottom of the letter, it stared up at her like a confounding puzzle: a little heart.

She blinked at it, her mind racing.

What?! A heart? That’s- no, wait, it could just be...friendly? Right? But- what if it’s not? What if it’s…a woman?!

Dorcas sank onto her bed, the letter clutched in one hand while the other gripped her hair. Her brain spiralled.

I mean, sure, it could be a man. But- oh, Merlin, what if it isn’t? What if- what if it’s a woman? Would they-? Could they-? Ugh, Dorcas, stop overthinking it!

The dormitory door creaked open, and Pandora waltzed in, a dreamy expression on her face and pink ink smudged on her fingers. "Dorcas, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What happened?"

Dorcas waved the letter at her. "This happened! Look at it! Look at the heart!"

Pandora perched on the edge of her bed, peering at the letter. "Oh, it’s adorable."

"A heart, Pandora. A heart. What does that mean?!"

Pandora tilted her head, her silvery-blonde hair cascading over one shoulder. "It could mean anything, really. Maybe they’re just affectionate."

"But what if it’s more than that? What if- what if it’s a woman?" Dorcas’s voice was hushed, almost reverent, like she was confessing a secret she didn’t even know she’d been keeping.

Pandora set the letter down gently and smiled at her. "So what if it is?"

Dorcas blinked. "What do you mean so what?"

"I mean, would it really be so bad? If it’s a woman, that doesn’t change anything. It’s not like this is a marriage proposal. It’s just…a connection. Friendship, even. Look at us. I’m a woman, and we’re friends, aren’t we?"

"Yeah, but-" Dorcas hesitated, her gaze dropping to the letter in her lap. The words on the page swirled in her mind, a perfect harmony of thoughtfulness and vulnerability.

"But?" Pandora pressed gently.

"But I think…I think I already adore them."

Pandora grinned, her eyes sparkling. "Well, then. I think that answers your question, doesn’t it?"

Dorcas groaned and flopped backward onto her bed. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," Pandora said cheerfully, retrieving her own letter and smoothing it out on her lap.

✧

My sweet match,

You have a way of asking questions that make me think too much. About the world, about myself, about everything, really.

I think you’re right. Opposition is a kind of harmony. It’s what makes life interesting, isn’t it? The push and pull, the chaos and the quiet. I wonder, sometimes, if the stars would burn as brightly without the vast, dark sky behind them.

As for your mundane question. My favourite colour is green. Not the dark, heavy green of the Slytherin banners, but the kind of fresh green you find in spring, when everything is just waking up.

And your question about hiding parts of ourselves, it’s a good one. I think maybe you’re right. It’s easier to show the truest parts of yourself when there’s no face to attach them to. No expectations.

Tell me, Match, do you think the stars keep secrets from one another, or do they share everything, without fear of burning too bright?

Lastly, I’ll admit: your little heart at the end of your letter caught me off guard. It’s funny how something so small can feel so grand. I’ve found myself wondering about you more and more lately. Who are you, really? Are we alike in ways I don’t yet know, or are you a contrast to me entirely? Either way, I’m starting to believe that whoever you are, I’d like to know you.

Yours,
Match

✧

Dorcas folded the letter one last time, smoothing out the edges before tucking it safely into her bag. She needed to clear her head before delivering it. Almost a week had gone by but the rhythm of her heart was still uneven from writing those final lines.

“Pandora?” she called across the common room, where her friend sat perched on one of the plush armchairs by the fire, somehow still writing.

Pandora looked up, her quill pausing mid-sentence. “Yes?”

“Fancy a walk? I need some air before I post this thing,” Dorcas muttered, gesturing at her bag.

Pandora smiled knowingly and set her quill aside. “Let me grab my cloak.”

✧

The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew and the distant echo of bird calls as Dorcas and Pandora wandered down the path that edged the Hogwarts grounds. The soft hum of life stirring across the castle grounds had always been Dorcas’s favourite kind of quiet. It was a quiet that buzzed with potential, like the calm before a game, when the air was charged with anticipation.

“Let me see it,” Pandora demanded, her tone playful as she skipped a step ahead, reaching for the folded letter Dorcas clutched.

“No way,” Dorcas replied, pulling the letter closer to her chest. “It’s private.”

Pandora laughed, twirling on her heel to face Dorcas while walking backward. Her cloak billowed slightly behind her, a pale contrast against the darker green of the Slytherin trim. “You’ve been agonising over that thing for hours. Don’t I deserve a sneak peek for putting up with your dramatics?”

“Dramatics?” Dorcas repeated, narrowing her eyes but unable to keep the corners of her lips from twitching upward.

“Yes, dramatics,” Pandora confirmed with a decisive nod. “You’re usually composed. Fantastic quidditch player, top marks, the Dorcas Meadowes. Untouchable, unbothered.” She tilted her head. “But the second you start writing to this match of yours, you turn into a complete mess. It’s adorable, really.”

Dorcas groaned. “I don’t know why I even brought you along.”

“Because you needed someone to keep you from throwing that letter into the lake,” Pandora said matter-of-factly.

Dorcas sighed, her gaze drifting toward the distant Quidditch pitch. The sky was a perfect pale blue, and she could just make out the golden glint of the hoops. She felt a pang of longing. Flying always cleared her head, made her feel more in control of the chaos. But today, her match’s words had thrown her so far off balance she didn’t think even the wind could set her right.

Dorcas and Pandora reached the castle as the first rays of sunlight spilled over the turrets, painting the stone walls with a soft golden glow. The sound of their boots echoed faintly as they passed through the entrance hall, its vastness just starting to hum with the early risers heading toward the Great Hall for breakfast.

Pandora gave Dorcas a little nudge. “Go on. Post it before you lose your nerve.”

“I’m not going to lose my nerve,” Dorcas muttered, tightening her grip on the letter.

Pandora just raised an eyebrow, looking entirely unconvinced as she meandered toward the Slytherin table, her own newest pen-pal letter tucked under one arm.

Dorcas lingered by the enchanted box that housed the pen-pal letters, the one spot in the castle where anonymity and connection intertwined. She stared at the slot, willing herself to just drop the letter in.

“Just post the damn thing, Meadowes,” she muttered to herself.

With a deep breath, she slid the letter into the box, watching as it disappeared with a soft, shimmering glow. It was done.

Relief and anxiety warred within her as she turned back toward the Great Hall, her eyes scanning the room out of habit. And then she saw her.

Marlene McKinnon sat at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by Sirius Black and Mary MacDonald. She was leaning back in her seat, her laughter loud and carefree, her gestures exaggerated as she spoke. It was as if she wanted to draw the entire room’s attention to her.

Dorcas’s chest tightened. Marlene’s presence always managed to irritate her, but now it felt...different. The warmth she felt for her match clashed with the frustration Marlene stirred in her. It made her want to throw something, and it made her want to leave before she accidentally let her emotions show.

She turned back to Pandora, who was leaning casually against the wall, observing everything with her usual calm curiosity. “Done?” Pandora asked, arching an eyebrow.

Dorcas nodded. “Done.”

“And how do you feel?” Pandora asked as they started back toward the dungeons.

“Like I’m going to spend the rest of the day regretting it,” Dorcas muttered.

✧

Marlene woke with a smile already stretching across her face. She felt like a cartoon character, greeting the morning with such enthusiasm, when normally she'd be huddled in warmth for as long as possible. She sat up aiming to rummage through her still unpacked trunk for clean clothes, when she noticed a silvery envelope sitting on Mary's bed, a bed which conspicuously lacked Mary herself.

Looking over to check that Lily was still asleep, Marlene wrapped her dressing gown around herself and crept down to the common room, Mary's silver letter in hand.

The common room was empty except for Mary and Remus, stretched out on the couches.

"Oh hey Marls," Mary turned her head to smile brightly at the other girl "You're up early."

"Ready to face the day." She replied and then waving the letter at Mary "You've got mail."

"Weird. We were just talking about that." Said Remus shifting on the couch to let Marlene in.

Marlene sat down, shifting Mary's legs onto her lap, allowing the other girl to continue her lounging. "Oh yeah? What about it?"

"Just wondering if it's working," said Mary, stowing her letter in the pocket of her robes.

"Like how can we have inter-house unity if we never know who we're writing to?" Added Remus.

"I don't know," replied Marlene, thinking of her match "It could be anyone, that person you've been talking to for weeks, it humanises people somewhat, knowing that it could be them."

"True," said Mary, and then smiling conspiratorially at Remus "So, what's up with you and your match?"

"What do you mean?" Asked Marlene, feeling suddenly ganged up on.

"Well," added Remus. "You've been acting… stranger than usual."

"Not in a bad way of course." Said Mary quickly, leaning forward to touch Marlene's shoulder. "Just different, like you're … distracted."

"I don't know," she replied, her matches last letter swimming thorough her head. "She makes me think."

"Dangerous activities" quipped Remus and then "Ow!" at the responding punch from Marlene. "What do you talk about?"

It felt disingenuous to distil their letters into a few words, she paused, running through their treasured conversations "We talk about life…, and the stars. It's strange, like we've known each other for years."

Mary leaned forwards catching Marlene's eye "Do you like her?"

She had said it like a question, Marlene opened her mouth to reply. Of course she liked her, the girl on the other end of that box who, in that flowing hand drew out those exquisite words. But it was Mary's tone, and the leading look in her eyes that made her falter. She didn't quite know what the other girl was asking her, but somehow it struck a bolt of terror deep inside.

Fortuitously Sirius chose that moment to stumble down the stairs, complaining loudly about how hungry he was.

Marlene, taking this as an opportunity to escape the conversation shot up, ignoring Mary's protests as her legs were displaced "Early breakfast then guys?"

Remus twisted around an apologetic look on his face, but Marlene didn't miss the way his eyes seemed to involuntarily flick in Sirius' direction. "I've got an, um, essay to finish. Sorry."

Mary and Marlene narrowed their eyes at each other, an odd tension between the boys filling the room. "Alright, MacDonald. I hear they have waffles today!" Marlene grabbed Mary's hand and dragged her off the couch, Mary let herself be led out of common room, just as eager as Marlene to escape whatever Remus and Sirius had going on.

✧

Later, after classes, when they all trudged back to the tower, vague notions of homework hanging in the air, Sirius suddenly stopped short in the corridor, hands grasping his hair in a panic.

"Oh shit!" He exclaimed and took off running down the corridor, robes and dark hair billowing dramatically behind him.

They stood there for a second, collectively momentarily stunned, and then James shrugged and chased after him yelling, "Oi Pads!"

This left Marlene with Mary, Lily, Remus, and Peter, who all shared bewildered expressions before continuing their trudge towards the impending doom of essay writing.

When they tumbled through the portrait hole they were greeted with the confounding sight of Sirius holed up in the corner of the room, sitting cross-legged and furiously scribbling on a pristine sheet of parchment.

James was sat on a couch near the fire, arms thrown across the back and his head turned as he frowned at the deeply suspicious sight.

"Is he…. doing work?" Marlene's mouth hung slightly open, one eyebrow raised.

"I don't know." James replied, almost whispering "He bolted the whole way back here and huddled himself up there. I've never seen him so focused." He shivered, "It's unnatural, that's what."

Lily laughed, dropping her bags unceremoniously and sinking onto the couch next to James, "I bet he's writing a letter."

"Ha!" Mary slid into her own armchair "Oh my god you're so right Lils."

Marlene had sat down on the floor, leaning against Lily's legs, and was just dragging her books and parchment out of her bag when she noticed Remus. He was still standing near the door, paused for a moment too long. His brow was ever so slightly creased, Marlene followed his gaze to where it was drawn, like a line to a sinker, to Sirius. He seemed to have felt her gaze, because his eyes flicked away and fixed on hers. He shook his head slightly, as if dispelling a thought, and affixed a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

✧

The sun had long since died a watery and faint death behind the horizon when Marlene dragged herself up the stairs.

Mary had thrown in the towel already, folded up her mostly finished essay on the metaphysics of ghosts, and stumbled to the dormitory. Marlene hadn't been far behind her, having tackled a sizable chunk of her transfiguration work. When the letters began swimming off the page and performing acrobatics through her vision, she had to concede it might be time to have a break.

A whispered goodbye to Lily seemed to barely penetrate her cocoon of concentration. She sat on the floor surrounded on all sides by heavy textbooks with strange diagrams and figures relating to one potion or another, she periodically flipped through the pages, scribbling her own tortuous looking notes, graphs, and numbers. Marlene wasn't even sure if Lily was working on an assignment or just simply theoretically concocting some new mixture for her own perverted enjoyment.

The dorm was darkened and quiet, a cloudy night obscuring the silvery light let off by the half moon. Marlene waited in the doorway for a few moments, letting her eyes adjust to the lack of light, as to not run into something and wake Mary with the clatter.

As the black morphed into grey shadows she could just pick out the shape of Mary huddled under a mound of pillows and blankets behind her half drawn curtains.

Marlene tried valiantly not to trip over her own feet as she pulled on her pyjamas, and only knocked one book of her bedside table in the process. Thankfully Mary only muttered lightly and turned over in her sleep.

Letting out a held breath, Marlene slid into her own bed. She was on the verge of slipping out of consciousness when she rolled over and felt the crunch of thick paper bending under her weight.

"Huh?" She murmured before blinking in the darkness and fishing the piece of paper out from underneath herself. The familiar cream envelope seemingly glowing in the darkness shook her out of her tiredness. She opened it slowly, each movement of the paper echoing in the silence, but she couldn't pick out the words from the dark mass of writing. Grabbing her wand off her bedside table she pulled the blankets over her head, whispered "lumos" and began to read.

✧

Marlene woke, her hands spotted with ink, the letter she had written last night sitting in crumpled notebook pages on the bedside table.

She found herself standing in front of the box at the halls entrance as light began to filter through the windows. She fiddled with the crease of the letter, sliding her fingers along it, folding over and over, until it was sharp and crisp. Her heart hammering in her throat she slid it through the slot, when it dissolved into sparks that felt burned into her retinas.

Dearest Match

You don't know how happy your letters make me. I feel like you've opened this valve in my heart, I see the world differently now, like the lights have been turned on. It's not a bad thing to think too much Match, surely not on topics so enticing as yourself the world.

Does it matter that the darkness of the sky brings out the stars, they exist nevertheless. It's comforting, that they shine with the same intensity whether you can see them or not. Even when the sun drowns them out with its brightness they burn all the same. That, I think, tells us something about ourselves, that the parts we hide are just there, burning with the same light even if the night hasn't come yet to show them. And I presume that the star's secrets are like that, they can't burn brighter or dimmer then what they are, maybe they wait for someone to simply see them, don't you think Match?

Do you think that it's this anonymity that draws us together, would I know you in the hall? Would it be the same?

But I feel as if you already know me Match, through this ink, on this scrap of paper, more than most do. Isn't it strange, how our hands can scratch in a few marks, a doodle, and have it mean so much. I think that we exist in harmony, dear, does it matter in the ways that we are similar or different?

yours,

Match

P.S. I'd like to know you too

Chapter Text

Dorcas stared at the letter on her desk, the corners of her lips twitching upward despite herself. She’d lost count of how many times she’d reread her match’s words, but each time felt like unwrapping a new secret. She couldn’t get over how easily her match seemed to put feelings into words. The way they made everything feel big and small at the same time.

Pandora’s voice broke through her thoughts. “You’ve been staring at that for ages. Planning to frame it or something?”

Dorcas rolled her eyes but didn’t bother hiding her smile. “I’m thinking.”

“You think too much,” Pandora replied, flopping onto the bed next to Dorcas’s. She peeked over at the letter, her silvery-blonde hair tumbling over her shoulder. “Ooh, they’ve got you wrapped around their quill, haven’t they?”

Dorcas shoved the letter under a book, heat creeping into her cheeks. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Not when you’re this entertaining,” Pandora said with a grin. “Come on, what did they say this time?”

“Nothing you’d care about,” Dorcas muttered, though her fingers itched to pull the letter back out. Instead, she grabbed her bag and stood walking out of her dorm. “I’m going to the library.”

“No, you’re not,” Regulus said from across the common room, where he and Barty were hunched over a chessboard. He didn’t even look up as he spoke. “You’re sitting down, right here, and playing the winner.”

Dorcas frowned. “I don’t have time for this.”

“You’ve got time,” Barty chimed in with a smirk. “Unless you’re afraid you’ll lose.”

Dorcas huffed, knowing full well they wouldn’t let her leave without a fight. With a resigned sigh, she dropped her bag onto the floor and sat down at the table next to Pandora, who was watching the game with a look of amused detachment.

“Fine,” Dorcas said. “But make it quick.”

“Quick, she says,” Regulus muttered, finally moving his bishop. “We’ll see about that.”

As the game dragged on, Dorcas’s thoughts kept drifting back to the letter she’d planned to write. She tapped her fingers against the table, half-watching Barty and Regulus bicker over moves. Finally, when Barty knocked over his own king in frustration, she seized the opportunity to escape.

“Your turn,” she said quickly, tapping Evan on the shoulder as she stood and grabbed a piece of parchment from her bag. “But don’t expect me to stick around. I’ve got better things to do.”

“Like writing love letters,” Regulus quipped, earning a snort from Barty.

“Exactly,” Dorcas shot back, ignoring their laughter as she retreated to a quieter corner of the common room. She settled into one of the armchairs, balancing the parchment on her knee as she finally began to write.

✧

Dear Match,

Your letter was lovely, as always. I think you’re right about the stars. It’s strange to think they’re always there, even when we can’t see them. There’s something reassuring about that, isn’t there? Like no matter how chaotic life gets, some things remain constant.

You asked if anonymity draws us together. I think it does. But more than that, I think it’s the freedom to just be ourselves. No expectations, no judgment. Just words on a page. I’ve never been good at opening up, but with you, it feels… easier.

You also asked if I’d recognize you in the hall. I’m not sure. Maybe we pass each other every day, or maybe we’ve never even met. Either way, I like the mystery of it. It’s nice, not knowing. It keeps things simple.

Do you think we’d still write like this if we knew each other? Or would it change everything? I’m curious about what you think.

What about you? Do you ever wonder who I am? Or do you prefer the not knowing?

Also, because I’ve decided you deserve at least one simple question: What’s your favourite time of day? Mine’s the early morning hours, before anyone else is awake. Not the reasonable hours though. Not after sunrise. No. I mean the dark hours past midnight that feel like- the world feels different then, like it’s holding its breath.

Now, I hate to cut this letter short, especially as I know how much every word of yours means to me, but my friends are utterly pestering me right now to join their game of chess, so I tragically have to say my goodbyes.

Yours, Match

✧

Dorcas read over the letter once, then again, before folding it neatly and tucking it into an envelope. She set it aside, feeling a small sense of accomplishment even as Regulus and Barty’s voices carried over from the chessboard.

“You’re losing, again,” Barty was saying, his tone triumphant.

“Because you cheated,” Regulus replied, his voice laced with irritation.

Pandora caught Dorcas’s eye and smiled knowingly. “Ready to face them again?”

“Not a chance,” Dorcas said, standing and grabbing the letter. “I’ve got a post to make.”

She left the common room hastily, while the boys still were distracted bickering, before they could drag her into a game, heading straight for the Great Hall. The enchanted letterbox glowed faintly, as if waiting for her, and she slipped the letter inside with a small, satisfied smile.

For now, the letters were enough.

✧

She was thinking about the letter when it happened. Marlene's hair was plastered to her face, rain dripping down in wide rivulets. Gripping her broom between her legs, she pushed her hair back with the hand not holding her bat, shedding sheets of water, as she squinted through the mist.

Frank had all but dragged them out of bed, windows shaking from the wind and rain, and led their bedraggled team down the soaking lawn to the pitch. He insisted, with an almost manic shine in his eyes that they needed to train in all weather to have even a chance of beating Slytherin.

Marlene and James had to sling Sirius between them as he stumbled, nearly catatonic at the early hour. But there was nothing better to wake you up quickly then a face full of cold rain and wind whipping through your soaked robes.

Frank had set Sirius and Marlene some simple passing drills before they worked on the new tactics. After several weeks, and more then several close misses, they had been able to semi-consistently achieve Frank's madman version of a beaters strategy.

The rain moved in sheets of white that periodically hid the shadowed shape of Sirius. It was only when a smaller, darkened shape came hurtling towards her that she realised he had passed the bludger. Marlene tightened her grip on her bat, slippery with moisture and returned it with a resounding crack. As she watched the shadow of Sirius, projected through the mist, and below the shapes of their team, rendered anonymous, the wind stealing their voices, the mist their faces, she thought of the letters.

The letter had arrived on her bed the day before. It had materialised in front of her eyes as she rummaged through her drawers. Mary and Lily were downstairs, getting started on their charms work, Marlene had left to retrieve her textbooks, futilely hoping she could finish the essay on time. And so she was alone when it fell, in a shimmer of gold sparks, on the rumpled red blankets. Marlene had reached for it driven by some strange feeling emmenating from her chest, but she paused when her fingers brushed the thick paper. She held it reverently and holed herself in the window sill, fading light illuminating the words.

"I like the mystery of it. It’s nice, not knowing. It keeps things simple."

"Do you think we’d still write like this if we knew each other? Or would it change everything?"

And she was back, hovering in the sky surrounded by people she knew but couldn't recognise, and she thought, does this make it easier? Are we separated or brought closer together in the mist and the rain. Would I know you, love you without seeing your face?

But she didn't find an answer before something solid materialised out of the mist and hit her squarely in the chest. And then it was the wind, her robes flapping around her, her arms trailing above, and then it all went black.

✧

"She just fell, I don't know!"

"But the bludger?"

"Maybe she couldn't see in the mist!"

"She hit the ground pretty hard..."

Snatches of conversation floated around Marlene's head as she became aware of a bright light shining through her eye lids. Squinting and rubbing her eyes with a leaden arm she moved to prop herself up.

"Marlene! Are you okay!?" Sirius was by her side, his hair was dripping wet and limply curling at the ends, he wore muddy quidditch robes that had left a snail trail of dirt behind him. He looked uncharacteristically worried, she dully wondered why before she realised they were sequestered in the hospital wing. Oh, and she was the one in the bed.

"What happened?" she asked. Looking around she could see in addition to Sirius that James, Frank, and Alice were huddled next to her bed, similarly dripping rivulets of water over the formerly pristine floors.

"Well," said James, looking over at the rest of the team, "You fell out of the sky Marls. Sirius thinks he might have hit you with a bludger."

Huh, that explained the solid thing that had hit her. Marlene pulled down the neck of her robes to reveal rapidly bruising skin in sickly tones of purple across her sternum.

"Dammit Sirius!" exclaimed James who lightly slapped the other boy on the back of the head.

"Hey!" he replied in indignation. "It's not my fault!"

"It is fully your fault." James retorted, and then turning to Frank. "And I told you we shouldn't be training when no one can see."

"This is exactly why we train in terrible weather," said Frank gesturing wildly, and as a result splattered more muddy rainwater across the room. "So this doesn't happen in a match!"

"Frank! It's not all about the match!" Alice crossed her arms and glared at Frank who in turn looked personally affronted at the suggestion anything could be less important than Quidditch.

"Hey, hey!" Marlene raised her arms to placate her team, wincing at the twinges of pain the movement caused along her chest. "Shut up all of you. It was my fault, I got distracted." She couldn't help but smile at them, at how much they cared. That was what she liked most about her house, they cared so much, so passionately and in times destructively.

Madame Pomfrey at that moment hustled over, lips thin as she took in the sopping mess that they had made. "All of you out!"

The little congregation of maroon robes reluctantly traipsed out, Sirius, James, and Frank shooting her worried glances. Alice gave her a slight smile and patted her arm before she followed the boys.

✧

As it transpired Marlene had broken her collarbone and several ribs both from the impact of the bludger and the ten or so meter free fall. As Madame Pomfrey said, in between scolding her negligence, she was rather lucky to escape without further injuries. Marlene, after a few painful spells and some strong-smelling bruise balm was dismissed. She had been given a sling on her right arm to support her collarbone while it was still knitting together, and stern instructions to be less stupid.

When she stepped through the picture frame she was received with raucous applause from James, a bashful Sirius, and a disappointed mass made up of Lily, Mary, Peter, and Remus.

Pushing off their inquiries, and scoldings with a grin and assurances that she was fine, and yes she would be more careful, she sat down to do what she had been thinking about the whole day.

Ripping out another page from her dwindling notebook, Marlene finally put quill to paper, silently thanking her luck that it wasn't her left arm in a sling.

✧

Dearest Match

Today I was thinking about you, we were flying in the mist, and I couldn't see anyone's faces. I thought about you and I, how we know each other, surely enough by now to say so, but I've never seen your face, at least not in the way I've read your words. Does it matter Match, that I'm getting to know your soul before the curves of your face? Does it matter Match, that today, looking through the mist, trying to make out faces in the shadowed figures, I fell?

I would say that I like the early hours of the morning best, not in the solitary way that you do, but in the hope that the morning brings. I like to feel the sunrise and with it everything that I can do. I want to make a difference.

It's only fair that I give you an easy question in response (though I treasure everything I learn about you). What is your favourite class? I, someone who on principal dislikes schooling, am embarrassed to say Transfiguration fascinates me. and it's second only to Defence against the Dark Arts, which I again on principle have to like, considering it's pretty much the only class where you get to do something exciting (and useful).

Yours slightly injured,

Match

P.S: Friends are looking over in awe/disappointment at my bravery/stupidity as I write this. What does one call falling out of the sky and breaking several bones because you were distracted?

(And here Marlene had doodled a stick figure plummeting down the page followed by a broomstick. She leaned over to Peter and asked what the incantation to animate a drawing was, and after some trials, she made it so the stick figure was stuck in a loop of falling off her broom and reappearing at the top of the page.)

Chapter Text

Dorcas stood by the window of her dormitory, gazing out at the murky green depths of the Great Lake. A giant squid tentacle lazily drifted past the enchanted glass, followed by a school of shimmering fish that glittered like scattered jewels. The underwater view never failed to calm her, even when the noise of the Slytherin common room threatened to fray her nerves.

The letter from her match rested unopened on her bed, and she was already bracing herself for the teasing she’d endure downstairs. With a resigned sigh, she grabbed the envelope and made her way to the common room, steeling herself for whatever chaos awaited.

Predictably, it was noisy. Pandora was stretched out on the couch with a cup of tea, her sketchbook balanced precariously on her knees as she doodled something unintelligible. Evan and Barty were locked in a heated argument over something yet again.

“You’re insufferable, Rosier,” Barty was saying, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s not a potion if all you’re doing is tossing ingredients in and hoping for the best.”

Evan didn’t even look up from his magazine. “And yet my ‘hoping for the best’ got us full marks last week, didn’t it?”

“That was luck!” Barty snapped, jabbing a finger in Evan’s direction. “You don’t take anything seriously!”

Evan smirked, finally meeting Barty’s glare. “And you take everything too seriously. Maybe that’s why we balance each other out so well.”

Pandora snorted softly, clearly enjoying the show. Dorcas, however, rolled her eyes and flopped onto the armrest of the couch.

“You two bicker like an old married couple,” Dorcas remarked dryly, pulling the letter from her pocket. “It’s exhausting just listening to you.”

“Jealous, Meadowes?” Evan quipped, raising an eyebrow.

“Not even remotely,” Dorcas replied, breaking the seal on her letter.

She tuned out the rest of their squabbling as she unfolded the parchment, her match’s handwriting immediately pulling her focus. Her eyes scanned the words, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Does it matter, Match, that I’m getting to know your soul before the curves of your face?

“Pandora, can you tell them to shut up?” Dorcas finally muttered, her voice cutting through Barty and Evan’s escalating debate.

Pandora looked up lazily. “They’d have to stop staring at each other first.”

“I’m not staring,” Barty protested, flushing slightly.

“You absolutely are,” Pandora said with a grin. “And so is he.”

Dorcas shook her head, already tuning them out again as she reached for a fresh sheet of parchment and her quill. The words came easier this time, her match’s letter still warm in her thoughts.

✧

Dearest Match,

Your letter made me smile, though I’m sorry to hear about your… incident. For the record, I think falling out of the sky due to distraction qualifies as both bravery and stupidity. The doodle, by the way, is a nice touch. I’ve never seen animated stick figures before.

To answer your question, my favourite class is Astronomy. There’s something calming about the quiet nights and the vastness of the sky. It reminds me that there’s so much more out there, beyond the castle walls. Though I’ll admit, Transfiguration comes in a close second. There’s something satisfying about the precision of it.

Your description of the mist and the shadowed figures was… haunting. It made me wonder, do we see people more clearly without their faces? Without the distractions of appearance and reputation, can we know each other better? Or does it make it harder to trust what we feel? You make me think about things I’ve never considered before, and for that I am greatful.

I’m curious, though. You say you want to make a difference. How? What kind of mark do you hope to leave on the world? I’d like to know.

And, because you’ve set a precedent for lighter questions, what’s your favourite book? Mine, as of right now, is Euripides's "Medea". I am keenly aware that I'm breaking my own set category here, as it is a play and not a traditional novel, but what can I say? I'm not your traditional girl.

Yours, Match

✧

Dorcas sealed the letter and tucked it into her bag, standing to leave the common room. She stepped past the chessboard, where Regulus had joined Evan and Barty’s bickering, and headed for the Great Hall to post her reply.

Breakfast was still being served when she arrived, and she spotted Sirius Black and Remus Lupin sitting at the Gryffindor table, their heads bent close together. Sirius said something that made Remus laugh, his cheeks coloring faintly, and Sirius’s grin widened in that infuriatingly smug way he always had.

Dorcas rolled her eyes. “Can they not?” she muttered to herself, grabbing a piece of toast from the Slytherin table as she passed. “Some of us just want to eat breakfast without the PDA.”

With her letter safely deposited in the enchanted box, Dorcas made her way to her usual seat at the Slytherin table beside Pandora, letting the peaceful thoughts of the Great Lake and its inhabitants from earlier that morning wash over her. The mystery of her match lingered in her thoughts throughout though, their words echoing like a quiet melody she couldn’t quite shake.

✧

The peace didn’t last long. The familiar sharp voice of Professor Sprout cut through the chatter in the Great Hall, and Dorcas groaned quietly as the students began to shuffle toward the greenhouses. Herbology first thing in the morning was hardly her favorite, especially when it followed a sleepless night of overthinking.

By the time she reached Greenhouse Three, the air was already warm and humid, carrying the earthy scent of damp soil and blooming flowers. Professor Sprout beamed at the class, her hair slightly askew as always. “Gather around, everyone! Today we’re working with Shrivelfigs. Pairs, please!”

Dorcas automatically glanced toward the Gryffindor group, expecting to see Marlene’s infuriatingly carefree grin and lazy approach to work. But the spot where Marlene usually stood was empty. The absence felt oddly conspicuous.

“Where’s McKinnon?” Pandora asked, voicing the question Dorcas hadn’t realized she’d been wondering herself.

“She fell off her broom in the rain yesterday,” Evan said, not looking up from the Shrivelfig he was now attempting to carve. “Heard she’s in the hospital wing with half her ribs cracked.”

“She what?” Dorcas blurted before she could stop herself. Pandora gave her a sharp look, eyebrows raised.

“You sound concerned,” Pandora said slowly, a teasing edge to her voice. “Don’t tell me you actually care.”

“I don’t,” Dorcas said quickly, her cheeks warming. “It’s just… who’s going to botch this lesson without her here?”

Pandora snickered but didn’t press further, much to Dorcas’s relief. Still, as she worked on peeling the bark from her Shrivelfig, her thoughts strayed unbidden to Marlene. How had she managed to fall? Had someone hit her with a Bludger, or had she just been her usual reckless self? And why did Dorcas even care?

Across the table, Evan and Barty were once again bickering, though Dorcas barely registered their voices. She focused on the fig in front of her, trying to shake the image of Marlene’s empty spot in the greenhouse. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Class ended with a predictable mix of successes and failures. Professor Sprout clapped her hands, dismissing the students with a warm smile. “Good work today, everyone! Remember, Shrivelfig sap can stain, so wash your hands before lunch.”

As they left the greenhouse, Pandora nudged Dorcas’s shoulder. “Still distracted? Don’t worry, McKinnon will be back soon enough to annoy you.”

Dorcas glared at her. “I wasn’t thinking about McKinnon.”

“Of course not,” Pandora said, her grin widening.

Dorcas huffed and quickened her pace, determined to banish Marlene from her thoughts. But even as she walked back toward the castle, she couldn’t help but glance toward the hospital wing, wondering if Marlene was awake, and hating herself for caring.

✧

When Marlene woke, rolled over and groaned at the sharp pangs of pain emmenating from her general chest area, she was met with Lily and Mary standing ominously above her. Certainly an interesting start to the morning. Marlene realised suddenly that today was in fact a school day.

They were looking at her with this strange mixture of concern, disappointment, and what she hoped was a kind of defeated fondness for her antics. Needless to say this was a look she had been on the receiving end of many times in their six years.

"What?" She said, propping herself up on her elbows, and then promptly falling back down at the stabbing sensation from her ribs, collarbone, arm ect. At her friends pointed looks she continued, "I'm fine. Come on guys!"

"What did Madame Pomfrey say to you?" Asked Lily, in a tone that suggested she already knew the answer.

"What is this, an intervention?" Marlene finally succeeded in pushing herself to a sitting position, covering, as best as she could, her grimace at the pain. "Seriously I'm good!" Considering the unchanged expression on her friend's faces this was an unconvincing answer. Marlene sighed. "She told me the bones would need a few days to heal, and," gesturing at the large tin on her bedside table, "I need to put the bruise ointment on. Which I have done!" said Marlene defensively.

She knew that they just cared about her, and from previous experiences didn't trust her in her own care. But this time she was fine, the bruising was going down, the bones felt better, stronger. She had almost convinced herself of this when she breathed in too deeply and felt another pain, sharp and sickeningly different from the general aches. She gasped and pulled up the side of her singlet to reveal new dark bruises spreading up her side.

"Marlene!" Mary and Lily let their stoic expressions drop immediately, kneeling by her side.

"Are you okay?!"

"How bad is it?"

"We need to take you to-"

"Madame Pomfrey-"

"- hospital wing!"

"- know what to do."

Mary and Lily's voices overlapped as they fretted and worried. Lily was wringing her hands in anxiety, Mary was peering at the dark purpling bruises that had spread across Marlene's skin. And then almost as one the two girls put their arms around Marlene and hefted her to her feet.

One tortuous walk/stumble out of Gryfindor tower, down and up several flights of stairs, and around three instances where Lily and Mary nearly dropped her, later they arrived at the hospital wing. Marlene dully thanked her luck that she wasn't in Slytherin and therefore didn't have to trek up from the dungeon. She was in such a state of pain-induced delirium that she barely had the mental fortitude to be embarrassed at the fact she was being dragged around the castle in her pyjamas (the bottoms, bright pink with white hearts, and a frayed singlet, once white, now grey).

Madame Pomfrey, wincing at the sight of Marlene's darkening bruises, proclaimed that every so often people had adverse reactions to the healing spells, especially when there was a complex break. Her collarbone was healing nicely, Marlene was informed as she lay on the bed arms thrown up over her face as Madame Pomfrey examined her ribs. And on that subject, her ribs, the break more fragmented than Pomfrey had originally realised, were the problem.

Mary and Lily, remembering their own lessons, each gave Marlene a kiss on the cheek, conscious that one of their usual goodbye hugs would only cause her more pain. As she watched them hurry out of the wing, anticipation of their late slips nipping at their heels, Madame Pomfrey placed a small bottle with a silvery blue liquid in Marlene's hands.

"A calming draught, dear." Her suddenly soothing tone only served to scare Marlene further.

Madame Pomfrey informed an increasingly alarmed Marlene that she would have to manually reposition her ribs before repeating the spell. It was however at this point that the calming draught kicked in, and she found it rather difficult to care about anything after that.

✧

She woke, sometime later, to vague memories of loud cracking sounds ringing in her ears. She must have slept a good few hours, the sun shone pale through the windows. At some point Marlene's robes had been dropped off in a neat pile near the end of her bed. She changed methodically not really noticing the ache in her chest.

She balled her pyjamas on the bed and left the hospital ward. Dully she heard someones voice behind her. Telling her to stay, perhaps.

The halls were conspicuously empty as Marlene all but skipped through them. She didn't really know what she was going to do, but somehow she found herself at the Great Hall. Perhaps she was trying to go through the motions of her regular day? It had been breakfast last time she was conscious.

Unfortunately for Marlene and her rapidly growling stomach the hall was empty, barren, devoid of edible substances. It was too late for breakfast, too early for lunch, and apparently the enlightenment that was brunch had yet to reach the castle. And so Marlene, not even slightly agitated by her hunger, made her way to the kitchens.

She was wandering through the halls, arm full of various pilfered pastries and breads, when the bell rang. She stood there, at the edge of the hallway, as the rushing crowds of students flowed past, a stream of anxiety. But Marlene was still, like a rock in the brook, somehow, against all odds she wasn't pulled along.

It was when the flow slowed, only a few stragglers dragging their feet before the last bell, that Marlene caught sight of her. Dorcas Meadowes, with that haughty look seemingly affected by all Slytherins. Maybe they had a special class on it, 'How to look down on others 301' perhaps. But anyway Dorcas had swept through the halls, not noticing Marlene, holed up as she was in an alcove. And Marlene caught up in this still lake of her own serenity, followed her.

Dorcas's robes swished around her as she took the stairs two at a time. Marlene hung back, not wanting her to notice. She deposited her stack of food on a table, ripping off one last chunk of bread with her teeth. Hazily she noted that alone Dorcas acted … differently. When she was in the hallway, a few other people hurrying past her, she had that superior learned look. But now, it was like that layer of her had sloughed off, a prickly layer of armour. Dorcas's shoulders had dropped, she held herself more at ease, the tension in her body had disappeared. By the point she had reached the top of the stairs, Dorcas absently turned around on the landing, her dark eyes drifting over the paintings adorning the walls. Her gaze slid past Marlene, apparently not noticing her presence, she pulled a ragged paperback from her bag, flicked it open, and continued walking, attention now buried deep in the pages.

Marlene was almost frozen, half hidden behind the banister at the foot of the stairs. She couldn't fathom why her heart was beating so fast. She stood there in thought for a while, Marlene prided herself on her sharp vision, and from the foot she had been able to pick out the name of Dorcas's book. Orlando, she thought.

If Marlene had been in her right mind, she might have wondered why Dorcas was reading a muggle book, and specifically that muggle book. However, Marlene's muggle education was abruptly halted at eleven, and Glasgow Holy Cross Primary School hadn't really gotten to Virginia Woolf at that point.

Anyway, in Marlene's altered state the name of the book bounced around her head, Orlando, Orlando, Orlando. The words were enlarged until all she could see was their almost imperceptible curves and spikes, the mountain range of the word was too close for her to make out in its whole meaning.

All of a sudden she came to in the library. It was hard to say how she got there, but that wasn't really a question she was concerned with answering presently.

The library was rather busy, whether this was unusual for the time of day Marlene couldn't say. There were a few faces she recognised, huddled down over textbooks and rolls of parchment. Emmeline Vance, the Ravenclaw seeker, was consulting a book filled with complicated looking diagrams and charts. Pandora Rosier, blonde white hair falling around her shoulders, was browsing the shelves, trailing a finger over the spines. And in the corner she spotted Narcissa Black, scribbling furiously on a scrap of parchment. But then she was interrupted by a hand on her shoulder and a whisper of her name in her ear.

Turning slowly she saw Peter. He looked somewhat puzzled, maybe at her lack of a reaction and motioned for her to sit down next to him.

Peter had, set up on one of the corner tables, a chess board and next to that a half finished letter.

"Marlene," he said when she sat down, "What are you doing? Are you okay?"

"I'm fantastic!" She said, and she really sold it too, grinning widely at him.

"Yeah…" Peter gave her a strange look.

"So what are you doing?" Marlene gestured widely at the chess board and the letter.

"You'll laugh," said Peter, his face breaking into a half smile.

Marlene looked at him seriously and placed her hand over his. "Peter, I would never laugh at you."

He gave her another odd look and turned to the board. "Well, I writing to my match. We've been playing chess over letters. Look they've moved a knight to b4." He pointed at the black knight on the board, it tossed its head and shook slightly. "And I've moved my queen to g4. So see I write down Qg4 at the end of my letter."

"Mmmm," Marlene replied eyes fixed on the shifting figures of the chess board. Suddenly she remembered her task. "Orlando!"

"What?" He responded turning to fully face her now.

"Orlando!" She repeated "The book. Do they have it here?"

"Um, maybe" Peter gave her that scrutinising look again. "It's a muggle book, Virginia Woolf, right?"

"I don't know!" Marlene threw her hands over her head and flopped backwards against the chair. "I just need to read it!"

"Okay…" said Peter, "Are you feeling quite well?" He felt her temperature, placing the back of his hand on her forehead. "Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"

"Already been!" She said cheerfully "Madame Pomfrey gave me a calming draught!"

The strange expression dissolved from Peter's face. "Ahhh. Okay, I was worried for a moment"

Marlene evidently wasn't paying him much attention, as displayed by her simply saying again "Orlando?" as a response

Peter looked around surreptitiously before standing and motioning for Marlene to follow him. "Come with me."

"Okay!" She said brightly, standing with such force that her chair teetered on two legs, hanging between falling over before tipping back upright.

Peter led her down the shelves, Marlene noticed that the further they went into the depths of the library, the thicker the layers of dust were. Finally after what seemed like an age, (it was at most a minute), they reached a place where the dusty shelves leaned against a dusty wall. Peter again looked around to check that they were alone, and then turned his attention the spines of the books on the shelf. Marlene could hear whispered counting, but when she moved her head closer to the shelf to investigate, Peter pushed her back lightly and continued his counting.

Seemingly satisfied with the numbers of books, Peter pulled several out at random, leaving them half hanging off the shelf. There was a quiet groan from the walls, and a small section of the shelf swung open revealing a cramped space behind.

Peter ducked as he entered the room, Marlene on the other hand hit her head on the door frame with a thump and a following shower of dust.

Coughing and spluttering she pulled the door/shelf closed behind her. Peter was lighting a few candles to shed a dim light across the space. And it wasn't much of a room, a few beanbags and low tables scattered around walls sparsely populated with battered looking paperbacks.

"Okay," said Peter, shaking his hand to extinguish the match he had been using, "I think I saw it round here somewhere."

"What is this place?" Replied Marlene, spinning slowly in a circle, enamoured.

"It's a secret library," said Peter, bending down to rummage through the shelves, "A bunch of students have been adding to it over the years. Oh, here it is!" He turned and passed her a white book with three brightly coloured figures on the cover. "It's all muggle books, so we've had to keep it a bit more secret lately."

However, Marlene had already tuned Peter out, she was instead mesmerised by the book in her hands.

✧

Marlene, already absorbed in the book, stayed in the library with Peter as he studied. He had not really wanted to send her wandering the halls alone. When the lunch bell rung he led her by the arm back to the Great Hall. Here she was a topic of bemused interest among her friends as she sat there quietly reading, occasionally taking a bite of toast. Mary and Lily, after lunch, led her back to Gryfindor tower, where they all but locked her in their room and instructed her to sleep it off.

When Marlene woke again the next morning the calming draught had thankfully worn off enough to restore her back to her old self. The first thing she noticed was the cream envelope crumpled in her blankets. She went through her school day, responses spinning through her head, the book, no, play, Medea inscribed into her newly formed reading list. It was only later after dinner that she filled her quill and scratched out her reply.

✧

Darling Match,

I spent yesterday in a sort of dazed stupor. Broke some bones the other day that didn't heal well. The positive from this sort of ordeal was that I was given a calming draught, perhaps a bit too strong. I wandered the halls the calmest I've ever been, but also the most aimless. I caught sight of someone that I knew and then I ended up in the library (a place I've been loath to enter these past six years)…

Is it telling that in my most unburdened state I ended up in the library, I don't think that I would have without knowing you. My friends tell me I act different now, after these letters, I tell them that you make me think. One of them, joking, told me that was dangerous. I think about that often, is it dangerous, is this dangerous?

Making a difference in the world. Is it not what we are here for? I think especially now, we are all so young on the edge of a war. I am a half blood, most of my friends muggle born, should this world not be a place for us? I am afraid that I will die gladly for the chance to make a difference, to have my life mean something.

When I was little my mother used to read to me and my siblings before we went to sleep. One winter when I was around ten she read us almost every book by Roald Dahl (would you know who he is? I forget sometimes that muggle authors aren't very well known here, but then again you know Medea, and, well, was Euripides a muggle?) But the one that stuck with me was The Magic Finger. It's about this girl who curses a family of duck hunters to swap places. The ducks grow tall and form hands, the people smaller and wings. They are ousted from their house and live in a nest, the birds threaten to shoot their children just like they had shot and killed the duck's children the day before. It's a children's book for sure but the message just sort of stuck with me.

And Match, for your simple question I ask what you want to do with your life. It's long, I hope, and open with opportunities.

Yours,

Match

Chapter Text

Dorcas ran her fingers over the smooth wood of her broomstick, meticulously polishing it until it gleamed in the dim light of the Slytherin common room. The faint green glow from the Great Lake outside cast rippling shadows across the room, giving everything an eerie, ethereal quality. It was a rare moment of peace; Pandora was hunched over at the far table, scribbling a letter to her match, no doubt about some fantastical beast she’d recently read about.

Evan and Barty, for once, were not bickering. Instead, they were poring over a Quidditch strategy book, occasionally muttering ideas for the upcoming match against Gryffindor. Dorcas could hear the edge of excitement in their voices. It wasn’t the final match of the season, not even close, but it was Gryffindor. That alone was enough to set the stakes high. Bragging rights lasted far longer than the game itself, and Slytherin didn’t intend to lose.

“Dorcas,” Pandora called out, pulling her from her thoughts. “Did you hear about McKinnon?”

Dorcas blinked, looking up. “What about her?”

Pandora grinned, tapping her quill against her chin. “Apparently, she was in the library yesterday.”

Dorcas raised an eyebrow. “McKinnon? In the library? That’s got to be a joke.”

“I thought so too,” Pandora said, leaning back in her chair. “But she was reading Orlando.”

Dorcas laughed outright at that, shaking her head. “No way. McKinnon doesn’t even know how to spell Orlando.”

“I’m serious!” Pandora insisted. “I saw her with my own eyes. She was sitting there, all quiet and thoughtful. It was weird.”

Dorcas snorted, returning her attention to her broom. “Maybe she got lost and didn’t realise where she was.”

“Or maybe the two of you genuinely share an interest in muggle literature. Maybe the girl isn't as different from you as you think.” Pandora said with a sly smile.

The quip struck a nerve, and Dorcas stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Pandora shrugged, returning to her letter with a hum. “Just saying. Stranger things have happened. Don't underestimate her, is all I'm saying.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes and returned to her broomstick, but Pandora’s words lingered. She couldn’t help wondering what Marlene had been doing in the library of all places.

✧ 

Practice that evening was a blur of cold air, sharp turns, and thunderous cracks as Dorcas sent Bludgers soaring across the pitch. Regulus, their Seeker, hovered above them with an air of calm precision, his eyes scanning the field as if he were already imagining the Snitch in his hand. Lucius barked instructions from the ground, his voice carrying over the wind.

“Focus on McKinnon,” he shouted. “She’s playing after all, and you know how she gets when she’s got something to prove. Dorcas, keep her under control. No reckless swings.”

“Since when am I reckless?” Dorcas shot back, though a part of her bristled at the reminder that Marlene would be playing. She was used to aiming for Marlene, their competitive edge sharpening every game. And if Marlene was stubborn enough to play through her injuries, Dorcas would have to be extra precise.

By the time practice ended, Dorcas’s arms ached, but her mind felt clearer. She stayed behind for a moment, sitting on her broom and gazing at the stars that were just beginning to appear. The vastness of the sky always calmed her, reminded her there was more to life than Quidditch and rivalries.

✧ 

Back in the common room the next afternoon, Dorcas sat at her usual corner table, rereading her match’s latest letter. Their words about blood status and making a difference unsettled her, not because she disagreed, but because she wasn’t sure where she stood. Her friends, pure-bloods, Sacred Twenty-Eight, rarely questioned the status quo. Dorcas herself had never given it much thought. Neutrality, she realised, was far too easy.

“Pandora,” Dorcas said suddenly, breaking the silence. Pandora glanced up from her stationery, her quill poised mid-air.

“What is it?” Pandora asked, tilting her head curiously.

Dorcas hesitated. “Do you ever think about blood status? Like, whether it really matters?”

Pandora’s expression softened, and she set down her quill. “Of course I do. And it doesn’t. Not really. I mean, what does it even mean? That someone’s ancestors happened to be magical longer than someone else’s? It’s nonsense.”

Dorcas studied her friend, surprised by how easily Pandora dismissed the idea. “But most people we know don’t think that way,” Dorcas pointed out. “Barty, Regulus... even Evan. They all act like blood matters more than anything.”

Pandora shrugged. “We’ve been raised to think that way. But just because it’s tradition doesn’t mean it’s right. You don’t think like that, do you?”

Dorcas hesitated again, her fingers tracing the edge of her match’s letter. “No,” she said finally. “I suppose not. But I’ve never really thought about it much at all. Until now.”

Pandora smiled gently. “Thinking about it is the first step. You’re not your family, Dorcas. You get to decide what you believe.”

Dorcas nodded slowly, her match’s words echoing in her mind. The world should belong to everyone, not just a select few. Maybe it was time Dorcas started thinking about what she could do to change things.

✧ 

Dearest Match,

Your letter stayed with me long after I read it. I’ve been thinking about what you said. About making a difference, about this world we live in. You’re right. It should belong to everyone, not just a select few. And I’ve realised that maybe I haven’t done enough to make that happen.

I’ve always thought of myself as... neutral, I suppose. I have never given these sorts of issues as much thought as I am now. I’ve never cared much about blood status, haven't really had the need to, but I see now that neutrality isn’t enough. Maybe I’ve been wrong to stay silent. Maybe I can do more.

Your words make me think, Match. they make me ponder. They make me question things I’ve always accepted without challenge, and for that, I’m grateful. Even if it’s uncomfortable, I think it’s important. They leave me lying awake at night. You leave me lying awake at night.

As for your question: what do I want to do with my life? I honestly don’t know. I suppose I want to matter, in some way. To leave something behind that makes this world better than I found it. It’s vague, I know, but I’m still figuring it out. More thinking to be done in that regard.

Yours, Match

✧ 

Dorcas sealed the letter and leaned back, staring at the glowing green light of the Great Lake outside her window. Change was coming. She could feel it. And for the first time, she wasn’t afraid of it.

✧ 

The build up to the all anticipated, and dreaded, Griffindor-Slytherin quidditch match seemed to rear its ugly head horribly early this year.

Frank had been, if possible, more insane than normal lately. Sometime, over the weeks, his dark eyes had become alight with a strange passion, possessed. He had dragged on practices until all they could see of one another was dashes of shadow in the fleeting grey light. All he seemed to do was prepare, often huddled over formation diagrams in the common room, muttering to himself like he was a general at war.

Some of Frank's intensity, all encompassing as it was, seeped into the rest of the team. Marlene felt a burning somewhere behind her sternum, a flame pressing against her heart, telling her that this mattered, beyond the face of it. They all knew that this wasn't just a game anymore, it felt like the start of something more, something dangerous.

However, as the match inched closer, only a week or so left to go, Marlene began to reach the end of her tether. Well, more accurately, something specific drove her to a limit.

Frank had burst into the common room with crazed eyes and slips of parchment flapping in his hands. Marlene muttered a curse and ducked her head behind the couch she was sitting on, dread pooling in her stomach as she realised what he would ask her to do.

Marlene tugged at Lily and Mary's sleeves, they had turned around to see the cause of the commotion, "Don't look!" She hissed desperately "If you don't look he won't come over, like an emu or something."

"What on earth are you on about?" asked Mary looking at her with a strange expression. In fact lately they had all been looking at her with strange expressions, ever since the 'calming incident' as they called it. Apparently they had all been convinced she was possessed when she sat down quietly in the great hall still reading Orlando. But what Marlene thought concerned them the most was that the next morning, after the draught had well and truly worn off, she had picked up the book again. Something was different about her, and she wasn't convinced that it was a bad thing. Something, someone, had changed her, perhaps for the better.

"Frank!" Marlene whispered back, a note of fear in her voice, "He's off his rocker, I thought he'd forgotten about this."

"About what?" Lily obediently stared forwards and whispered to Marlene out of the corner of her mouth.

"It's about the match," replied Marlene, "he wants us to get to know the Slytherins."

"Oh Jesus!" A corner of Mary's mouth twinged upwards. "Now that seems like a fate worse then death." She flung her cloak over Marlene, hiding her from view.

It was perhaps worse to be hidden, trapped under a layer of cloth, she could hear Frank's loud voice inching closer and closer, the rustling of his papers, frantic enthusiasm.

And then echoing from the other side of the room, James's booming voice carried. "Marlene? I think she's over there, on the couch."

Muttering "traitor," she threw off the cloak to smile up at Frank who caught her eye and rushed over.

"McKinnon," He said shuffling his papers "I couldn't see you over there."

"That was by design, Frank." She replied.

"Alright…?" He said, apparently unable to comprehend why she would avoid him. He held out a slip of parchment. "I need you to follow this player, learn everything about her tactics, and weaknesses. Our match is in a few weeks, she's your only competition."

Marlene groaned as she read the name on the slip. "Come on Frank, please anyone but her. Honestly I'll take Mulciber at this point."

But Frank shook his head. "I've got Sirius on Mulciber, he's the equivalent level. More brawn. You and Meadowes are the real competition, focus on her." Here Frank leaned in slightly like he was sharing an secret "But it's all in the teamwork, you and Sirius work like a well oiled machine. Mulciber and Meadowes? They despise each other." He then dashed away, having spotted Sirius on the stairs, who upon seeing Frank moving through the crowd towards him, froze for a second like a deer in the headlights and sprinted back up to his dorm.

Marlene meanwhile sighed heavily and threw her arms down over Lily's lap abandoning the slip of parchment. Mary leaned forwards to catch it as it fluttered towards the ground.

"Dorcas Meadowes," Mary affected a posh English newsreader accent as she straightened out the parchment to read the words "Sixth year, Beater, Slytherin. She joined the team fourth year, ooh same as you Marls."

"A terrible year." Marlene sighed.

"Jesus this is scarily detailed. How the hell did Frank get all of this" Mary looked around to spot Frank who was now deep in conversation with James, both gesturing wildly. "Listen to this: right handed, originally from France, spends most of her free time in the library, friends with Pandora Rosier, Emmeline Vance, Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch, and Regulus Black, prefers the Cairo grip on her bat. Strengths: excellent flyer, nimble. Weaknesses: that's empty, for you to fill in Marls." Mary turned. "Hey Alice, what is up with your boyfriend? This is real stalker behaviour."

Alice Fortescue, who was curled up on chair by the fire, brow furrowed as she read through her own slip of parchment, looked up."He's fully insane about Quidditch, we have to know everything about them, supposed to help us get in their head, predict their strategies. And," she said turning back to her own notes. "he's not my boyfriend."

"Anyway." Said Marlene, "That's not that weird. Everyone knows that. Meadowes and her pretentious Cairo grip, only the French would use that."

Mary and Lily in unison raised their eyebrows at Marlene, who was still dramatically splayed across the couch, oblivious.

✧ 

Regardless of the logical assumption that the upcoming match was just a game, the two teams began to feel like they were circling a whirlpool together. On opposite sides they were spinning towards their inevitable collision. They would taunt each other from their antithetical positions, but dread was pooling between then, drawing them together into something that felt much more weighted than a simple game.

The even more crazed than usual behaviour of Frank reflected this pervasive feeling that was seeping coldly through them. They had increased the frequency and length of practices, beginning before the sun rose and ending long after it drowned behind the hills.

The dread of the match seemed to also be wrapping its cold fingers around the Slytherins. This was unfortunate in the sense that two teams, choking out the available pitch time, were at some point bound to run into each other.

Whether it was due to a fatal mistake in the scheduling system or the spiralling tensions, it happened that when the Griffindor team ambled down to the pitch on Wednesday, blurs of emerald green were already weaving through the air.

For a moment the Griffindors were all frozen there, admiring the apparent horrifying grace and strength of their opponents. They seemed to be running drills. The chasers slinging a Quaffle between then as they approached Knott in front of the goal posts. Regulus was flitting between the other goal posts, tracing figures of eights in the air, the beaters, Meadows and that thug Mulciber, were trading bludgers, muffled cracks reverberating with each hit of their bats.

Rather like lifting a rock and catching the bugs underneath in their regular activities, the frozen scene couldn't last very long.

Instead of crashing prematurely into each other, they chose to replace the rock, back away from the inevitable confrontation, saving the fight for later. The scarlet robed cluster slipped away, hoping the circling Slytherin players wouldn't notice their presence.

James's dark messy hair bobbed between the two red heads of Gideon and Fabian Prewett, as they were engaged in an animated discussion of the respective merits of the Slytherin chasers. From where Marlene and the others lagged behind it seemed that Narcissa Black was the best flyer, Lucius Malfoy the most aggressive, and Barty Crouch just plain insane. Alice looked deep in thought, perhaps contemplating how she would out fly Regulus. Marlene and Sirius looked at each other, with something verging on despair, Frank seemed the only one in relatively good spirits.

"Hey, guys!" he shouted over the increasingly howling wind

The team stopped, turning around to look at Frank, expressions varying from confusion (James), to annoyance at being kept in the cold (Alice).

"We're going to win." He said like it was a statement and not a pipe dream.

"Frank… come on did you see them today?" Said Gideon.

"I'm serious." replied Frank, holding up an almost instinctive hand up to Sirius who was grinning in anticipation of the very old joke."We can beat them. They've got a good side, I'll give them that, but we have something they don't." He looked around as if he was waiting for an answer, they looked back at him dumbfounded "We actually like each other! Think about it! Lucius and Narcissa, they're engaged for Merlin's sake, but I don't think I've ever seen her not look nauseous when she sees him. Crouch, he's only there cause his father bullied him into it. Knott looks like he's smelt something foul every time the quaffle gets even remotely close to him. Meadowes and Black, the little one, not you Sirius, might be the only people who work well together, but Mulciber's got his head too far up his own arse to not sabotage them entirely." Frank, having said his bit, looked around breathless.

There was a few moments of silence before Sirius said "So we're gonna defeat them with the power of friendship, Longbottom?"

"Shut it," replied Frank giving him a friendly shove. "But yes!"

✧ 

The letter came, right in the middle of the house-wide wind up for the game. The energy in the common room was electric and buzzing in anticipation. Marlene on the other hand was getting sick of all the preparation. It wasn't the practice, there was nothing she loved more than flying, Sirius and her had all but perfected the new techniques. She was sick of Dorcas Meadowes. In the weeks before the match Frank had ambushed her in the halls, no less than three times, wanting to discuss Meadowes tactics, her teamwork, the angles she hit bludgers, even the model of bloody broomstick for Christ's sake. Everything was so much more intense this year, like Frank and James had respectively been set on fire with a new passion for beating Slytherin.

She had retreated to her dorm, most of the team unable to reach her there (Alice thankfully, was the least likely to piss her off) when she spotted the latest letter sitting neatly on her bed.

She read it immediately of course, her matches words swimming off the page.'but I see now that neutrality isn’t enough.' This person far away behind the box was starting to take a shadowy shape. Maybe if she looked the smoke would clear, the dark comfort of ignorance falling away. But she didn't.

In the rush of the week it was only the night preceding the match, in the calm before the storm when Marlene finally found the time to write her response. She folded the note sharply and swung on her cloak, sneaking through the darkened halls to slot it into the box.

✧ 

Dearest Match,

I think that it is interesting how much we have changed each other. Your words have made me consider the world around us as if I was seeing it for the first time. Sometimes, trapped in this castle, its easy to forget about what is happening. I am sorry to say that there is a war coming. And you are right, neutrality is no longer enough, not in this world, not anymore.

It's hard now, but I hope that someday this world will be for us all, no matter what.

Like I said, life is long, and, from the little I know of you, and all that I know of your soul, I believe, down to my heart, that we will make a difference.

Yours always,

Match

P.S. To liven the mood I remind you of the upcoming Quidditch match, will you be in the sidelines? Or up in the air?