Chapter Text
Marlene can’t help but roll her eyes. She groans internally, dropping her chin on her folded hands on the desk in front of her. Professor Slughorn laughs again and Marlene wants to wipe the smug grin off of Dorcas’ face.
“Of fucking course,” she mutters under her breath. Sirius lets out a low laugh from where he’s sat next to her.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, we all saw that one coming,” he says, nudging her with an elbow.
“I know, but I mean really?” Marlene says, partially turning to look up at him. “Every time? She really has to brew it perfectly every time?”
Sirius shrugs and leans back in his chair, folding his hands on his chest. Marlene rolls her eyes and slumps backwards in her chair, glaring at Dorcas. “I just want to get it first, just once, Sirius, that’s all I ask,” she says bitterly.
Right then, Dorcas glances over and they lock eyes. Dorcas smirks and mouths, “better luck next time.”
“Fuck off,” Marlene mouths back, shoving two fingers in the air. Dorcas’ jaw drops in faux offense before she turns back around.
Sirius sighs. “I’m going to be completely honest, Marlene, beyond the whole quidditch thing, I don’t really get why you two don’t get along.”
Marlene continues glaring at Dorcas’ back. “I dunno. She’s arrogant, she’s rude, she’s a slytherin–”
“Watch it,” Sirius warns casually. Marlene rolls her eyes, his impulse to defend his family house a little ridiculous, especially considering his complete lack of realization at the impulse.
What is there to say, Marlene thinks absentmindedly, glaring at Dorcas’ back, the smooth line of her shoulders and perfect posture, the way she actually engages in whatever Slughorn is saying. The toned muscles that Marlene knows—Marlene clears her throat and starts talking, “she’s just so annoying.”
Sirius raises his eyebrows and lets out another laugh. “Right.”
Choosing to ignore him, Marlene continues, “she’s a bully on the pitch, she’s a total know-it-all, she’s a complete arse kisser—I mean just look at her with Slughorn.” Marlene waves her hand towards Dorcas, where Slughorn is talking excitedly about something and Dorcas nods emphatically.
“I mean, there is no way whatever he’s saying is actually that interesting,” Marlene says and emphasizes, “arse kisser. She holds it over me that she’s better at potions—which would be fine, absolutely and completely fine, if she wasn’t so smug about it.”
Sirius just hums and Marlene crosses her arms across her chest, glaring at Dorcas.
Everything she’d said was true. Dorcas was an arrogant arse kisser. Marlene hated her, she hated Dorcas’ smug little smirks, the way she walked through the halls with her head held so high—Dorcas was already tall, there’s absolutely no reason for her to flaunt it more than she already does.
Marlene hated the way she had all of her slytherin friends around her all the time. Especially the way Regulus was always with her. It grated on her—sometimes more than it grated on Sirius.
She’s allowed to be friends with whoever she wants. If she finds him that tolerable, then good for the both of them, he’d say. It was so ungodly frustrating, how he refused to be the least bit irritated about Dorcas.
The only time Marlene had seen him even be remotely upset was when Dorcas had shoved Marlene off her broom in that one scrimmage they played the year before. It had caused a huge argument at the time, but was ultimately what brought them closer—allegedly, Dorcas had come to apologize (Marlene personally believed she’d shown up to further antagonize her), and had met Mary and Lily in the hall in front of the hospital wing. The three of them ended up getting along, much to Marlene's chagrin.
But Marlene can’t control Mary and Lily. Their lives are their lives, and if they want to be friends with Dorcas, they can make their own mistakes.
Slughorn claps his hands loudly, and Marlene blinks, realizing Dorcas is looking at her again, this time with her eyebrows raised. Marlene sticks her tongue out at her. Is it immature? Yes. Does she care? No.
Marlene barely listens as Slughorn dismisses them, shoving her notes back into her bag and leaves with Sirius as soon as they’re able.
Her and Sirius talk most of the way back to the common room, until they get to the corridor of the Transfiguration classroom and Marlene says, “oh shite, I completely forgot I’m supposed to meet Professor McGonagall today.”
Sirius looks at her surprised, “really? You haven’t mentioned anything about a meeting with her.”
“No, I know, I completely forgot, but we’d talked about it like last week sometime and I totally forgot, I’ll see you back at the common room, yeah?”
“Right, yeah, okay,” Sirius says, he’s still looking at her with mild apprehension, like he doesn’t quite believe her.
Marlene leaves before he can say anything else, heading towards the Transfiguration classroom.
She turns the corner and puts her head down until she gets to the room. She pauses in front of the door, staring at the grain of the wood and the heavy iron bolts, before she keeps going, gritting her teeth and feeling her cheeks heat up. She gets to the knight statue and pauses again, staring at the door to a broom closet.
It’s a bit out of the way, at the end of the hallway at the end of the Transfiguration corridor. There’s just an unused classroom at the end of the hall that she’s never once seen anyone enter or exit from. Marlene grits her teeth, feeling her stomach flip over, and shoulders the door open.
Marlene closes the door behind her.
“Took you long enough,” Dorcas says and pushes off the wall, suddenly crowding Marlene in the tight space.
“I was walking with Sirius,” Marlene says, “sorry my life doesn’t revolve around you.”
Dorcas hums under her breath, hands sliding up the front of Marlene’s robes to trace her collar.
So fucking forward, Marlene thinks, her eyes dropping to how Dorcas tilts her head, tongue darting out to wet her lips.
“But it kind of does, doesn’t it? I mean you’re here, with me, and Sirius is walking on his lonesome back to your common room. What does that sound like to you?” Dorcas’ voice is velvet smooth and infuriating, her hands weighing on Marlene’s front.
Marlene rolls her eyes. “It sounds like I was blackmailed.”
That stupid smirk on Dorcas’ face shows up again and Marlene glares, her hands twitching at her sides. Dorcas hums again, and the sound grates in Marlene’s ears.
“Blackmail?” Dorcas says, taking a step forward. Marlene’s back hits the wall and she exhales sharply. Dorcas’ hands slide from her collar to the wall behind her. “You call this blackmail?”
Marlene can feel her cheeks burning as she rolls her eyes. Dorcas leans in and Marlene is forced to crane her head upwards to keep her eyes on her—to keep glaring at Dorcas’ stupid smirk.
She wants to hit it off of her, she wants to slap it away, she wants—Dorcas leans in and kisses her, softly. It’s really just a whisper of a kiss before she moves, and her mouth is near Marlene’s ear.
“Is blackmail supposed to be pleasurable?” Dorcas asks, her voice low. There’s a quick press of lips at the soft spot just under Marlene’s earlobe. “Is blackmail supposed to make you feel good?”
Marlene stops breathing, feeling Dorcas’ hand on her opposite side slide down to cup her jaw, tilting her head back further, baring her throat. The whisper of lips glides down the column of her throat.
“Answer me, Marlene,” Dorcas murmurs on her skin, “is this what blackmail feels like?”
Marlene can feel her stomach twisting, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. She swallows against Dorcas’ lips. “No.”
She can feel Dorcas’ stupid smirk as she asks, “and tell me, Marlene, just how did you end up like this?”
The words are trapped in her throat. Marlene doesn’t want to answer, feels her cheeks burning in some sick combination of shame and attraction.
“Come on, Marlene,” Dorcas whispers, kissing Marlene’s neck.
“I lost a bet,” Marlene grits out, “you brewed the potion better than I did.”
Dorcas laughs. “And now what do I get?”
“Your way with me,” Marlene whispers. Dorcas pulls away, looking Marlene in the eyes in the hazy, dim lighting. She still has that smirk on her lips, smugness written all over her face. Marlene hates her with everything she has.
“Exactly,” Dorcas says, her thumb brushing over Marlene’s lower lip. “I get my way with you.”