not cute

by radla

Summary:

People didn’t notice Sirius Black’s French accent the way they noticed Marlene’s Polish one. They noticed him. He made being from somewhere else look like a story worth telling. Marlene’s accent? It wasn’t a story. It was a punchline.

a love letter to polish marauders fans

Notes:

work for the HP Femininomenon Fest 2025

Chapter 1: i want to be seen

Marlene’s mum had packed her a box of pierniki before she boarded the Hogwarts Express. The rich, spiced gingerbread had always been her favorite, and her mother thought it might help her feel a little more like at home, though Marlene doubted it. Even after moving to a different country and six years at Hogwarts, she knew home was still hundreds of miles away in Warsaw, and no amount of sugar and spice could bridge the gap.

She found a compartment with Mary and Lily, who were already laughing about something that Marlene wouldn’t understand until much later when it was retold to the entire Gryffindor common room. It was always like this—moments of shared history that Marlene wasn’t part of, jokes with unspoken context that had nothing to do with her.

“Marlene!” Mary said brightly as she entered, her voice as cheerful as the yellow scarf she wore despite the warm September air. “Summer treat you well?”

“Well enough,” Marlene answered, carefully putting her trunk away. She could feel the faint strain of her accent clinging to her vowels, the way her English smoothed into something a little too soft, a little too precise. It was always this way after spending so much time with her family.

Lily grinned. “I’ve missed hearing you talk. That little lilt you have? So cute.”

There it was again. Cute. Like a kitten. Like a toy. Like something breakable.

Marlene sat down, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “It’s not supposed to be.”

Lily blinked, surprised. “Oh—sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it—”

“I know,” Marlene said shortly, reaching into her bag for the pierniki. She offered some to both girls, and they took it eagerly, happily chatting about something inconsequential as she tuned them out.

People didn’t notice Sirius Black’s French accent the way they noticed Marlene’s Polish one. They noticed him. Sirius, with his dark hair falling over his eyes like a rakish poet, with the way he sometimes muttered soft curses in French that made girls swoon. He was the kind of person you could imagine stepping out of a painting or a novel. When Sirius was angry, it was art. When he was brooding, it was poetry. He made being from somewhere else look like a story worth telling.

Marlene’s accent? It wasn’t a story. It was a punchline. People thought it was “funny” when she got a word wrong or accidentally swapped a “v” for a “w.” “Cute” when she hesitated over idioms or dropped articles by mistake. They laughed, not cruelly, but always with that tinge of condescension, like her mistakes made her smaller somehow.

Even Remus, whose Welsh roots were as plain as his quiet voice, got to keep his mystique. His reserved demeanor made people lean in, desperate to catch his words, as if they were rare and precious. Welshness, Marlene realized bitterly, was already steeped in legend. People thought of green hills shrouded in mist, of dragons and magic, of castles perched on rocky cliffs. It came with a story people wanted to hear. Poland, though? Poland was nothing. Too far east to be romantic, too far west to be exotic. It didn’t inspire longing or intrigue. It didn’t inspire anything.

People didn’t ask Marlene about Poland the way they asked Sirius about France. No one cared if she missed her country’s food, its music, the way Warsaw looked under a heavy autumn rain. Even at Hogwarts, between students whose families came from all over, she felt like an outsider. Like she didn’t quite fit in.

What made it worse—what infuriated her—was that she knew the kind of attention Sirius got wasn't always kind. She’d heard the whispers about him being a good kisser because he was French. She knew the fetishization of it all was just another kind of stereotype, a trap disguised as admiration. But at least being French meant something. At least it came with an image people wanted to embody. To be French was to be sexy, to be poetic, to be something desirable.

But being Polish? It meant nothing. Literally nothing. Nobody wanted to be Polish. There were no fantasies tied to it, no allure. Nobody imagined Poland and thought of beauty, or passion, or history worth knowing. They didn’t even see her accent as a reflection of a life lived elsewhere, of stories and experiences that shaped her. It was just a reminder she didn’t belong.

And sometimes, when she was tired of trying to laugh along with the jokes, when the weight of being “funny” and “cute” pressed down too hard, she hated them for it. All of them. For noticing Sirius and ignoring her. For asking about croissants and Paris and never sparing a thought for pierogi or Warsaw. For letting her feel like she was less, even when she knew she wasn’t.

“I don’t understand why you don’t like it,” Lily said as they were entering the Great Hall for the Start-of-Term Feast. “Your accent is so lovely. People would kill to sound that elegant.”

“Elegant?” Marlene snapped, louder than she intended. McGonagall shot her a sharp look, and Marlene lowered her voice, “It’s not elegant. It’s not anything. It’s just…me.”

“Exactly,” Lily said as if this was the answer to everything. Marlene stared at her.

It wasn’t that Lily was wrong—Marlene knew that her accent was hers, as much as her freckled hands or her thick mess of hair. But she didn’t want to be reduced to just that. She didn’t want her “difference” to be what made her interesting, not when it only ever felt like a joke or a cute accessory.

“I don’t want to be cute,” Marlene said finally.

Lily’s brow furrowed, but Marlene didn’t explain. She didn’t know how to.

The boys didn’t understand either. James Potter was always perfectly nice about it, of course, though he teased her now and then about the way she sometimes stumbled over words like “squirrel” or “through.” When they were getting to know each other during their first year, Peter asked her to say something in Polish, and when she did, he said, “That sounds so weird.” Not bad. Not good. Just weird.

Marlene never knew what to make of Remus. He was polite in a way that sometimes felt deliberate, as though he knew what it was like to be on the outside. He never teased her, never commented on her accent or the food she mixed together at the Gryffindor table. But he never asked her about Poland either.

And Sirius? Although her favourite among the boys, Sirius was maddening. He had a way of making her feel like she was overreacting about everything.

“Why do you care so much about what they think?” he elbowed her as they sat next to each other at the Gryffindor table after the sorting of first years finished.

“Because they think I’m cute,” Marlene said, “and I don’t want to be.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “You’d rather be scary?”

“I’d rather be something,” she said fiercely, “more than just some funny accent they don’t know what to do with.”

He was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “They’re idiots if they don’t see it.”

“See what?” Marlene asked.

“How much you care,” Sirius said simply. “How much you try. You’re braver than half the people in this castle, but you shouldn’t need me pointing it out every five minutes.”

It wasn’t what she expected him to say, and she didn’t know how to respond.

Marlene didn’t know if she’d ever stop feeling out of place at Hogwarts. Maybe she’d always be the girl who didn’t quite fit, the girl with the weird accent and the gingerbread cookies, whose name no one could pronounce. 

Marlene McKinnon had a reputation on the Quidditch pitch. She wasn’t the fastest player, and she didn’t have James Potter’s knack for scoring impossible goals, but she was relentless. The kind of player who threw themselves into every game like it was a battle worth bleeding for.

She also cursed. A lot.

“Cholera jasna!” she yelled during one match in fourth year, narrowly dodging a Bludger. “Rozpierdolę Ci ten jebany łeb, kretynie!” The words came instinctively, sharper than any English curse she could think of. A second later, she was chasing after the Quaffle, but the stands had erupted in laughter. Gryffindor won that day, and all anyone could talk about afterward was Marlene’s shouting.

“What does that even mean?” Sirius asked as they walked back to the common room. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and he was grinning like he’d personally won the game.

“‘Cholera jasna’ means ‘damn it,’” Marlene muttered, still irritated that she’d missed a goal in the final minutes.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Sirius said, trying and failing to mimic her accent. “Sounds like you’re summoning a demon.”

“Maybe I was,” Marlene snapped.

The others thought it was hilarious. By the next match, James had taken to shouting “Cholera jasna!” every time something went wrong, even though he butchered the pronunciation so badly that it sounded more like a sneeze.

“That’s not how you say it,” Marlene said irritably after practice one day.

“Oh, sorry,” James said, deadpan. “I forgot you’re the expert.”

“I am the expert!” she shot back, hurling a towel at him.

Somehow, the only Polish words anyone cared to remember were the ones she shouted when she was too frustrated to think in English. Words like kurwa mać when a Bludger hit her shoulder or ja pierdolę when she dropped the Quaffle. They repeated her curses like parrots, turning them into running jokes that made her want to scream.

“You’ve got to teach me more,” Peter said once, wide-eyed. “Like, how do you say, ‘That was brilliant?’”

Marlene raised an eyebrow. “Why would I teach you that? You’ll just use it wrong.”

“I would not!” Peter protested, but Sirius cut him off with a smirk.

“Come on, McKinnon. Expand our vocabulary. You wouldn’t want us to embarrass you in front of the Slytherins, would you?”

“Too late for that,” Marlene muttered, grabbing her bag and storming off.

She didn’t understand it. No one wanted to hear her speak Polish when she talked about her favorite songs or stories her babcia had told her as a child. No one cared about the words that meant something to her. But the moment she shouted something angry or obscene, they latched onto it like it was a shiny new toy.

“Why is that all you remember?” she complained to Lily one night in the dorms, after Mary had spent the better part of an hour trying to say cholera jasna like she was a native.

“Because it’s funny,” Lily said simply, leaning against her bedpost, “And because it’s you. No one else gets that angry about a missed pass. No one else curses like they mean it.”

“Great,” Marlene muttered. “I’m the angry foreigner.”

“You’re our angry foreigner,” Lily said with a grin, tossing a pillow at her.

It wasn’t what Marlene wanted to hear, but it was enough to make her smile. A little.

On the first Saturday afternoon of the new school year Marlene sat on the edge of the bathroom sink, head tilted forward as Sirius carefully brushed the bleach mixture through her roots. The sharp chemical smell stung her nose, but she didn’t flinch. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Weren’t Slavic girls supposed to all have blond hair?” Sirius asked casually, breaking the silence. His tone was light, but she could feel the smirk in his voice.

“I am blonde. Just dark blonde,” Marlene said, shrugging. She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, not looking at him.

“Sure,” Sirius said, his laugh soft and low. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Marlene rolled her eyes, biting back the retort that jumped to her tongue. It wasn’t worth fighting over. Not tonight. Not when this year already felt like it was stretching her too thin.

Sixth year had been manageable. Seventh year, though? Seventh year was different. Classes were harder. The stakes were higher. The exams were actually around the corner. And somehow, Marlene felt more out of place than ever. Everyone else seemed to know who they were, where they were going. Even Peter, who often hovered in the background, seemed more sure of himself these days. But Marlene? She felt like a stranger in her own skin.

“It’s a nice color,” Sirius said after a while, breaking the silence again.

“What is?”

“Your real hair,” he said. “The darker blonde, or whatever you call it.”

“Dark blonde,” Marlene corrected. “Not whatever.”

He grinned. “Right. But it suits you, you know. Would make you look serious. Sophisticated.”

Marlene snorted. “Sophisticated? Sure, I’ll believe that when you stop wearing eyeliner to Transfiguration.”

“Oi, the eyeliner stays,” Sirius chuckled. “But seriously, why do you even bother with this?” She assumed he was pointing at the brush in his hand. “Not that I’m complaining—it’s fun—but you don’t need it.”

She hesitated, unsure of how to explain. It wasn’t about needing it, not really. It was about control. About feeling like there was something she could fix, something she could make perfect, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

“Because I want to,” she said, finally turning to look at him, and Sirius didn’t press her.

He just nodded, returning to her hair.

When they were finished, Marlene leaned forward to inspect her reflection in the mirror. Her roots were lighter now, blending seamlessly into the rest of her hair. “Perfect”, she said,  just like she needed them to be.

“You’re welcome,” Sirius said, leaning against the counter with a self-satisfied grin.

Marlene smirked, tossing the dye-stained brush at him. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled.

Although Sirius annoyed her often—his endless teasing, his refusal to take anything seriously—Marlene couldn’t deny that he was her best friend. She wasn’t his, of course. That spot was, and always would be, reserved for James Potter. But that was fine. Marlene didn’t need to be Sirius’s favorite person to know he cared about her. He showed it in small, subtle ways: sitting with her when she didn’t want to be alone, offering to hex people who made fun of her, and, occasionally like that day, bleaching her roots in the girls’ bathroom.

She loved him, even though he was everything she wished she could be. Girls thought Sirius Black was sexy—dangerous but still somehow approachable, like a storm you’d let sweep you away. They thought he was badass, a rebel with his leather jackets and his careless smirks, but still mysterious enough to make them wonder what he wasn’t saying. They wanted to be with him.

Sirius didn’t want to be with them, of course. There wasn’t a straight bone in Sirius’s body, a fact he didn’t hide but also didn’t announce. The girls didn’t seem to care. They still flocked to him, draping themselves over his shoulders in the common room, twirling their hair and laughing at his jokes.

Marlene couldn’t begrudge him for it, but sometimes the longing gnawed at her in ways she didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t that she wanted those girls’ attention—not those girls exactly. It was more that she wanted to be like Sirius, to be seen the way he was seen. When she walked into a room, she wanted people to look at her and want. Not because she was “cute” or because her accent was “adorable,” but because she was magnetic, because she was someone worth chasing.

But she wasn’t Sirius. She was just Marlene McKinnon, the girl with bleach-streaked hair and a temper too sharp for most people’s liking. Sometimes she wondered if anyone would look at her the way she wanted to be looked at—not with politeness or casual amusement, but with desire. The way some of those girls looked at Sirius. The way she sometimes found herself looking at them.

There were moments when Marlene felt like she might burst with the weight of it all. She’d sit in the common room, pretending to study while Sirius sprawled across the couch, surrounded by admirers. His laugh would echo through the room, rich and careless, and she’d glance up to see someone—a pretty girl with big eyes and a sly smile—tossing her hair and leaning in close, as if proximity could win his affection.

Marlene would look away quickly, her stomach twisting, and focus on the parchment in front of her. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Sirius didn’t care about those girls, and he never would. But watching them try—watching them drape themselves over him like he was a prize they could win—it stung. Not because she wanted what they wanted.

Because she wanted to be in his place.

The feeling had started years ago, long before she’d understood it for what it was. Back in third year, Marlene had noticed that the girls around her were beginning to change—straightening their skirts, experimenting with eyeliner, giggling at boys who barely spared them a second glance. She didn’t feel the same pull. It wasn’t boys who left her heart racing or made her glance twice in the hallways.

At first, she thought it was admiration. She’d watch someone like Mary, all grace and charm, and think, I wish I could be like her. But as the years passed, Marlene realized it wasn’t just admiration. It was something deeper, something she couldn’t name. And no matter how hard she tried to bury it, it kept bubbling up, especially when she saw Sirius, effortlessly magnetic, with the kind of attention she secretly craved.

In the evening, after most of the common room had cleared out, Marlene found herself sitting on the floor with Sirius, a bottle of firewhisky open between them. He was leaning against the couch, head tilted back, dark hair falling into his eyes. His shirt was rumpled, his tie long discarded, and he looked annoyingly perfect without even trying.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Sirius said, glancing at her. “What’s going on in that mysterious Polish head of yours?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, taking a sip from the bottle.

“Liar,” Sirius said, smirking. “Come on. Spill. Is it about a girl?”

Marlene nearly choked. “What?”

He laughed at her reaction, tipping his head back against the couch. “You’re so bad at hiding things, McKinnon. It’s endearing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, but her face felt hot, and she refused to meet his eyes.

“Relax,” Sirius said, nudging her with his foot. “I’m not going to pry. But if you do ever want to talk about it, you know you can, right?”

She looked at him then, his expression softer than she expected. Sometimes Sirius was infuriating, but other times, he surprised her with how much he seemed to notice.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice quiet. “I know.”

He didn’t push her further, and they sat there in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth. Marlene thought about all the things she could say, all the truths she could lay bare in the dim light of the common room. But she didn’t.

Instead, she let the firewhisky burn her throat and pretended it was enough.

By the time Marlene crawled into bed that night, the common room long abandoned, her mind was still buzzing. Not from the firewhisky—Lily had made sure they stopped before either of them got too far gone—but from Sirius’s question.

The way he’d said it, so casual, so knowing, rattled her. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought about telling him, but the idea of it always twisted something sharp in her chest. Marlene could handle Sirius teasing her about Quidditch or her accent. She wasn’t sure she could handle him teasing her about this, even if he didn’t mean to hurt her.

The next morning, Marlene woke up late. She shuffled down to breakfast, her hair tied back in a bun, and slid into a seat at the Gryffindor table across from Lily.

“You look like you were hit by a Bludger,” Lily said, raising an eyebrow.

“Good morning to you, too,” Marlene muttered, reaching for a piece of toast. “And since when do you make Quidditch references?”

“I’m trying to find a way to reach you.” Lily smiled warmly and Marlene knew it was genuine. That was Lily Evans after all. Always so perfect, yet still a people pleaser.

“Me or Mr. Perfect over there?” Marlene whispered, giving a quick glance over to the other side of the table where James and Sirius sat with their heads bent together, no doubt plotting something ridiculous. 

Before Lily’s cheeks matched her red hair, Marlene laughed. “I am teasing you, I know when you do something for me.”

“And it’s sweet,” she added, even quieter.

After she finished her toast, Marlene caught Sirius’s eye as he glanced up, and for a moment, she thought he was going to say something about the night before. Instead, he just grinned and gave her a subtle nod, like they were sharing a secret no one else could understand.

She wasn’t sure if it made her feel better or worse.

During Quidditch practice, Marlene’s mood soured further. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, not really, but everything seemed to go wrong. Her broomstick felt unbalanced, her passes were off, and her temper flared every time James barked instructions at her. By the end of practice, she was seething.

Marlene practically ran to the changing room, and rounding a corner too quickly, she slammed into someone with enough force to make her stumble back a step.

“Oi, watch where you’re—”

“Watch it yourself!” Marlene snapped back before realizing who she’d just collided with.

Dorcas Meadowes.

The Slytherin Chaser stood a few feet away, looking composed despite the impact, her green and silver Quidditch uniform pristine as always. Her broom rested casually against her shoulder, and she regarded Marlene with an amused tilt of her head, like she couldn’t quite believe someone had dared to bump into her.

“You’re in a mood,” Dorcas observed coolly. “Bad practice?”

Marlene narrowed her eyes. “What’s it to you?”

Dorcas smirked. “Nothing. Just nice to know Gryffindors aren’t as perfect as they say they are.”

The jab should have riled Marlene up even more—normally, she’d have half a dozen retorts locked and loaded for any smug Slytherin who crossed her path. But instead, she just stood there, staring at Dorcas. There was something about the calm, almost disarming way she said it.

“Whatever,” Marlene muttered, moving to brush past her. “I don’t have time for this.”

Dorcas sidestepped smoothly, letting her go with a casual, “Try not to knock anyone else over. They might not be as forgiving as me.”

Marlene shot her a glare but didn’t respond.

Later, back in the common room, Sirius flopped onto the couch next to her, his boots leaving scuff marks on the edge of the table.

“You’ve been in a mood all day,” he said, resting his head on the back of the couch to look at her.

“Thanks for noticing,” Marlene said dryly, not looking up from her Transfiguration book.

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He sighed dramatically, throwing an arm over his face like a fainting damsel in one of those old Muggle movies. “Fine. Suffer in silence, then.”

Marlene couldn’t help but laugh, despite herself. Sirius peeked at her from under his arm, grinning.

“There she is,” he said.

“Shut up,” she said, shoving him lightly.

For all his teasing, Sirius had a way of making her feel like she wasn’t completely alone. It didn’t fix everything—it didn’t make the longing or the confusion go away—but it helped.

Marlene set her book down and leaned back against the couch. Sirius was still sprawled beside her, watching her with an expression that was both lazy and annoyingly curious. She knew that look. He wasn’t going to drop this.

“What?” she said, crossing her arms.

“You tell me,” Sirius said, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve been moping all day. What’s going on?”

Marlene groaned. “You’re infuriating..”

“And you’re avoiding the question.” He nudged her foot with his. “Come on, McKinnon. Out with it.”

She hesitated, staring down at her hands. Sirius was good at prying things out of people, but she wasn't sure she wanted to share anything. “It’s stupid,” she said eventually.

“It’s never stupid,” Sirius replied with a softer tone. He straightened up slightly and his usual bashful attitude was replaced by something that looked almost like concern. “What’s bothering you?”

Marlene let out a sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I just... I don't know. I feel like I'm always stuck in the background, you know? Like I'm right here, but nobody sees me."

Sirius tilted his head, frowning. “What are you talking about? Of course people see you. You’re bloody Marlene McKinnon. Best damn Chaser Gryffindor’s got.”

She shook her head. “That’s Potter and that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Marlene hesitated again, the words catching in her throat. She could feel Sirius’s eyes on her, waiting, patient in a way he rarely was.

“Do you ever just feel like…” She trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it. “Like you’re not enough? Like you’re just… there, and no one really notices you for who you are?”

Sirius stared at her for a moment with an unreadable expression. Then he reached out and flicked her forehead, just hard enough to make her scowl.

“Oi!” she protested, rubbing the spot.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said, grinning now. “You’re more than enough, McKinnon. Anyone who doesn’t notice that is blind or stupid. Or both.”

Marlene rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “Thanks, Black. Real inspiring.”

“At your service,” he said, leaning back with a satisfied smirk.

For a while, they just sat in comfortable silence with the crackle of fire filling the space between them.

“Hey,” Sirius said , suddenly glancing at her. “You know, you don’t have to be like anyone else, right? You’re you. That’s enough.”

Marlene looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t often that Sirius dropped the jokes and let something real slip through, but now as he did, it hit harder than she expected.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, his grin returning. “But if you tell anyone I’m capable of being serious, I’ll deny it.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The fire crackled quietly, the only sound filling the common room as the evening stretched on. Everyone left the common room, and it was just her and Sirius left. After she finished the chapter they were meant to read for the next lesson, Marlene sat motionless on the carpet in front of the fireplace, her knees drawn up to her chest, her eyes fixed on the shifting flames. She couldn’t bring herself to move, though she couldn’t explain why. Her limbs felt heavy, her body rooted to the spot as if some invisible force was keeping her there.

Sirius, who had been shuffling through his things and packing up his notes, paused and looked at her. “You’re not going?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence. “What else do you need to do? We don’t have any more work.”

“Um, what?” Marlene mumbled, not tearing her gaze away from the fire.

Sirius frowned. “Unless you’re planning to sleep here, there’s no need for you to still sit here at this hour.” He spoke slowly, like he was explaining something obvious.

“Yeah,” she said absently, nodding but staying in place.

He stood there for a moment longer, watching her, then sighed. Marlene could hear him muttering charms under his breath and the soft rustling of fabric as he moved around. She ignored him, her thoughts too tangled and heavy to process.

“McKinnon,” Sirius said firmly, his tone sharper now, commanding her attention.

“What?” she snapped, finally pulling her eyes away from the fire. “If you want to go, I’m not stoppi—”

The words caught in her throat when she turned to look at him. Sirius stood there, a pillow in one hand and a blanket draped over his arm, waving her over to the couch with a raised eyebrow.

“Well?” he said, his voice softer now. “You clearly don’t want to leave, so… stay.”

Marlene blinked, momentarily stunned. “What?”

He gestured again, more impatiently this time. “Come on, McKinnon. You’re being dramatic. Either take the couch or go to your dorm.”

Marlene hesitated, but the weight in her chest shifted just enough to allow her to move. She stood, her legs stiff, and walked over to him, her movements slow and uncertain.

Sirius tossed the pillow onto the couch and spread the blanket over the cushions, making a big show of fluffing it like he was a house elf preparing a room. “There,” he said, stepping back. “Your throne for the night, Your Majesty.”

She couldn’t help but smile, a small laugh escaping her. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stubborn,” he shot back, grinning. “But seriously, McKinnon, it’s fine. Stay here if you want. I’ll even make sure no one disturbs your beauty sleep.”

Marlene sat down on the couch, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. She stared up at Sirius, who was watching her with an expression that was equal parts amusement and something else she couldn’t quite place—concern, maybe?

“Thanks,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible looking back at the fireplace.

Footsteps padded softly behind her, and she barely turned her head when Sirius wandered back over, another pillow in hand. Without a word, he sat on the edge of the couch, watching her like he was trying to figure something out.

“What?” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the blanket.

Instead of answering, Sirius plopped the pillow down beside her and then—before she could even react—he threw himself onto the couch next to her, the movement jostling her in place.

The couch was small, barely big enough for one person to stretch out, let alone two. His elbow poked into her ribs as he adjusted himself, the blanket pulling awkwardly between them.

Marlene turned her head, raising an eyebrow. “Do you want to join me, or are you just trying to shove me off the couch?”

Sirius grinned, the same infuriatingly confident grin he always wore, and snuggled himself against her like he belonged there. “What’s the difference?”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t push him away. After a moment of wriggling and elbowing each other into slightly less uncomfortable positions, they settled. It was cramped, sure, but the warmth was nice. Sirius draped an arm over her shoulder, his body pressed against hers, and she could feel his heartbeat, steady and calm.

It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t sexual. It was just Sirius.

“If someone walked in right now,” Sirius said lazily, his voice tinged with amusement, “they’d be convinced we were up to something scandalous.”

Marlene snorted, her head sinking into the pillow. “And since when do you care what people think?”

He laughed softly. “Fair point.”

“Is Remus the person you’re worried about? That might see us?” Marlene asked quietly after a while.

Sirius was quiet for a moment, his arm still draped over her shoulder as he stared up at the ceiling. “Remus?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

“Yeah,” Marlene said, glancing up at him. “I mean… it wouldn’t be the first time people assumed something about us.” She paused, hesitating. “Do you think he’d care?”

Sirius shifted beside her, his fingers idly playing with a loose thread on the blanket. “Remus doesn’t care about stupid rumors.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He stilled, and for a moment, she thought he might brush it off with one of his usual deflections. But instead, he sighed, his chest rising and falling heavily.

“Remus knows there’s nothing between you and me,” Sirius said finally. His voice was soft, but there was something unspoken in it, something heavy. “And he knows…” He trailed off, letting the sentence hang.

Marlene probed herself on her elbow to look at him fully now, her brows furrowing. “Knows what?”

Sirius met her gaze, and she was sure she saw a flicker of uncertainty in his usually cocky expression. “He knows it’s him,” Sirius said simply.

“Oh,” Marlene breathed, the single syllable carrying more weight than she expected.

She’d suspected, of course—Sirius was about as subtle as a Bludger when it came to his feelings. But hearing him say it, even indirectly, made her chest ache in a strange, complicated way.

“Do you think he knows how much?” she asked carefully after a moment.

Sirius shrugged, but his usual smirk was long gone. “Maybe. But it’s not like I’m trying to hide it.”

Marlene hummed in response, settling her head back against the pillow. The fire crackled, and Sirius’s arm tightened around her just slightly, like he needed the reassurance of someone being close.

“You’re good for him,” she said softly. “You know that, right?”

Sirius laughed, a short, self-deprecating sound. “I’m a bloody nightmare. You know that.”

Marlene shook her head. “You’re good for him,” she repeated firmly. “Even if you don’t see it.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, but his grip on her tightened again. 

Marlene wasn’t sure how long they’d been lying there, but the room felt smaller somehow, the weight of their unspoken thoughts filling the air.

“You ever think about how easy it is for people like Potter?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet.

Sirius tilted his head slightly, looking at her. “What do you mean?”

Marlene sighed, staring at the ceiling. “He’s so… uncomplicated. People love him. They look at him and see this perfect picture of who he’s supposed to be. Golden boy, Quidditch star, future Auror. It’s easy for him to be exactly what everyone expects.”

Sirius was quiet for a moment before he replied, his voice low. “Do you really think it’s easy for him?”

“Well, isn’t it?” she said, her tone sharper than she intended. “No one questions him. No one… assumes the wrong things about him.”

Sirius shifted beside her, leaning his head back against the armrest. “I don’t think it’s as simple as that,” he said. “But I get what you’re saying.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, his voice softer now. “It’s different for you, isn’t it? For us. People see what they want to see, and if it doesn’t fit their idea of you, they don’t bother looking closer.”

Marlene didn’t reply, but she felt her throat tighten. She hated that he understood her so well sometimes—it left her feeling exposed, raw.

“Like Remus,” she said after a while, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

“What about him?” Sirius asked, his tone carefully guarded.

“You don’t get it either, do you?” she said, turning her head to look at him. “Why he can’t just… let himself have what he wants. What you both want.”

Sirius flinched, just slightly, but enough that Marlene noticed.

“It’s not that simple,” he said finally.

“Nothing is,” she said, her voice bitter.

Sirius gave a short, humorless laugh. “You think I haven’t tried? You think I haven’t given him every damn reason to believe I’d…” He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. He’s convinced he’s better off keeping his distance.”

Marlene reached out, hesitating before resting her hand on his arm. “You know it’s not because he doesn’t care, right?”

Sirius let out a long breath. “I know,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Doesn’t make it easier.”

They fell silent again, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Marlene closed her eyes, her head sinking deeper into the pillow.

“I think it’s worth it,” she murmured after a while.

Sirius turned to look at her, his brow furrowing. “What is?”

“Trying,” she said. “Even when it feels impossible. Even when it’s messy and complicated. It’s still worth it.”

Sirius didn’t reply, but she felt him relax beside her, his arm resting lightly against hers.

For a while, they just lay there, two people who understood the ache of wanting something—someone—they couldn’t quite reach. 

The embers in the fireplace faded to a dull red glow, barely casting enough light to reach the edges of the common room. Marlene felt Sirius shift slightly beside her, his hand brushing hers where it rested between them.

“I used to think about running away,” she said quietly, breaking the stillness.

Sirius tilted his head to look at her, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face. “From what?”

“From here. From home. From everything,” she admitted, her voice soft. “When I was younger, I’d lie awake at night and think about just… leaving. Going somewhere where no one knew me. Starting over.”

“Sounds familiar,” Sirius murmured, his voice laced with something unspoken.

She turned her head to look at him, meeting his gaze. “I guess it’s different for you, though. You did leave. You made it happen.”

“Didn’t feel like a choice,” he said, his tone darker now. “I couldn’t stay. Not with them.”

Marlene hesitated, then nodded. Sirius didn’t talk about his family often, but when he did, it was with a bitterness that cut deeper than his usual sarcasm.

“I envy you,” she said after a moment.

Sirius laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Trust me, McKinnon, you don’t.”

“No, I do,” she insisted. “Because you left, and now you’re… free. You’re not tied down by what people expect you to be. You don’t care what they think.”

He shifted again, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her. “You think I’m free?”

“Aren’t you?”

Sirius held her gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “It’s not that simple,” he said finally. “Running away doesn’t fix everything. It just… gives you new things to deal with.”

Marlene frowned, staring up at him. “But you’re still better off, right?”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But sometimes, I think about all the things I left behind. All the things I’ll never get back.”

The words hung heavy in the air between them, and Marlene didn’t know what to say. She’d never thought of Sirius as someone who looked back, who regretted. But now, lying here beside him, she could see the cracks in his armor, the parts of him he usually kept hidden.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” she said softly.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning faintly. “What, are you offering to run away too to keep me company?”

She rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “I’m just saying… you’re not as alone as you think.”

For a moment, Sirius didn’t respond, and she wondered if she’d said too much. But then he relaxed again, laying back down beside her.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper.

“Is Poland a place you want to run from or to?” Sirius asked after a while, his tone casual, like he was asking about the weather.

Marlene stiffened at the question. She hadn’t expected him to bring it up, and something in her chest tightened instinctively. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, catching the edge in her voice. “I’m just asking. You said you think about leaving, and I know you don’t exactly talk about home much.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said quickly, too quickly.

“Come on,” he said, sitting up a little. “You don’t miss it? Not even a little?”

Marlene frowned, turning her head to glare at him. “Why does it matter if I do or don’t?”

Sirius shrugged, his expression annoyingly unbothered. “It doesn’t. I’m just curious. You never talk about it, and I figured…” He trailed off, his voice softer now. “Maybe it’s hard for you.”

“Hard for me?” she repeated, her tone sharper. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sirius leaned back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off. I’m just saying—”

“Just saying what?” Marlene interrupted, sitting up now. “That you think I should have some tragic backstory? That because I’m Polish, I must be some mysterious girl with a dark past or whatever?”

Sirius blinked, taken aback by her outburst. “That’s not what I—”

“Everyone assumes things about me,” she snapped, cutting him off. “They hear my accent, or they hear me curse during a match, and they think that’s all there is to me. I’m just ‘the Polish girl,’ like it’s some kind of defining trait. But it’s not. It’s just… it’s just me.”

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and she immediately looked away, staring hard at the fireplace.

Sirius was quiet for a long moment, the weight of her words settling between them. When he finally spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically soft. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Marlene didn’t respond, her jaw tightening as she kept her gaze fixed on the dying flames.

“I mean it, Marlene,” Sirius said, leaning forward now. “I’m not trying to shove you into some stupid box. I just…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know what it feels like to be stuck between where you’re from and where you want to be. And I figured… maybe you feel the same.”

She glanced at him then, her expression softening just a fraction. “It’s not the same,” she said quietly. “You left. You got out. I’m still here, and no one lets me forget where I’m from.”

Sirius nodded, his eyes searching hers. “You’re right. It’s not the same. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

Marlene hesitated, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Why do you care so much?”

He smiled faintly, leaning back against the couch. “Because you’re my friend, McKinnon. And whether you like it or not, I care.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, grinning now. “But you still let me sleep on the couch with you.”

Marlene huffed, shaking her head, but she didn’t argue.

“Do you know how many times Poland was mentioned during our education?” Sirius glanced at her but didn’t answer.

“Of course you don’t,” she said with a bitter shrug. “Exactly once.”

Still, he didn’t respond, and that silence pushed her forward, like she needed to get it all out.

“And it wasn’t even for anything important,” she continued, her words gaining a sharp edge. “Not some grand lesson on magical history or famous witches and wizards. It wasn’t even a proper discussion. It was just a throwaway line in some list of countries where trolls are commonly found. That’s it. That’s all my country gets.”

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

“No talk about the history, about the struggles, about the witches and wizards who survived wars and invasions and still managed to create something meaningful. Nothing about all the magic that people back there pour into the land, the forests, the traditions—none of it. Just bloody trolls.”

Marlene let out a bitter laugh, but it sounded hollow even to her own ears. “Trolls. Like the only thing worth mentioning about Poland is that it’s apparently a good spot for oversized, brainless creatures.”

She fell quiet then, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if trying to hold herself together.

Sirius still didn’t speak right away, and for a moment, she hated him for it. Hated the way he just lay there, as if he didn’t know what to say. But maybe that was better. Maybe she didn’t want him to say anything at all.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice soft.

Marlene scoffed, shaking her head. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault Hogwarts couldn’t care less about places like mine.”

Sirius leaned forward slightly. “It’s not right, though,” he said. “You deserve better than that. Your country deserves better than that.”

She looked at him then, her expression somewhere between anger and disbelief. “Do you actually care, or are you just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear?”

Sirius frowned, his brows knitting together. “I care, Marlene. I don’t know everything about Poland, but I know it’s part of you. And that’s enough for me to think it matters.”

His words softened something in her, but she wasn’t ready to let the anger go just yet. “It’s not just about me, Sirius. It’s about the way the whole world sees people like me—like we’re just footnotes in someone else’s story. We’re never the heroes, never the ones anyone remembers. We’re just… there. And if we’re mentioned at all, it’s as a joke or an afterthought.”

“You’re not an afterthought, Marlene. Not to me.”

She wanted to believe him. She really did. But years of being overlooked, underestimated, and dismissed weren’t something she could shake off with a few kind words.

“You don’t get it,” she said quietly, her voice thick with frustration. “You’re from this big, important family, even if they’re awful. People see you and think of power, of legacy, of rebellion. And Potter—he’s got all the charm and the confidence of someone who’s always been told he’s destined for greatness. Even Lupin, with whatever he’s been through, has this quiet strength that makes people admire him.”

She paused, her throat tightening. “But me? I’m just the girl with the weird accent and the bad temper. The girl who swears in Polish when she’s mad and makes everyone laugh because they think it’s cute.” She spat the last word like it was venom. “I don’t want to be cute, Sirius. I want to be seen.”

For a moment, Sirius didn’t say anything, and Marlene thought she’d finally pushed him too far. But then he reached out, his hand covering hers where it rested on the couch.

“I see you, Marlene,” he said, his voice steady. “I see how hard you work, how much you care, even when you try to pretend you don’t. And anyone who doesn’t see that? They’re bloody idiots.”

She looked down at their hands, her chest tightening. It wasn’t like her to get emotional, not like this, but Sirius had a way of breaking through her walls without even trying.

“You don’t have to say that,” she muttered.

“I’m not saying it for you,” he replied with a small smile. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

For the first time that night, Marlene felt the tension in her shoulders start to ease. She let out a long breath, leaning back into the couch.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

“Anytime,” Sirius replied, his hand still resting over hers.

The fire had nearly gone out, leaving the room in shadows, but for the first time in what felt like forever, Marlene didn’t feel invisible.

“You know the Wronski Feint?” Marlene asked, a half-smile tugging at her lips, though there was a sharpness in her tone.

“That Seeker move?” Sirius leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms. “Yeah, my brother used to swear he could pull it off. Never saw him do it, though.”

“It’s Wroński,” she corrected, the smile fading slightly as she leaned forward. “The move is named after Józef Wroński. He was Polish.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she said, her voice softer now, more resigned than accusatory. “No one ever does. Everyone just thinks it’s some generic wizard name, or they pronounce it wrong without even realizing.”

She sighed, “Wroński was brilliant. He invented one of the most dangerous Seeker maneuvers in history, and people barely even know who he was. It’s like that with everything Polish—either forgotten or mispronounced into oblivion.”

Sirius didn’t say anything right away, watching her carefully. “Have you ever tried it?” he asked after a moment, his tone lighter.

“The Feint?” Marlene snorted. “Of course I’ve tried it. Every Polish kid with a broom tries it at least once. It’s practically a rite of passage.”

“And?”

“And I nearly broke my neck,” she admitted, a small smirk creeping back onto her face. “But I stuck the landing. Barely.”

Sirius grinned. “Figures. You’d be reckless enough to pull it off.”

“It’s not reckless,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s calculated. Wroński didn’t invent it just to show off—it’s a move designed to outthink your opponent, to lure them into a trap. It’s about precision, not just guts.”

Sirius tilted his head, considering her words. “Sounds like you’re more than just a casual fan.”

“I’m not,” she said with a shrug. “But Wroński matters to me. He’s one of the few things that makes me feel like… like Poland belongs in this world. Like we have something to be proud of.”

Her voice trailed off, and she stared at the empty fireplace, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

Sirius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know,” he said slowly, “you don’t need to prove anything to anyone. You’re already brilliant. Whether people know how to say Wroński or not doesn’t change that.”

She glanced at him, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s not about me being brilliant. It’s about wanting people to care. About more than just what’s convenient or easy to pronounce.”

He nodded, letting her words sink in. “I get it,” he said finally. “And for what it’s worth, I care.”

Marlene gave him a sidelong look, the corner of her mouth twitching upward despite herself. “You say that now, but let’s see if you remember how to say Wroński tomorrow.”

“Wroński,” Sirius repeated, his pronunciation surprisingly decent. He grinned. “See? Not so hard.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Alright, Black. Maybe you’re not a complete lost cause.”

“High praise,” he teased, leaning back again.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, the weight of the conversation easing slightly. Marlene didn’t feel like she had to explain herself, and Sirius didn’t push her to say more than she was ready to.

“Hey, Marlene,” Sirius said after a while, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah?”

“McKinnon isn’t a Polish surname, right?” he asked, careful but curious.

Marlene froze for a moment, her fingers tightening on the blanket. Of course he’d ask. Sirius always had a way of nudging at the things she didn’t want to talk about.

“No,” she said finally, her voice clipped.

When he didn’t say anything, she sighed and sat up a little straighter, brushing her hair out of her face. “My dad’s Scottish. He came to Poland for some international wizarding conference, fell in love with my mum, and decided to stay.” She shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Then when things started getting bad, they moved back here. To Scotland. Just before my eleventh birthday. Perfect timing for me to get a Hogwarts letter.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching her carefully. “Bad how?”

Marlene rolled her eyes. “You know. The usual. Wars. Occupations. Muggle governments collapsing under the weight of it all. Wizarding governments pretending not to notice. My dad thought it was only a matter of time before things turned dangerous for us, too.”

He frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Was he right?”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Who knows? Maybe. I wasn’t there long enough to find out.” Her voice softened, and she looked down at her hands. “I didn’t get a choice. My dad decided for all of us, and by the time I was old enough to have an opinion, it didn’t matter anymore.”

Sirius stayed quiet for a moment, his face unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “Do you miss it?”

Marlene hesitated, her chest tightening. She didn’t like thinking about it. But the truth slipped out anyway.

“Yeah,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “All the time.”

She didn’t look at him, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. Pity? Understanding? She wasn’t sure which would be worse.

“I get it,” Sirius said finally, surprising her.

Her head snapped up, and she gave him a skeptical look. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, not the same way. But… leaving home. Feeling like you don’t really belong anywhere. Wishing there was something to go back to even if it was never good in the first place.” He shrugged, his gaze distant. “I get it.”

Marlene stared at him for a moment, her defenses softening. It wasn’t the same—she knew that. But maybe it didn’t have to be.

“Does it ever get easier?” she asked quietly.

Sirius smirked, but there was no humor in it. “No. But you learn to carry it better.”

She nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. It wasn’t exactly comforting, but it felt honest, and that was something.

For a while, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching out between them. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt… safe.

“Thanks,” Marlene said finally, her voice barely audible.

Sirius looked at her, his smirk softening into a small, genuine smile. “Anytime, Wroński.”

Marlene snorted, rolling her eyes. “Don’t push it, Black.”

He chuckled, the tension in the room finally breaking, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Marlene let herself breathe.

Notes:

hi hello
i'm back

huge kudos for messrsrarchives and all the other mods of the HP Femininomenon Fest for organising this beautiful thing

if you don't know it yet, i am polish. this fic is a love letter to all polish marauders fans, especially those who hide the fact that they are polish in fandom spaces to be taken more seriously, those who feel they can't make speaking videos because of their accents, and those who feel their voices and perspective are getting lost in the narrative

please share your thoughts in the comments, i'd love to read them, and don't forget to check out other works in the fest

huge thanks to @MoonysMismatchedSocks for beta reading and fixing my typos

side note regarding marlene's accent: for almost 11 years of her life she spoke exclusively polish, with english only as a second language. her father did not plan to move to scotland (before the sudden decision before her 11th birthday) so she was not raised bilingually. of course, her accent is no longer as strong as it was when she started hogwarts (although speaking polish during the summer and winter breaks, intensifies it), but you have to remember that marlene is not exactly a reliable narrator, the descriptions of her experiences are dictated by her emotions, and she herself looks at her accent extremely critically

Chapter 2: what is this feeling?

Marlene and Sirius hadn’t always been friends. In fact, if someone had told her first-year self that one day she’d call him her best friend, she would’ve laughed—or more likely scowled and cursed them out—because from the very first moment she saw his stupid, smug face on the Hogwarts Express, she hated him. She loathed him. Pure, unadulterated loathing.

It wasn’t just the way he carried himself, though that didn’t help. Sirius Black had walked into their compartment that day like he owned it, all confidence and arrogance wrapped up in an expensive set of robes and an infuriating smirk. He didn’t ask if there was room for him; he simply decided there was and dropped into the seat across from her like they should all be grateful for his presence. He listened for a bit to them as they got back to introductions, and then he opened his mouth.

“Poland? That’s far, isn’t it?” he’d said. “Bet it’s freezing there all year round.”

“It’s not,” Marlene had snapped, narrowing her eyes. “And I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
He’d grinned wider, clearly entertained by her hostility. “Touchy. Alright, I’ll bite. Why’d you leave your freezing country to come here?”

It wasn’t even a mean question, not really. But the way he asked it—with that casual superiority, when he also had an accent and still somehow put himself above her, and because she actually didn’t want to leave Poland, it was her parents’ choice, not hers—had set her blood boiling.

She’d spent most of that train ride glaring at the window just to avoid looking at him, already feeling that Sirius Black was going to be the bane of her existence. So she had decided then and there that she wanted nothing to do with him.

Unfortunately, Hogwarts had other plans.

Although the castle was enormous, it turned out to be far too small to avoid anyone for long. And no matter where Marlene went, Black seemed to be there, taking up space. In the common room, his laugh rang out over the crackling fire as he and James Potter plotted some reckless scheme. In the Great Hall, he flopped down across from her at breakfast, always stealing the best toast before anyone else had a chance. Even in classes, he was impossible to ignore—loud, charming, and maddeningly talented at magic despite barely seeming to try.

And because life, apparently, hated her, they were paired together as Potions partners.

From the moment the pairing was announced, Marlene had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She wasn’t a fan of Potions to begin with; she could manage the work well enough, but the meticulousness it required often grated on her nerves. Being paired with Black, of all people, was just salt in the wound.

For someone whose arrogance and ego seemed fully formed even at eleven, Black’s approach to Potions was unsurprisingly infuriating. The first thing Marlene noticed was that he didn’t listen. Not during the theoretical parts of the lesson, not during Slughorn’s endless anecdotes, and certainly not when Marlene was trying to explain what they were supposed to be doing.

“So,” Black said during their first lesson together, leaning back in his chair as though the fumes from the cauldrons didn’t exist. “What are we up to, then?”

Marlene stared at him, incredulous. “Were you not paying attention?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grinning. “Figured you’d fill me in.”

She resisted the urge to throw something at him. “It’s not my job to babysit you through this, Black.”

But it turned out it kind of was. Because every time they started a new brew, Black would turn to her with that same grin and some variation of “Alright, what’s next?” And every time, Marlene would have to explain—sometimes through gritted teeth—what the next step was.

“Stir clockwise, not counterclockwise,” she hissed during one particularly tense lesson, smacking his hand away from the cauldron.

“Clockwise, counterclockwise—what’s the difference?”

“The difference is the potion not exploding in our faces!”

Despite herself, Marlene began to suspect Black was more than capable of doing the work if he wanted to. His hands were steady, his instincts sharp, and his memory surprisingly good when it came to spells or techniques. He just didn’t seem to care enough to bother. Instead, he spent most of their Potions lessons making faces at Potter across the classroom, picking on unsuspecting Slytherins, or—infuriatingly—tugging on Marlene’s hair whenever he thought she wasn’t paying attention to him.

“Cut that out, Black,” she hissed one day, swatting his hand away for what felt like the hundredth time.
“Just trying to see if you’d notice,” he replied with a grin, entirely unapologetic.

In the first two years of school, though, Marlene at least had a support system to help her deal with Black. Lily and Mary were her lifeline, always ready to validate her frustration. They were preteens, after all, and at that age it was easy to convince your friends that boys were stupid and annoying—especially when those boys were actually doing stupid and annoying things.

Black pulling her hair? Evidence of his immaturity. Potter trying to show off by throwing spells at random objects during Transfiguration? Proof that boys had no common sense. Pettigrew making a tower from pieces of parchment during study hour instead of actually learning? Case closed: boys were the worst.

But sometimes even they were trying to reason with her. Lily would cross her arms and declare, “They’re just trying to get attention. Don’t give it to them.” Mary would nod fervently. “Exactly. If you ignore them, they’ll get bored and stop.”

But Black never got bored. And ignoring him never worked.

By second year, the tug-of-war between Black and Marlene was practically a fixture of the Gryffindor common room. If Black wasn’t pestering her during lessons, he was stealing her favorite armchair by the fire, pulling faces behind her back, or sneakily changing the color of her ink to neon green when she wasn’t looking.

“Nienawidzę cię!” she’d shouted, chasing him halfway across the common room after discovering her transfigured essay looked like it had been written by a leprechaun. [I hate you!]

“Your words can’t hurt me, if I don’t understand them,” he’d shoot back, dodging her swipes with infuriating ease.

Marlene’s rage only deepened. Sirius Black had to be the most annoying human being she’d ever met—and for some reason, the universe seemed intent on keeping him firmly planted in her life.

Second year also meant Quidditch tryouts, and Gryffindor had exactly one spot opened, the Chaser.

Marlene wanted that more than anything in the world. She had wanted it from the moment she saw her first match in first year. She could practically feel herself soaring through the air already, the roar of the crowd in her ears, the Quaffle in her hands as she scored goal after goal.

She was determined. She’d been practicing for weeks in secret, borrowing school-supplied brooms, and heading to the pitch whenever she could. Her throws were accurate, her dives sharp, and her confidence unshakable.

The spot was hers. It had to be hers.

And then she heard that James Potter was trying out.

James Potter—Sirius Black’s best friend, partner-in-crime, and Gryffindor’s golden boy. Of course he was trying out. And of course, the entire house was already buzzing about it.

“Potter’s a natural,” someone had said in the common room. “Did you see him flying loops last weekend? He’s brilliant.”

Marlene’s stomach twisted. She hated how much it rattled her, but it did. Potter had charisma, talent, and—most frustratingly—a built-in cheerleader in Sirius Black. It wasn’t fair.

And even though Black wasn’t the one trying out, Marlene couldn’t help but blame him anyway. After all, he and Potter were a package deal. Where one went, the other followed. Black was the one who egged Potter on, who talked him up to anyone who would listen, who made sure the spotlight shone just a little brighter on his friend.

So when the day of tryouts came and Marlene didn’t make the cut—when she stood there on the pitch, heart pounding, as the captain announced James Potter as the new Chaser—Marlene felt the heat of her anger flare, sharp and bitter.

She stormed off the field, ignoring her friends’ attempts to console her. Her mind buzzed with excuses, justifications, and the growing certainty that it was Sirius Black’s fault.

If Black hadn’t spent the entire month convincing everyone how brilliant James was…

If Black hadn’t been laughing on the sidelines during tryouts, making her lose focus…

If Black hadn’t existed at all, maybe things would have been different.

Deep down, a part of her knew it wasn’t entirely fair. Potter was good—no, Potter was great. He’d earned that spot. But Marlene wasn’t ready to face that truth yet. It was easier, safer, to direct all her frustration at Black.

So when she stormed into the common room later that evening and found Black lounging on the couch, his feet kicked up on the table like he didn’t have a care in the world, her anger boiled over. “Congratulations,” she said coldly, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

He raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For your best friend stealing my spot on the team.”

His expression flickered with confusion for a moment before settling into that familiar, infuriating smirk. “I didn’t know it was your spot.”

“It was supposed to be mine,” she snapped, her hands clenched into fists. “You just had to get involved, didn’t you? Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“McKinnon,” Black said, sitting up straighter now, “what are you even talking about? I didn’t try out. There was no Beater spot open, and you don’t even want to be a Beater. I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” she hissed. “Because you didn’t even have to. You just had to be you—loud, obnoxious, always cheering Potter on like he’s Merlin reincarnated.”

For once, Black didn’t have a quick comeback. He just stared at her, his gray eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to piece together the real reason behind her outburst.

But Marlene didn’t stick around to hear whatever smug response he was cooking up. She turned on her heel and marched upstairs to the girls’ dormitory, slamming the door behind her.

Third year was the worst. It felt like everything Marlene had carefully built—a sturdy wall of camaraderie with Lily and Mary against the chaos of the boys—was crumbling around her.

Lily had always been the sensitive one, the anchor in their pact. But now, she was spending more and more time in the library with Remus Lupin, of all people. Marlene couldn’t understand it. Sure, Lupin was quiet and polite, but he was still part of them, the boys who had been giving them a headache since day one.

And then there was Mary. Sweet, funny Mary, who had once rolled her eyes so hard at Pettigrew that Marlene thought they might get stuck. Now Mary was laughing at his jokes. Jokes that weren’t even funny.

“What happened to ‘boys are the worst’?” Marlene had asked her one day, exasperation thick in her voice.

Mary had just shrugged with a sheepish smile. “I don’t know. They’re not that bad, are they? I mean, Peter’s kind of… sweet.”

Marlene had stared at her, speechless. Mary, the last bastion of reason, was a lost cause.

At least Lily still had her moments of exasperation with the boys. She could still be counted on to get annoyed, especially when they picked on her Slytherin friend. Not that Marlene had any sympathy for Snape—he always had an air of superiority about him that grated on her nerves—but any win against Black and Potter felt like a win she could claim, even if it was borrowed.

But those moments were few and far between. Most of the time, Marlene found herself sitting alone in the common room, arms crossed as she watched her friends drift further and further away into the chaos of the boys’ orbit.

Black, of course, seemed to thrive on her growing frustration. If he noticed her isolation, he doubled down on his antics, always finding new ways to needle her.

“Still sulking, McKinnon?” he’d ask, dropping into the seat beside her uninvited.

“I’m not sulking,” she’d snap, though her crossed arms and scowl said otherwise.

“You’re sulking,” he’d insist, grinning as if her misery was his personal source of entertainment.

And maybe it was. Maybe Sirius Black just existed to make her life harder. It certainly felt that way.

Third year was supposed to be her year—the year she came into her own, proved herself, and stopped letting the boys get under her skin. But instead, it felt like everything was slipping further out of her control.

Lily and Mary were slipping away. Black was more insufferable than ever. And Marlene was left feeling like the odd one out, stuck on the outside of a world that seemed to be changing too quickly for her to keep up.

At least there was Quidditch. Or unfortunately, there was Quidditch? Marlene couldn’t decide where to place her feelings about it. On one hand, it was her dream. Her grand win. After the disaster of second year, she had doubled down, practicing relentlessly over the summer. She worked on her speed, her accuracy, her endurance—anything to make sure that when tryouts rolled around again, she was undeniable. And she was.

The moment her name was called, she felt a swell of pride so fierce she thought it might burst out of her chest. She was finally a Chaser for Gryffindor. She had earned it.

But then his name was called. Sirius Black. Beater.

She stared at him, jaw clenched, as he sauntered up to the captain, flashing his signature grin. Of course he made it. Of course.

Her victory felt smaller somehow, like it wasn’t hers alone anymore. Her name would forever be linked with his—Marlene McKinnon and Sirius Black, the new additions to Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. The thought made her stomach twist.

Black didn’t help, either. He took to the role of Beater like he took to everything else in life, with an effortless charm that grated on her nerves. He swung his bat with an almost reckless glee, laughing as Bludgers went flying across the pitch. And worst of all, he was good. Really good.

During practice, he was everywhere—calling out jokes to Potter as they ran drills, making the team laugh, and somehow still managing to be annoyingly competent. Marlene tried to ignore him, to focus on her own game, but it was impossible. He was like a force of nature, demanding attention whether she wanted to give it or not.

The first match of the season didn’t help matters. Gryffindor won, of course, and Marlene played well—really well, scoring three goals and earning a round of cheers from the stands. But Black… Black was the one everyone talked about afterward.

“Did you see that hit Black made?” one of the younger Gryffindors gushed in the common room that evening. “He knocked that Bludger straight into the Slytherin captain’s broom! Brilliant!”

Marlene sat off to the side, sipping pumpkin juice and pretending not to care. But she cared. She cared so much.

Quidditch was supposed to be hers. Her escape, her place to shine, the thing that made her feel like she belonged. And now, even here, Sirius Black was overshadowing her.

With fourth year surprisingly came a breath of fresh air. Black didn’t stop being annoying or loud—he was still Black, after all—but maybe Marlene was growing used to it. She stopped reacting to every snide comment or dramatic eye roll. Maybe it wasn’t worth the effort, or maybe she just accepted the fact that Black would always be there, like an unwanted piece of furniture that was too heavy to move.

And then came fifth year.

And during fifth year something happened.

Marlene didn’t know what it was, but whatever it was, it must have been grand because it left a crack in the seemingly impenetrable foundation of the boys’ friendship.

To the untrained eye, everything looked the same. But if you knew how to look closer—if you watched—you’d see it.

The boys still sat next to each other at meals, but there was tension in the air. Black and Lupin avoided each other’s eyes, their conversations clipped and formal. Potter, who usually radiated confidence, seemed uneasy, as though he didn’t quite know where to stand anymore.

Marlene noticed, of course. She noticed everything.

At first, she told herself she didn’t care. Whatever drama the boys had managed to stir up this time was none of her concern. It was probably something stupid anyway, something only they could turn into a big deal. But the longer it went on, the harder it was to ignore.

She found herself glancing across the Great Hall during meals, trying to decipher the strained silence.

She caught moments in the common room where Black would start to say something, then stop himself, his jaw tightening. And though Lupin never raised his voice, there was a coldness to his tone that hadn’t been there before.

It was unsettling.

By now, Marlene knew the boys well enough to know they didn’t do quiet, especially Black. If Sirius Black was quiet, something was wrong.

She wanted to ask him about it—more out of curiosity than concern, of course—but every time she opened her mouth, she hesitated. Black wasn’t exactly known for his honesty or his ability to talk about feelings, and if he was holding onto something this tightly, it probably wasn’t something he’d just tell her.

Still, it bugged her.

One evening, she found herself lingering in the common room after most of the house had gone to bed. Black was sitting by the fire, his face half-lit by the flames and the full moonlight flickering through the tall windows. He wasn’t lounging the way he usually did—sprawled out, taking up more space than necessary, like he owned the place. No, tonight he was hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees, his fingers threaded loosely together as he stared into the fire with a quiet intensity that made Marlene pause.

She hesitated for a moment, then dropped into the armchair across from him, her movements slow and deliberate, as though she were approaching a skittish animal.

“Long day?” she asked, keeping her tone light, almost teasing.

Black glanced up at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “You could say that,” he muttered.

And that was it. No jokes, no exaggerated sighs, no sarcastic remarks. Just those four words.
Marlene frowned. She wanted to push, to ask what was wrong, but there was something in his posture—something tight, something fragile—that stopped her. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t her story to pry into.

So she let the silence stretch between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional pop of a log.

But as she sat there, watching Black retreat further into himself, she couldn’t help but wonder, what had happened to Sirius Black, to make him so… quiet?

She tilted her head, her gaze landing on the mess of hair flopping over his forehead. “Your hair is atrocious,” she said, her voice tinged with mockery, trying to pull him out of whatever dark corner his mind had wandered to.

Black didn’t respond. He didn’t even flinch.

Marlene leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Do you want me to teach you what to do with it? You’ve clearly lost your sense of style lately, so you must be desperate for help. It’s probably still too short for French braids, but maybe—”

“What, you don’t have Polish braids?” he cut in sharply, the bitterness in his voice catching her off guard.

She blinked, stunned for a moment before a snort of laughter escaped her. “Polish braids? That’s the best you’ve got? Come on, Black, you’re slipping.”

Black’s lips twitched, but the smirk that usually followed her jabs didn’t fully form.

“Tragic,” Marlene said, leaning back into her chair as she studied him. “Your insults are losing their edge. Maybe you are tired.”

“Maybe,” he muttered, his eyes flicking back to the fire.

For a moment, she thought that was the end of it. But then he shifted, leaning back in his chair and letting out a sigh that sounded far heavier than it should have.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice quiet.

Marlene frowned. “For what?”

“For being… whatever this is.” He waved a hand vaguely in the air, his usual confidence nowhere to be found.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. If you think I came over here for your sparkling personality, you’re delusional.”

That earned her a soft huff of amusement, but it still wasn’t quite enough to break the tension in his shoulders.

Marlene tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You’re not usually this…” She trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Broody?” Black supplied, raising an eyebrow.

“I was going to say ‘pathetic,’ but sure, let’s go with broody,” she shot back. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of the old Black—the one who would’ve come back with a cutting remark or a dramatic retort. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a weariness that made Marlene’s stomach twist.

She leaned forward again, resting her elbows on her knees. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, and I’m not going to ask because it’s clearly not something you want to talk about. And if you want to sit here and be miserable, I’m not going to stop you. Just know that you look ridiculous doing it.”

Black’s lips twitched again, and this time, the smirk almost stayed.

“Thanks, McKinnon,” he said after a long moment, his voice quieter now, but a little steadier.

“Anytime,” she said, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied grin.

The next morning, Black sat next to her in the Great Hall. It wasn’t a grand gesture—he just dropped down onto the bench beside her, snagged a piece of toast, and started buttering it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Marlene wasn’t particularly thrilled about it, but a quick glance around the table stopped her from voicing her irritation.

Potter and Pettigrew were sitting in their usual spots, but their usual chatter was suspiciously absent. Potter was poking at his porridge with a spoon, his brow furrowed, while Pettigrew stared down at his plate like it might bite him. Lupin, she noticed, was nowhere to be seen.

So Marlene bit her tongue, choosing to focus on her plate instead of Black and his drama.

They didn’t exchange a single word.

Marlene risked a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. His face was carefully blank, but there was a tension in his jaw, a tightness around his eyes.

She told herself she didn’t care. Whatever was going on with him and his friends was none of her business. Sirius Black could deal with his own messes.
And yet, when he reached for the pumpkin juice and his hand trembled just slightly, she couldn’t stop herself from speaking.

“You’re going to spill that,” she muttered, her tone more annoyed than concerned.

Black blinked, glancing at her like he’d only just realized she was there. “What?”

“The juice. You’re shaking like an old man.”

He set the jug down a little too quickly, some of the juice sloshing over the edge. “Thanks for the observation, McKinnon,” he said, his voice flat.

Marlene frowned. Flat wasn’t Black’s style. Snarky, yes. Defensive, sure. But flat? That wasn’t him.

“Look,” she said, lowering her voice slightly. “I don’t know what’s going on with you lot, and frankly, I don’t care. But if you’re going to sit here, at least pretend to be alive. You’re killing the mood.”

Black’s lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite have the energy for it. “Noted,” he said, reaching for another piece of toast.

And that was it. No explanation, no dramatic declarations, just… that.

Marlene turned back to her plate, pretending not to notice the way Potter kept sneaking glances at Black, or the way Pettigrew’s shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself invisible. Whatever had happened between them a month ago, was breaking them from the inside, and by the silence that lingered over the Gryffindor table that morning, it wasn’t going to blow over anytime soon.

The silence stretched long after breakfast, trailing them through the halls like a shadow.

Black didn’t leave her side. He didn’t say he was sticking with her, didn’t ask if she minded—he just did. And Marlene, despite her better judgment, let him.

It wasn’t like they spent the day talking. If anything, he was quieter than usual. He kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his head ducked low, and for once, he wasn’t attracting attention just by existing.

In Transfiguration, he sat next to her instead of Potter. She noticed Potter hesitate when he walked into the classroom, his eyes flicking from Black to the empty seat beside him before he pressed his lips into a thin line and took a spot next to Pettigrew instead.

Marlene kept waiting for someone to acknowledge it. For Potter to say something biting, or for Black to crack a joke at his expense, or for Lupin to appear out of nowhere and scold them all into behaving. But none of that happened.

Whatever had gone down, it was worse than she’d thought.

She wasn’t sure why she cared.

But she did.

Because as much as Black had annoyed her over the years, as much as he’d gotten on her nerves and stolen her toast and made himself a permanent fixture in her life, she’d never seen him like this.

Detached.

Distant.

Alone.

By the time evening rolled around, Marlene was more than ready to be done with whatever weird, unspoken thing was hanging over the day. But when she entered the common room, Black was already there, sitting in the same chair by the fire where she’d found him the night before.

She considered walking past him. Going straight up to the girls’ dormitory and pretending she hadn’t seen him.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she walked over, dropped onto the couch beside him, and kicked her feet up onto the armrest.

“Are you planning on being depressed forever, or is this just a temporary phase?”

Black let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but not quite. “I’ll let you know.”

Marlene tilted her head, studying him. His posture was looser than it had been in the morning, but his shoulders were still set a little too tight, like he was bracing himself for something.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.

Black didn’t look at her. “No.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right. Because being cryptic and brooding is so much more effective.”

“McKinnon,” he said, turning to face her fully for the first time, “just leave it.”

And maybe it was the exhaustion in his voice, or the way his face looked a little older than it had the day before, but something in her told her to listen.

So she nodded, just once.

“Alright.”

Black blinked, like he hadn’t expected her to drop it so easily. But Marlene wasn’t stupid. She knew when to push and when to back off.

And whatever had happened between him and his friends, he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

That was fine.

She could wait.

They sat in silence for a long time, watching the fire flicker and crackle in the hearth. And when Black finally leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, Marlene didn’t say anything. She just sat there, keeping him company.

Black must have dozed off at some point, because when Marlene shifted beside him, he startled slightly, blinking blearily at her.

“You drooled on yourself,” she informed him, not looking up from the book she’d started flipping through.

Black scrubbed a hand over his mouth before shooting her an unimpressed look. “Charming.”

Marlene smirked but didn’t push further. If he was back to being at least a little snarky, she’d take it as a win.

The fire was burning low now. Potter had passed through earlier, giving Black a look Marlene couldn’t quite decipher before heading straight upstairs.

Black had ignored him, but she wasn’t sure Potter was the one being punished.

“So,” she said, stretching her arms above her head, “am I supposed to get used to you being my new shadow, or is this a limited-time offer?”

Black sighed dramatically. “I haven’t decided yet. You’re more tolerable than I expected.”

“High praise.”

“I know.”

Marlene rolled her eyes, but something in her stomach unclenched. He was still off, still carrying whatever weight had settled onto his shoulders in the past month, but at least he wasn’t completely lost in it. She could work with that.

After a few moments of silence, she closed her book and turned to face him more fully. “Are you actually planning on going up to your dorm tonight, or should I transfigure you a blanket and make you a nice little nest down here?”

Black hummed, pretending to consider. “Depends. Will you tuck me in?”

“Not a chance.”

“Bummer.”

Marlene shook her head, but she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. This, at least, was familiar.

Black exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll go up soon.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Such little faith.”

Marlene didn’t respond right away, just studied him carefully. The dim firelight softened the sharp angles of his face, making him look like nothing was wrong, almost.

Almost.

“I can keep sitting here, you know,” she said, quieter now. “You don’t have to talk about it. But you don’t have to be alone, either.”

Black glanced at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

Then, after a moment, he let out a long breath and slouched further into the couch. “You really are more tolerable than I thought.”

Marlene didn’t reply, just nudged his knee lightly with hers before settling back into her seat.
They stayed there until the fire burned down to embers.

The next few days were strange.

Black stuck close to her—not constantly, not in a way that anyone else would notice, but Marlene did. He sat next to her in the Great Hall when Potter and Pettigrew were being particularly quiet, he leaned against the wall next to her after Quidditch practice instead of immediately running off with the others, and he lingered just a little too long in the common room at night.

He didn’t talk about whatever had happened, and Marlene didn’t ask.

She wasn’t stupid—she knew it had to do with the other boys, knew it had something to do with whatever had made Lupin look at him with something almost like fury before schooling his face into perfect neutrality. But Black wasn’t talking about it, and Marlene wasn’t the type to demand answers he wasn’t ready to give.

She also wasn’t the type to coddle, though.

So after another week of Black hovering around her like a particularly moody storm cloud, she snapped. “Are you planning on adopting me, Black? Because if this is your idea of an application, you should know I’m already housebroken.”

Black blinked at her, caught off guard, before he snorted. “Tempting.”

Marlene crossed her arms. “Then what’s with the newfound attachment?”

He shrugged, too casual, too indifferent to be real. “You’re fun.”

“Bullshit.”

He grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Language, McKinnon.”

She rolled her eyes but let it drop. He’d talk when he wanted to. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, she wasn’t going to waste her time prying it out of him.

Besides, it wasn’t like she minded the company at that point.

Marlene wasn’t the type to get sentimental, but there was something about Black’s presence that was easy. He didn’t expect anything from her. With Mary and Lily, she adored them—of course she did—but sometimes she felt like she had to be a certain version of herself around them.

But Black? He didn’t seem to care whatever Marlene did or the way she acted, how she spoke, what she was saying. He just hovered, existing in her space. And maybe it should have been annoying, maybe she should have told him to piss off—but she didn’t.
She was getting used to it.

It wasn’t until a week later, during an evening where Black had once again settled next to her in the common room, that he finally said something that almost resembled an admission. “I think they are truly mad at me.”

Marlene looked up from her book. Black was staring at the fire, his hands loosely clasped together. “You think?” she repeated.

He exhaled sharply, a ghost of a laugh. “Fine. I know.”

Marlene shut her book. “Why?”

A beat of silence.

Then, “I was an idiot.”

She wasn’t sure if he meant it in the casual, self-deprecating way he had recently started doing, or if he really meant it.

She studied him for a moment, but his face was unreadable.

“Well,” she said, leaning back, “that doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”

Black actually laughed at that. “I guess not.”

She didn’t push further. She didn’t need to. He had his own pace, and she accepted that. He was still here. That was enough.

Then winter holidays crept up on them, and Marlene was caught off guard by the strange feeling twisting in her gut. It wasn't a concern, exactly. Not quite. But she found herself thinking about Black more than she wanted to—wondering if he’d go home, if he’d sit in some grand, cold French manor with a family that hated him, if he’d be alone. And that thought unsettled her, because this was Sirius Black. She had spent years hating him, and now… what? Now she felt responsible for him?
That was ridiculous.

And yet, on the last morning before the train left for London, she hesitated. The Great Hall was loud with the excitement of students ready to leave, but Black was silent beside her, staring into his pumpkin juice like it had personally wronged him.

She turned to him before she could think better of it. “So… are you leaving?”

He looked up, blinking as if he’d forgotten she was there. Then he snorted. “Yeah, McKinnon. I’m off to spend a joyful Christmas with my loving family. Can’t wait.”

Marlene rolled her eyes, but there was something in his voice, something hollow beneath the sarcasm, that made her grip her fork a little tighter. “Right,” she said. Then, before she could stop herself, she added, “You could always stay.”

Black stilted. He turned to look at her properly.

And Marlene—who never got nervous, who had spent years throwing insults and hexes at this boy without hesitation—felt heat rise to her face.

“I mean—” she started, but Black interrupted with a grin, his usual arrogance slipping back into place like a well-worn mask. “What, McKinnon? You’d miss me?”

“Absolutely not.” She shoved a piece of toast into her mouth so she wouldn’t have to say anything else. “Besides, I’m going home for the break too.”

But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Black watching her, his grin fading into something softer.

While Marlene came back from winter holidays two pounds heavier, her trunk stuffed with homemade food—almost like her babcia forgot she was actually fed at school—Black looked like a dead man walking.

It wasn’t obvious at first. He still carried himself the same way, still had that easy swagger as he passed other students on the platform. But Marlene wasn’t stupid.

His skin was paler than before, stretched too tight over sharp cheekbones. There were shadows beneath his eyes, the kind that didn’t come from just a few late nights. And his usual effortless charm? Forced. Too sharp around the edges, like he had a blade pressed against his throat.

She didn’t say anything at first. Maybe because she wasn’t sure she wanted to get involved. Maybe because she wasn’t sure he wanted her to.

But when Black flopped onto the compartment seat across from her, stretching his arms behind his head like he wanted her to think he owned the whole Hogwarts Express, she pulled out a wrapped pastry and tossed it at his face. He caught it—barely—and raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“Food,” she said flatly.

“I know that, McKinnon,” he said, peeling back the wrapper. “What I don’t know is why you’re throwing food at me.”

She shrugged. “You look like you could use it.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he huffed out a laugh, “That obvious, huh?”

“Eat the damn pastry, Black.”

And, surprisingly, he did.

Black’s state must have worried the boys enough to finally fix their problems. Or at least that was the idea Marlene settled on—because looking at Black, he barely seemed capable of standing upright, let alone executing some grand gesture to win them back.

But whatever had happened, it worked. Potter was back at his side, shouldering him playfully in the corridors, stealing food off his plate at breakfast like nothing had changed. Pettigrew was teasing him again, and then clinging to his every word as if the past few months had never happened.

And Lupin… well.

Lupin was still weird. Weird, but in a different way.

Not in an obvious way. Not in a way Marlene could pinpoint, exactly. But there was something. A hesitation, maybe. A quietness that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had been, and Marlene had just never paid close enough attention to their interactions.

She saw it in the way Black and Lupin acted around each other—how they still joked, still talked, but there was a weight to it now. Like something unsaid had settled between them, stretching the space just enough to be noticeable. Like they were dancing around something neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

Or maybe she was imagining it. Maybe she was reading too much into it.

But then there were the looks.

Black watching Lupin when he wasn’t looking. Lupin watching Black when he wasn’t looking.

Not angry, not upset. Just… watching.

And that? That must have been new.

Marlene thought that maybe now that the boys were back together, Black would drop her. It only made sense—he had his little gang again, his built-in entourage, his partners-in-crime. She’d served her purpose as whatever temporary crutch he’d needed, and now he’d go back to his usual routine.
But surprisingly, he didn’t.

He still sat next to her at breakfast, even when Potter waved him over to their usual spot. He still found her in the common room, sprawling across the armchair closest to hers, flipping through her notes even though he had no intention of studying. He still leaned against the wall next to her between classes, making some inane comment about Slytherins.

She didn’t know what to do with that.

Because it had been easy to tolerate Black when he was a stray looking for a temporary home. But now he wasn’t lost anymore. He had his people back. He didn’t need her.

And yet, he stayed.

Marlene wasn’t sure what to make of it. But the strangest part?

She wasn’t sure she wanted him to stop.

The summer between fifth and sixth year was mostly pretty boring.

Marlene spent it experimenting with her hair, dancing around her room to Cień wielkiej góry on repeat, and stressing over her OWL results. The days stretched lazily, sunlit and uneventful, each one blending into the next.

She didn’t mind, not really. She had gotten used to summers feeling like this—slow, quiet, a little too empty. At first, when they moved to Scotland, she’d been angry that her parents had uprooted their lives, that she had to leave behind everything she knew. So she refused to explore, refused to give this new place a chance. Then Hogwarts happened, and the idea of making friends outside of it seemed pointless. What was the use? If there were kids her age living nearby, they were probably Muggles. They wouldn’t understand. And what was even the point in getting attached to people she’d barely see for most of the year?

So, summers became something else entirely. Not lonely exactly—Marlene didn’t let herself think of it like that. They were just… hers. She wandered aimlessly through the countryside, never really going anywhere. She listened to vinyls she stole from her mother’s monthly owl subscription, stretched out on the floor with her eyes closed, pretending she was anywhere but here. Sometimes she cut her hair just to see if she could pull it off. Sometimes she tried to read, only to get bored and abandon the book halfway through.

It wasn’t a bad way to spend the summer. It just wasn’t a great one, either.

On the late August morning, an owl swooped through the kitchen window, dropping an envelope right onto her plate.

She took a deep breath.

The envelope was too thin to be OWL results. Way too thin. Did that mean something bad? Had she failed everything and was being kicked out from school? Her parents’ eyes were on her as she tore it open, only to frown at the single scrap of parchment inside.

Can you come to mine for a few days? Sirius needs us.
—James Potter

What?

She flipped the parchment over. Once, twice. Aside from the address scrawled on the back there was nothing else.

No explanation. No context.

Marlene frowned. James Potter wasn’t exactly subtle, but he wasn’t cryptic either. If he was keeping things vague, it had to be bad.

Her stomach twisted.

Black needed them.

Sirius Black, who never needed anything from anyone.

Well maybe except attention she snorted to herself, but immediately shook her head to get back on track.

She looked up at her parents, whose curiosity had already faded now that it was clear she wasn’t holding exam results. “Yyy… czy to duży problem, jeśli wyskoczę gdzieś na parę dni?” she asked, flashing a sheepish smile. [Is it a big problem if I pop out somewhere for a few days?]

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Gdzie?” [Where]

“Do… kolegi.” Marlene said, as lightly as she could manage. [To… a friend]

And so it began. Convincing them wasn’t easy. How had they never heard she was friends with James Potter? (She wasn’t.) Why exactly was she going there? (She didn’t know.) When would she come back? (Again, no idea.)

She stumbled through half-truths and vague answers, talking too fast, waving her hands too much. Her mother kept narrowing her eyes. Her father crossed his arms. It wasn’t until Marlene promised—under duress—to write every free minute that they finally, grudgingly, relented.

And even then, her mother gave her the kind of look that said I will be watching you from afar.

When she finally escaped to her room, she sat on the edge of her bed, the letter still clutched in her hand. The relief of having permission faded fast.

Because she had absolutely no idea how to get there.

Sure, she had the address, scrawled in James’s sharp handwriting on the back of the letter. But what was she supposed to do with it? She hadn’t learned to Apparate yet. And splinching herself over James Potter? Not worth it.

Black, though?

She hesitated, throat tight.

No. No fucking way.

She wasn’t going to risk it. Besides, her mother would kill her if somehow the Ministry found out she was using magic underage. But she wasn’t about to sit here doing nothing, either.

The next morning, she stood on the corner of the street, bag at her feet, and waited for the Knight Bus. It felt stupid, standing there like some lost teenager, but what else could she do?

When the bus screeched to a halt, purple and lurching, Marlene climbed aboard with a steadying breath.

She handed over the money and muttered the address. The driver gave her a sharp look but didn’t question it. And as the bus rattled and shook its way across the country, Marlene tried not to think too hard about what she’d find waiting for her.

The manor was bigger than she’d expected. Older too, its stone walls tangled with ivy, windows gleaming in the late afternoon sun. The bus left her at the edge of a long, winding path, and for a moment she stood still, taking it in. Her heart thudded as she walked to the door. She hesitated, then knocked.

Potter opened the door almost immediately, his face tense and drawn. He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t even say hello. He just stepped aside. “Come in, you’re the last one.”

The house was warm and full of old, comforting smells—like parchment and wood polish and something freshly baked—but it felt empty. Like even the walls were holding their breath.

Pettigrew and Lupin were already there, sitting in the lounge. Pettigrew looked awkward, hands clasped too tightly in his lap. Lupin sat quietly, back straight, gaze distant.

No Black.

No Mr. and Mrs. Potter, but maybe they were at work, that was explainable.

And no other people like… Lily.

That last detail struck Marlene harder than it should.

James Potter, not inviting Lily? That was… unheard of.

It didn’t make sense until it did. Until she realized that Potter hadn’t invited the people he wanted here. He’d invited the people closest to Black.

And somehow, that meant her.

The thought sat heavy in her stomach.

Why?

Why her?

Marlene barely knew how to think about Black without a layer of annoyance, sarcasm, and so called rivalry between them. She barely understood how they’d ended last year as something close to… something. And yet, Potter had looked at that and decided it was enough.

The question burned hot under her skin until she couldn’t stop it. She grabbed Potter’s arm, pulling him aside before anyone could say much. “What am I doing here?” she asked, her voice low and tight.

James blinked, like he didn’t understand the question. “You’re Sirius’s friend.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Since when?”

Potter frowned. “Since always, I thought.”

Marlene just stared. Always?

Potter seemed to realize something in her expression, because he added, “You’re his friend, Marlene. And since last year definitely.”

The words felt heavy. Not wrong. But heavy.

“You’re his friend,” Potter repeated, softer. “And he needs his friends.”

Marlene crossed her arms. “You’re his best friend. Isn’t that enough?”

Potter hesitated and looked away. “It’s not about enough,” he said after a moment. His voice was low, like he didn’t want the others to hear. “I don’t want him thinking he’s… bothering me. He left everything, Marlene. His family. His house. And I don’t want him feeling trapped here, like he’s stuck with just me. Or my parents.”

He exhaled, jaw tight.

“I thought if there were more people, it’d feel… easier. Normal. Like he has somewhere he belongs.” The words settled between them, heavy and honest.

Marlene looked away. Her throat felt tight. “Where is he?” she asked.

James nodded towards the stairs. “Upstairs. His room.”

Marlene took a breath. Then, without another word, she turned and made her way up. She didn’t knock. She didn’t care about formalities. Pushing the door open, she stepped inside.

Sirius was curled up on the bed, his back to the door. The room wasn’t dark, but it wasn’t bright either—just the muted afternoon light filtering through the curtains. His boots were still on, like he hadn’t bothered to take them off, or maybe hadn’t cared enough to.

For a moment, Marlene froze. Something sharp twisted in her chest. There was a part of her, deep and instinctual, that wanted to cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed, maybe even reach out, press her hand to his shoulder, tell him it was going to be okay.

But she wasn’t that kind of friend. Babying Sirius was the job for the softies downstairs.

So instead, she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and said lightly, “If I understand correctly, you finally decided to say o re-woar to your charming family.”

Sirius didn’t move, but his voice came, low and rough. “Au revoir, you imbecile. You can’t be annoyed when we say your Polish words wrong if you can’t even manage the most basic one in French.”

Marlene snorted, although she knew he kinda had a point. “Sorry, I was too busy surviving your stupid pranks to care about pronouncing your little words properly.”

There was a beat of silence, but then Sirius let out a breath that might have been a laugh. Or maybe it was just exhaustion.

Marlene stepped further into the room, glancing around. It wasn’t really lived-in. A guest room, maybe, or just a place Sirius had claimed when he’d shown up here. There were a few things scattered—his jacket slung over the back of a chair, his wand on the nightstand—but nothing that made it feel like home.

She stayed standing, unsure if she was welcome to sit.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” she asked, quieter this time.

Sirius didn’t answer right away. He lay still, head resting on his arm, his hair a dark mess against the pillow. And when he did speak, his voice was flat. Tired. “Not much to tell. Left. Done.”

Marlene frowned but didn’t push. If Sirius Black wanted to be dramatic, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking why. She wasn’t going to beg for the story.

So instead, she shrugged. “Well, you were overdue for a dramatic exit. And you love being dramatic.”

“I wasn’t trying to be dramatic.”

“Sure, but it’s still very on brand.”

Sirius huffed, but it wasn’t quite amusement. More like resignation.

Marlene shifted her weight, glancing out the window. The garden below was wild and green, a sharp contrast to the tension pressing into the room.

“Potter said you need your friends,” she said after a pause. “That’s why I’m here. Well, that, and because I’m easily guilt-tripped apparently.”

Sirius didn’t say anything.

She hesitated, then crossed the room and sat in the chair by the bed. Not too close. Not far either. He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at her. His face was pale, eyes shadowed, but there was something stubborn there too. Something that refused to break. “I don’t know what I need,” he said quietly.

Marlene leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms. “That’s fine. I’ll just sit here and look pretty until you figure it out.”

That earned a ghost of a smile.

And for some reason, that small smile felt like it meant more than any Quidditch win she’d had that year.

So, it became this way. Sirius Black, the boy who had always been more rival than anything else, was officially her friend. When sixth year started, Marlene realized she sought out his company just as much as he did hers, if not more. And she never could have imagined how comforting that would feel.

She could sing loudly in the common room during Gryffindor parties without a hint of self-consciousness. Because next to her, there was Sirius, singing even louder, and infinitely more off-key, his voice blending with hers in a cacophony that somehow felt just right. The rest of the housemates would roll their eyes or laugh, but they never told them to stop. Maybe they were just too used to the noise by now—or maybe it was the fact that with Marlene and Sirius together, things felt a little more alive, a little more… chaotic in the best way.

It was simple, but it was theirs.

Because with him, it was easier to just be.

Notes:

thank you so so much for the lovely feedback I got from you on the first chapter on this fic. so many comments (i promise to respond to the ones I have nit responded to yet). you gave me such a boost to continue this story and I am so insanely glad it means so much to you too. thank you to all the people who left kudos, who left comments, who decided to speak so kindly about my fic outside ao3 and recommend it to other people. thank you thank you, you have no idea how much it means to me.

ngl that also stressed me a lot because now i feel like i have expectations that i need to meet, so i hope i did not disappoint you with this update.

reading your comments brought me so much joy, your stories moved me, and I hear you all. so if you liked this update please share your thoughts in the comments.

i want to give special thanks to my lovely beta MoonysMismatchedSocks, thank you for all your help and being my own private cheerleader

Chapter 3: is it about a girl?

Marlene felt like she was going crazy.

Ever since Sirius asked if her strange behaviour was about a girl, something inside her had started to unravel. Not loudly — not in any obvious, falling-apart-in-the-middle-of-a-corridor kind of way, she was subtler than that — thank you very much, but it was a slow, steady tug at the seams, a shift in pressure she couldn’t ignore. Sirius didn’t just say things, not without knowing what they meant. And if he noticed something… then what if other people had, too? The thought made her stomach turn.

She couldn’t look at him now without hearing the question again. “Is it about a girl?” Like it was nothing, like it was normal, like he already knew the answer. And now — in the cold, bright light of morning, with her Potions assignment half-written and her hands shaking slightly over the parchment — she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Was it about a girl?

She didn’t even know what he fully meant by ‘girl’. She didn’t have ‘a girl’. There was no secret someone folded neatly in the corner of her heart. No whirlwind romance hidden behind Quidditch practices and late-night studying.

But Marlene couldn't hide that there were moments. Glances. Feelings she couldn’t name.

There was the girl from Ravenclaw with the delicate hands and sharp eyeliner who once complimented her broom handling after a match. There was the seventh-year Beater from Hufflepuff whose laughter made something twist in her chest. There was—Merlin help her—Dorcas Meadowes, whose presence in a room felt like a challenge Marlene was always failing to meet.

And if Sirius had noticed… if he had picked up on something—

She shoved the parchment aside with more force than necessary. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t about a girl. That was just Sirius being Sirius — smug and too observant for his own good, tossing out words like hexes and acting like the aftermath wasn’t his to deal with. He probably didn’t even mean it. Just something to say. A joke. A test.

Because he couldn’t be right. He wasn’t right. Marlene would’ve known by now, wouldn’t she?

She wasn’t some shy little girl, blushing at the sight of notes passed in classes. She wasn’t dramatic about love like Mary, scribbling hearts in the margins of her notes and daydreaming about boys with guitar calluses and heartbreak eyes. She wasn’t Lily either — all soft sighs and knowing looks when a boy smiled at her from across the Great Hall. Marlene didn’t do that. Never had.

She used to think she just wasn’t ready. That maybe it would come later, when she had less on her plate, when she wasn’t chasing after the Quaffle or getting hexed in the hallway or carrying her whole country’s weird ghost-story weight on her back.

She told herself that her heart was just late to the party.

But the party had been going on for years now. Everyone else was already deep into the music, already spinning and kissing and falling in and out of things. Marlene hadn’t even taken off her coat.

She’d never wanted it. Not the hand-holding, not the smiling, not the breathless stories Lily and Mary told late at night with stars in their eyes and pillows clutched to their chests. She’d nodded along and asked questions, faked wide-eyed wonder, tried not to feel like she was made of something fundamentally different. Something everyone else had — and she didn’t.

She didn’t want them. The boys. She never had.

And if she didn’t want them, then what the fuck did that mean?

She’d spent years surrounded by them — loud, laughing, stupid boys. They never made her blush. Never even made her pause. They existed like furniture — technically necessary, occasionally in the way, easy to ignore.

Until Sirius.

And he didn’t count, not really. He was a nuisance, a rival, a magnet for trouble. But he was also there in a way no one else had ever been. Close enough to spark against her, to pull something sharp and electric to the surface — something almost real. It wasn't an attraction, it wasn’t anything close to what Lily and Mary had insisted on. 

But clearly it looked enough like it for no one to care about the difference. That’s when it started, the nudging, the teasing. When it started during sixth year it had felt harmless at first — just Lily’s raised eyebrows and Mary’s giggles behind her hand. But the longer it went on, the heavier it got. Like everyone was waiting for her to fall into the shape they’d already decided she fit.

Mary commented, after Sirius had draped himself over the back of her chair in the common room, “You know, for someone who claimed to hate him, you sure spend a lot of time together.”  

Lily followed, when Sirius had thrown a casual arm over her shoulders between classes, “I think it’s sweet. He obviously cares about you.”

Marlene rolled her eyes every time. “He’s annoying. That’s not the same as caring.”

They giggled. She thought they were being ridiculous. Then the comments got… worse.

“Honestly, we should’ve seen it sooner. He’s always teasing you. It’s so obvious.”

“Yeah, it’s classic, isn’t it? Boy annoys girl because he likes her. You two are practically a storybook couple.”

“You bicker all the time, but deep down, there’s something there.”

Marlene was slowly getting worried. It was one thing to joke about it, but they weren’t laughing anymore. So she tried to brush it off. “Oh, shut up. You sound like a sappy romance novel.” But then Lily and Mary shared a look. A knowing look. And that was the moment Marlene realized—they weren’t joking. They actually believed it. Her stomach turned over. Because if they believed it, if everyone thought that, then maybe… maybe she was supposed to feel something. Maybe it was supposed to make sense. Maybe she was supposed to blush when Sirius leaned close, or feel something other than mild irritation when he threw an arm around her. Maybe she was supposed to giggle and whisper about how maybe she liked him back. Maybe she was supposed to want him to like her.

But she didn’t and that scared her. So Marlene stopped saying anything. She just laughed, forced and hollow, and changed the subject. But the thought wouldn’t leave her alone. It crept into her head at the worst moments. When Sirius flopped down next to her at breakfast, half-asleep and stealing her toast. When he nudged her in the hallways, his shoulder knocking into hers like they were in some private joke she didn’t remember. When he looked at her and really looked, like she was something solid in his life, something reliable.

She tried to ignore it. But now, with Lily and Mary’s voices in her head, every interaction felt loaded, like she was suddenly aware of how the rest of the world might be seeing them. Did people think they were something more? Did Sirius think—?

No. No way.

She watched him sometimes, trying to see if he gave any sign that he saw her the way everyone assumed they saw each other. But he didn’t flirt. He was tactile, sure—Sirius was a person who threw himself into other people’s space like he belonged there—but it wasn’t that kind of closeness.

And she should have felt relieved.

But instead, there was this tight, sinking feeling in her chest that she couldn’t shake. Because if she was supposed to like Sirius, and she didn’t —then who was she supposed to like?

What if it wasn’t that she wasn’t ready ?

What if she was just wrong ?

She hated that thought more than anything. So she ignored it. She laughed when Mary teased her, she rolled her eyes when Lily said Sirius had a soft spot for her, she let them think whatever they wanted. It was easier that way. It was easier to pretend it didn’t matter.

But it did. And it was killing her. She was a girl, and he was a guy — wasn’t this what was supposed to happen? Wasn’t this how things worked? He teased her, he touched her. Maybe if she just pushed through it — if she just let herself go along with it — it would be fine. It would work out, right? Maybe if she just kissed him, like everyone was expecting her to do, maybe that would fix everything. She could push past the uncomfortable tightness in her chest, the gnawing confusion that told her this wasn’t how it was supposed to feel. Maybe if she kissed him, it would make sense.

But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Every time Sirius was close, it was like she was playing a part in a script. She tried to respond to his teasing with something flirtatious, a small comment here, a light touch there, but it didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like she was being herself, it felt like she was pretending, like she was trying to fit into a role that wasn’t hers. And every time she did, it left her feeling more confused. She just wanted to be normal, wanted to feel what everyone else felt, she wanted to feel the way Lily and Mary talked about boys.

And then came that evening. 

Marlene sat on the edge of a chair at the Gryffindor party, watching the others with a tight smile. The music was loud, people were laughing, and Sirius was sitting close, as usual. She could feel the warmth of his arm brushing against hers, and she was trying, really trying, to act like she knew what she was doing. Sirius was grinning at something Remus had said, and Marlene seized the opportunity to try something different. She leaned in a little closer, dropping her voice a bit lower. “You know,” she began, watching his eyes as they flickered to her, “you’re not so bad.”

His eyebrow shot up, a smirk dancing on his lips. He tilted his head. “You’ve got a strange way of complimenting people.”

“Maybe I’m just warming up,” Marlene said, biting her lip, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “I mean, I’m starting to think you’re kind of… charming.” She tried to give him a look that was supposed to be coy, but it just felt awkward.

Sirius blinked, clearly not sure what to make of it. “Uh, charming?” He looked at her, his expression more confused than anything else. “McKinnon, are you… are you flirting with me right now?”

Marlene froze. Was this what was supposed to happen? “Um,” she stammered, her mind racing, “maybe?”

Sirius chuckled, but there was a hint of confusion in it, like he didn’t really understand what was going on. “You’re not really pulling it off,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his expression a mix of amusement and something else she couldn’t place. “You don’t really look like you’re into it.”

Marlene’s stomach sank. She tried to laugh it off, but it came out flat. “Yeah, I guess I’m just… a little rusty.” 

Sirius’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than usual, and then he stood up abruptly. “Come with me,” he said, pulling her gently to her feet. Marlene raised an eyebrow but followed him, her heart thumping in her chest. They slipped out of the main room and into the quieter corridor, the music muffled behind them. Sirius leaned against the wall, watching her carefully. “What’s going on, Marlene?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more serious. “What’s with all the… weirdness? You’ve been acting strange for weeks.”

Marlene felt a cold sweat forming, her throat tightened, and for a moment, she just stared at him trying to find the right words. She was tired of pretending, tired of faking it. She had tried to make it work, to make herself feel something for him, but it just wasn’t happening. She needed to move without that step. “I like you,” she blurted out. “You like me, don’t you? We’ve got this… thing. People see it. Mary, Lily, they’ve been saying things. They think we’re… a thing.”

Sirius’s brows furrowed, and he crossed his arms, still watching her closely. “And…?”

Marlene swallowed, trying to ignore the growing knot in her stomach. “And, well… I guess we should do something about it, right? I mean, if it’s obvious to everyone else, why shouldn’t it be obvious to us?”

Sirius blinked at her, clearly thrown off by her bluntness. “Like what, exactly?” he asked, his tone playful, but there was a question in his eyes that made Marlene’s stomach twist.

She shrugged, trying to act casual, but inside she was freaking out. “I don’t know. Kiss, maybe?” The words felt so strange as they left her mouth. Something that didn’t feel right but she couldn’t quite explain why.

Sirius laughed. 

“Really?” he said, still chuckling. “You want me to kiss you?”

Marlene felt a strange, inexplicable wave of relief, like a pressure had been lifted. But then, almost immediately, panic set in. The way Sirius had laughed — like it was nothing — what if he was laughing because he knew? What if he was laughing because he could see through her, see that she didn’t know what she was doing? Maybe he knew she was broken, that she was wrong. The thought made her stomach churn.

Sirius stopped laughing after a moment. She could feel his eyes on her, the sudden shift in his energy. The teasing was gone, replaced with something softer, more concerned. “Hey,” he said, his voice lower now, eyes steady on hers. “Do you want to kiss me? Honestly?”

Marlene froze and her mind raced, unsure of what to say. She wasn’t sure of anything right now. But it was Sirius, and the way he was looking at her made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could be honest. The silence stretched between them, and Marlene’s breath caught. She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come out right. She was supposed to want this, wasn’t she? She had to want it. This was what everyone expected, right? That’s what girls did. That’s what girls were supposed to want.

But no, she didn’t.

“No,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t look at him, afraid he would see how relieved she was, how heavy the truth felt on her chest.

Sirius’s lips twitched, and then he chuckled, but it wasn’t mocking. It was soft, understanding.

“Perfect,” he said, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms. “Because I don’t want to kiss you either.”

Marlene’s heart skipped a beat, unsure if she should feel embarrassed or relieved. But before she could speak, Sirius’s voice broke through her thoughts. “And not because you’re not great,” he added quickly, his tone still warm but steady. “You are. I just don’t want to kiss any girl.”

Marlene blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. Her mind went still for a moment. It was like one puzzle piece finally clicked into place, but she didn’t know where the rest of the puzzle went. Sirius saw her confusion and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I honestly thought you knew. I’m just not… into girls,” he said, his voice gentle, without mockery or judgment.

Marlene stood there, feeling the weight of his words settle in and then… she started laughing. It wasn’t a pretty laugh, it ripped out of her before she could think, sharp and too loud in the little space between them.  Sirius blinked, startled, his smile faltering. “Marlene?”

Her hand flew to her mouth but it was useless — it was already spilling through her fingers, shaking her shoulders, bending her forward like she’d heard the best joke in the world. Except— 

She didn’t even know what was funny.

Oh, wait. She did. It was that Sirius had just said it . Said he didn’t like girls. Said it like it was the weather, like oh, it might rain later , like it wasn’t supposed to be a secret you buried under your ribs until it rotted you from the inside. 

And she had been—
Merlin, she had been killing herself over this. Trying to like boys. Trying to like him. Telling herself she could learn, that maybe if she just pushed hard enough the disgust would turn into something else.

But he had just—
He didn’t like girls.
And it was fine.
And he was fine.

The laugh spiked higher, sharper, her lungs burned, the sound bounced in her skull until she couldn’t tell if it was even coming from her anymore. It was ridiculous , wasn’t it? That he could say it like it was nothing while she had spent months convincing herself she wasn’t broken. That she had thought kissing him would cure her, make her normal .

And now—
Now it was like all the air was wrong, her hands were shaking, her jaw hurt from grinning too wide. Her chest felt like glass cracking in slow motion. Everything was tilting, breaking apart. Her head was full of static and it was saying you’re wrong, you’re rotten, you’re wrong .

Sirius was still looking at her — calm, steady, not understanding the way her whole world had just gone sideways. And that was almost the funniest part. That he was so casual about the thing that had been eating her alive. She bent over, breath hitching, and the laugh kept coming.
And coming.
And coming.

Except it wasn’t funny.

Sirius’s voice was softer now, careful. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to—”

“I know,” she said too quickly, cutting him off. She wiped at her eyes, even though they weren’t wet. “I know. It’s—” She forced another laugh, but it cracked in the middle. “It’s funny, right?”

Sirius’s eyes didn’t move from hers. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Marlene looked away, her arms wrapping tight around her own body like she could hold herself together. “It is, though. It’s—funny.”

And she didn’t know if she was talking about Sirius or herself anymore. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

Sirius stepped closer, but not too close, like he knew she needed the space. “You know,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to laugh if it’s not funny.”

Marlene swallowed hard, but the knot in her throat didn’t budge. 

“Okay, McKinnon, we’re sitting down,” he said, and gently guided her down beside him. She didn’t resist—just let herself sink to the floor, into the warmth of his presence.

“Can I assume,” Sirius started, his voice low and careful, “you’re not laughing because I’m gay?”

Marlene nodded, her gaze fixed somewhere on the floor.

“Right.” He paused, like weighing his words. “And as much as this whole situation is… strange, it’s not exactly funny. So I’m guessing your reaction isn’t just about asking a gay man to kiss you.”

She hesitated, but her head dipped again in a small, tired nod.

Sirius exhaled, like he’d expected as much. “Okay.” His voice stayed light, but there was something steady underneath it, something solid. “I’m not going to guess anymore. I think you’ve got enough going on in your head without me trying to figure it out for you.”

Marlene let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“So,” Sirius said softly, “we’ll leave it for now. We’ll talk if you want, when you’re ready. Or not. No pressure.”

And they never talked about it again. It faded into the background, like so many things did. Folded up and tucked away between essays and Quidditch practice and pretending. Sirius let it go. She pretended to. That was the deal. But the thing stayed, not loud, not obvious, but still… present. And now, walking through the castle, Marlene felt it trailing after her. She kept her steps brisk, her eyes fixed ahead, like she could outpace the feeling if she moved fast enough.

The corridors were half-empty, sunlight slanting through the tall windows in strips. A group of fourth-years passed her, laughing. One of them bumped her shoulder. She barely registered it. Her whole body felt wrong, like it didn’t belong to her, like she was moving through someone else’s day. She moved through the corridors like she had somewhere to be. Except she didn’t, she was skipping class without meaning to, her bag swinging uselessly at her side.

She turned a corner.

There was a girl coming down the corridor toward her — younger, maybe a fifth year. Marlene didn’t know her name. She wore her Ravenclaw robes neat, but her shoes scuffed like she walked on her toes, her tie was loose, her sleeves rolled. She looked like she didn’t try hard and still managed to be something. Their eyes met for a second. Just a second. And Marlene felt something twist under her ribs.

The girl smiled — polite, easy, gone in an instant — and Marlene’s breath caught like she’d swallowed it wrong. Her face went hot. Her fingers clenched too tight around the strap of her bag. The corridor was suddenly too bright, too narrow. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, pounding, stupid . It didn’t mean anything. It was just a smile. Just a girl. Just a normal fucking moment.

But her body didn’t believe that. Did the girl know something she didn’t? Was that a knowing smile? She kept walking — fast, then faster — as if the panic wouldn’t follow.

And then she saw her .

Dorcas Meadowes was standing at the far end of the corridor near a window, arms folded, head tilted slightly, like she’d been waiting for someone. Or no one, it didn’t matter. Marlene’s chest clenched so tightly it felt like drowning.

Not her too.

Dorcas glanced up as Marlene approached, one brow lifting like she’d been expecting her all along. “You always stomp through the corridors like that?” she said. “Someone might think you’re trying to scare the ghosts off.”

Marlene didn’t answer right away. She slowed, but didn’t stop. Dorcas tilted her head, gaze flicking over her. “Or maybe you’re just running from something… or someone.”

“I’m not,” Marlene said too quickly.

Dorcas hummed. “Of course not. Gryffindors never run from anything, do they?”

That earned her a quick look, and Dorcas smiled a little. She looked like she was enjoying herself, like she didn’t know the ground Marlene was walking on was cracked through. “You look like you’re about to bite someone,” she said, still teasing, but quieter now. “Should I be worried?”

Marlene finally stopped a few steps away, but without looking at her. “You talk too much,” she muttered.

“And you’re shaking.”

Marlene’s jaw clenched. Her fingers curled tighter around the strap of her bag.

Dorcas didn’t move. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well, maybe you should stop looking.”

That landed with more force than she intended, but the corridor seemed to still around them, and Marlene had no politeness left in her. Dorcas blinked slowly watching her. Marlene’s breath was shallow now. Everything felt too close — her skin, her thoughts, Dorcas standing there like she could see through all of it.

“I’ve got somewhere to be,” Marlene said, even though obviously she didn’t. But she had to get out of there before something cracked. She walked past without waiting for a reply. Dorcas didn’t follow. But Marlene could feel her watching — all the way down the corridor. 

She didn’t stop walking. Down the stairs, around corners, through passages she barely registered — just enough movement to feel like she was doing something, anything. Her palms were damp, her jaw ached from clenching, she had no idea where she was going, only where she didn’t want to be — class, hallways, anywhere people looked at her for too long. She took the long route back, looping past the Charms corridor, then down through a shortcut behind a portrait she wasn’t entirely sure she was allowed to use. At one point she caught movement up ahead. Tartan. Robes. The firm, certain clip of polished shoes on stone.

McGonagall.

Marlene swore under her breath and ducked into an alcove behind a half-open suit of armor, pressing herself flat against the wall as if it might absorb her. Of course it would be McGonagall, the woman moved through the castle like she owned the stone itself. She always seemed to know where everyone was supposed to be — and more importantly, where they weren’t. Marlene had never figured out how she did it, some secret professor magic, or maybe she really had memorized all their schedules. Marlene wouldn’t be surprised. She also wouldn’t be surprised if McGonagall knew she hadn’t turned in her recent assignments either, or that she’d barely slept, or that her stomach had been twisted into knots for what felt like hours now, days maybe, and she was barely holding herself together with spit and sarcasm. The woman missed nothing.

It was—

Merlin.

It was a bit like her mother.

Marlene shivered. What the Merlin’s-. Why was she thinking about that? She shook her head trying to remove that comparison from her head, hit the side of it with her palm just in case. She won’t end up like twelve year old Potter, who accidentally called McGonagall ‘Mum’ during Transfiguration. Nope. no. no no. She won’t be sharing his faith, absolutely not. She was not going to be the next idiot to make that mistake, even in her own head.

She held her breath as McGonagall passed, back straight, eyes sharp, footsteps echoing away down the corridor. If she’d looked to the left — even slightly — she would’ve seen her. But she didn’t.

Marlene waited five seconds longer than necessary before slipping out of hiding, heart thudding against her ribs like she’d just escaped something far more dangerous than a teacher. She took the next corridor fast, muttering the Fat Lady’s password before the portrait even finished saying, “Bit early for—”

The common room was quiet. Thank Merlin.

She dropped her bag and sank into the nearest chair like her bones had gone soft. Let the cushions swallow her, let the fire blur the edges of everything. Maybe if she stayed still long enough, her brain would stop turning against her. 

The common room didn’t stay quiet for long. The portrait hole swung open, and Sirius, Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew spilled inside — still laughing about something, fresh from class, their bags slung over their shoulders, robes rumpled already like it was the end of the day and not the end of first period. Behind them came Lily, Mary, and a few other girls, books clutched against their chests, all mid-conversation, half-complaining about homework and how unfair Professor Slughorn's assignment was.

Marlene didn’t move, barely looked up, but she felt Sirius’s eyes catch her immediately — sharp, familiar, impossible to ignore.

“Wroński,” he said, grinning as he dropped his bag onto one of the chairs. “You’re skipping classes now?”

Potter barked a laugh. “Oi, at least tell us next time so we can join you.”

Sirius’s voice was light, teasing, but his look wasn’t. He flicked her a glance that wasn’t for the room — just for her. Another skipped class today, and we’re going to have a conversation.

Marlene met his eyes for a second, enough to send the message back. Leave it .

Sirius raised his eyebrows slightly, like he was tucking it away. For now.

Lupin wandered toward the fireplace, pulling a book from his bag. Pettigrew made a beeline for the armchairs, collapsing into one with a groan. Mary flopped onto the rug with an exaggerated sigh, while Lily paused just long enough to ruffle Marlene’s hair on her way toward the dorm staircase.

“Rough morning?” Lily asked, half a smile in her voice. Marlene forced a shrug. “Something like that.”

The fire crackled. Someone dropped a stack of books onto a table. Conversation sparked around her again — normal and loud and safe. Marlene stayed curled small in the chair, staring into the flames like if she focused hard enough, she could burn the feeling out of her chest.

After a few minutes Lily stood up and hovered over Marlene for a second, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “You’ve got a free period now, yeah?” Marlene nodded without thinking. She probably had, if Lily said so. She probably already knew her and Mary’s schedules by heart.

Lily smiled a little, in that careful way she did when she wasn’t sure if someone wanted company or not. “Library?” she offered. “I was going to get a head start on Herbology if you want to come.”

Marlene hesitated. The logical part of her wanted to say yes, wanted to get up, grab her books, walk down to the library where it was quiet and normal and full of predictable things like homework and dusty shelves. But another part of her — the bigger, heavier part — couldn’t seem to move. Still, she managed a thin smile. “Yeah. Sure. Just give me a sec.”

Lily gave her a bright, relieved nod and headed toward their dorm, already taking out things from her bag she wanted to leave there, chatting with Mary over her shoulder as she went. She came back down a few minutes later, her bag slung over one shoulder, a few textbooks tucked under her arm. She stopped in front of Marlene’s chair and extended a patient hand with her palm open. Marlene looked at it for a second longer than she meant to and then pushed herself to her feet. “Mary’s not coming?”

“No,” Lily said lightly as they headed toward the portrait hole. “She’s got Astronomy.”

Marlene hummed in vague acknowledgment, following a step behind. They slipped out into the corridor, the castle stretching endless around them. It wasn’t a long walk to the library. Marlene had done it hundreds of times — knew every shortcut, every creaky stair, every drafty stone corner where people snuck to snog or whisper secrets. But today, the halls felt awfully unfamiliar. Lily walked beside her, quiet for a moment, the steady sound of their footsteps filling the space.

“You alright?” she asked eventually.

“Yeah,” Marlene replied automatically. She wasn’t alright, obviously. But that wasn’t the kind of question you answered properly on the way to the library. Lily let it drop, to her credit, just nodded, brushing a loose strand of red hair behind her ear as they climbed the last set of stairs. The library doors loomed ahead — tall, heavy, carved with curling runes worn soft by years of students pushing through them. Inside, the usual hush settled over the shelves, broken only by the faint scratch of quills and the occasional rustle of parchment.

Marlene followed Lily toward a table tucked in the corner, near the window where the light was softer. She dropped into the chair opposite her, pulling her books from her bag, but her hands hovered, restless, not really landing on anything. Lily flipped open her Charms notes, glancing up with a faint smile. “You don’t have to actually study,” she teased gently. “I know it’s a free period.”

Marlene huffed out something like a laugh. “Suppose it’s a bit late for good student impressions.”

Lily shrugged, marking a line on her parchment. “You’ve got a reputation to maintain. Intimidating, will hex you if you cross her, getting As even though she has potential for Os — the usual.”

Marlene smirked faintly but didn’t answer. Her eyes drifted to the window, to the shelves, anywhere but Lily.

“How’s James as captain this year?” 

“Huh?” Marlene blinked at her, caught off guard.

Lily glanced up, one brow arched in that knowing, unbothered way of hers. “You know — Quidditch? That thing you’ve been obsessed with since I’ve known you? Your captain since last year? James Potter? Glasses, stupid grin, generally impossible to miss?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Marlene sighed, but couldn’t quite stop the corners of her mouth from twitching upwards.

Lily didn’t push, just kept watching her with that faint, patient smile, waiting for more. Marlene leaned back in her chair, letting her eyes drift to the window for a moment staring at the grounds outside  looking silver-grey under the clouds.

“He’s… alright,” she admitted finally, voice low enough to keep it contained between them. “Better than I thought he’d be, honestly, and better than he was last year.”

Lily chuckled under her breath, scribbling a note in the margins of her parchment.

“That sounded painful.”

“It was.” Marlene let her head fall back against the chair for a moment, eyes closing briefly. “I spent years watching him try to hex people mid-practice and steal the Quaffle when no one was looking. I figured captaincy would be a disaster.”

“And now?”

Marlene shrugged. “Now… he’s trying. He actually listens. Mostly. He’s still a menace, but —” She hesitated, lips twitching again. “I’ve seen worse captains.”

Lily tilted her head, amused. “High praise.”

“Don’t tell him I said that,” Marlene muttered.

Lily raised her hand like taking an oath. “Your secret’s safe.”

They settled into a quiet lull again — Lily tapping her quill against her notebook, Marlene staring vaguely at the window, her fingers tracing patterns on the tabletop.

“Are you sad you’re not captain?” Lily asked suddenly, breaking the silence without looking up from her notes.

Marlene blinked out of her haze, caught mid-thought. “What?” Her voice came out rougher than she meant, but Lily didn’t seem to notice.

“Captain,” Lily repeated simply, turning her quill between her fingers. “Are you sad that you aren’t the captain?”

Marlene shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “It’s fine.”

Lily glanced up now, one brow arched, all soft curiosity. “Really?”

Marlene held her gaze for a second longer than she should have. It wasn’t an accusation, it wasn’t even teasing, just that gentle, quiet way Lily had — asking questions like she already knew the answers, giving you enough space to walk yourself into the truth. “I don’t decide who’s captain. That’s McGonagall’s call.”

“I know Professor McGonagall chooses,” Lily replied evenly. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

Marlene’s hands curled into fists on the tabletop. “I’ve got no idea what you’re asking me, then.”

Lily only smiled, polite and maddening. Marlene resisted the urge to roll her eyes, to tell her to stop analysing her like she was some bloody case study. Before she could open her mouth, Lily asked again — quieter this time, but more direct. “I’m just asking how you feel, Marls.”

Marlene looked away, jaw tight, because she didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t sound pathetic. “I don’t know,” she muttered, the words sharper than she meant. “I haven’t thought about it. I don’t have any power over it, so I decided not to care.” Her voice came out louder than intended, earning them both a sharp death glare from Madam Pince at the front desk.

“You can have no power over something and still care, you know.” Lily shrugged, completely unbothered. “Oh, don’t give me that look,” she added, catching Marlene’s expression. “I’m just trying to have a conversation with you.”

“Then change the subject,” Marlene hissed under her breath.

“Shhh.” Madam Pince shot them another withering glance.

They both fell quiet for a while, the soft scratch of Lily’s quill filling the space between them. Marlene stared at her own parchment, words blurring uselessly. After a moment, Lily spoke again — quieter, almost like a thought more than a statement. “You know, I actually thought it’d be a disaster being Head Girl with James… but he’s taking it seriously.”

Marlene’s gaze flicked up, startled by the admission. “Yeah?”

Lily smiled faintly, eyes still on her notes. “Yeah. I mean — he’s still James. Loud, cocky, can’t sit still to save his life… but he’s trying.” She paused, twirling her quill. “I didn’t think he would.”

Marlene leaned back slightly, studying her for a second. “Is this your roundabout way of saying you’ve got eyes for him now?”

Lily huffed a quiet laugh, rolling her eyes. “Absolutely not.”

Marlene snorted under her breath, sinking a little further into her chair. They fell into silence again, the pages of Lily’s notebook rustling softly as she flipped through them. For a while, Marlene thought the conversation was over. Then Lily paused, frowning faintly like a thought had just blindsided her. “Wait — do you have eyes for him?”

Marlene choked on nothing. “What? No! Where the fuck did that even come from?”

Lily just arched her brow, unimpressed.

“Lily, I swear to Merlin,” Marlene hissed, “I don’t like Potter. You can have him. Take him, in fact.”

Lily’s lips twitched, clearly amused, but she didn’t press. She just shook her head and went back to her notes. Then, almost without thinking, Marlene muttered, “You’ve got to stop trying to find me a guy, you know.”

Lily’s eyes flicked up, curious. “Why?”

Marlene froze for a fraction of a second — barely enough to notice — before forcing a shrug. “Because it’s exhausting,” she said, carefully light. “Every time you or Mary start scheming, it’s ‘this bloke’s nice’ or ‘that one smiled at you,’ or the worst one of yours ‘you and Sirius look cute together,’ and suddenly everyone’s got me married off. I’ve got enough going on without adding blokes to the list.”

Lily tilted her head slightly, the faintest crease appearing between her brows. “Alright, but… it’s not like we’re planning a wedding, Marls. It’s just a date. Or — you know, noticing someone.”

Marlene pretended to flip through her notes, eyes scanning blank parchment. Her throat felt tight. “I just don’t care about that stuff,” she muttered, hoping that would be enough.

Lily, of course, didn’t let it go. “Is it that you don’t care… or you’ve never fancied anyone?”

Marlene’s hand faltered, hovering over her quill. “That’s—” She stopped. Because what was she supposed to say? The truth? That every time Mary or Lily pointed out some boy across the Great Hall, she felt nothing but mild boredom? That the only time her chest tightened was when some girl’s laugh caught her off guard — sharp, bright, echoing down a corridor — and she spent the next hour trying to convince herself it meant nothing? That she’d spent months trying to shove the thought away every time Alice Fortesque so much as looked in her direction? Marlene swallowed hard, her palms prickling with the threat of nerves. Lily was still watching her, curious, not unkind. Just… there. Patient.

“Have you?” Lily asked, quieter now. “Ever fancied anyone?”

Marlene forced her lips into a smirk that felt wrong, too tight around the edges. “Sure,” she lied.

Lily arched her brow. “Who?”

Marlene blinked at her, the panic swelling again. “I—” Her mind flailed uselessly for a name. A boy’s name. Someone believable, harmless, that wouldn’t sound like she was spinning it from thin air. But every name caught in her throat, foreign and wrong, like trying to speak a language she didn’t know.

Lily’s expression softened, like she could see the cracks forming, and Marlene’s stomach twisted with something sharp and defensive.

“I just…” Marlene cut in quickly, trying to smother the whole thing, “I don’t care about that stuff right now.”

Lily hesitated, watching her, and for a terrifying moment, it looked like she might press further.

So Marlene did the only thing she could think of to end the conversation. “Tell you what,” she said, forcing a casual shrug. “If I go on a date, will you and Mary finally back off?”

Lily smiled, amused but still studying her like she didn’t quite buy it. “You go on a proper date, I’ll back off.”

Marlene nodded, jaw tight. “Brilliant. Sorted. Gryffindor.”

Notes:

hi... i'm sorry i was gone?
but like i said before, i had no idea for the whole grand plot of this story AND NOW I DO! YAY!
sooo you can expect more frequent updates
also in october, i am scheduled to undergo surgery, followed by approximately three weeks of recovery, so i plan to use this time for writing (is it like uno-reverse-carding ao3 curse?)

i hope you liked this chapter and if you did, please let me know in the comments, your support is everything to me and is my biggest motivation to keep posting
thank you so much for reading and as always all kudos and comments are appreciated