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With James gone, Marlene was suddenly very aware of how weird the combination of her and the other three Marauders was. Especially Remus, who, for some reason, didn’t seem too happy that Marlene had tagged along with their group tonight. Normally, he was friendly to her, but maybe he still had his wand in a knot over the magazine she had thrown at his head. She didn’t take him for someone that touchy, but hey, what did she know? Point was, with James gone, she felt a bit weird and hated the looks the four of them were attracting from the Slytherins. Time to blend in.
“Thanks, Pandora,” Marlene said, wanting to slap the bubbly Slytherin on her shoulder, but her hand faltered in the air. “Better not slap the snake, but you get the gesture.” She smiled.
The shot glasses were still dancing in the air on a silver platter.
“Come on, bottoms up, Pete,” Marlene said, encouraging Peter to take a shot. “Then let’s find something else to drink and see if we can claim the chessboard.”
She didn’t need to say that twice. For wizard chess, Peter chugged the shot down in one go.
“Fuck yes, Petey,” Marlene encouraged him.
“Alright, see you two later,” Marlene said to Remus and Sirius. If previous parties were any indicator, they would probably be drinking and talking to each other most of the night anyway. No need for Marlene to sulk around and follow a two-man band when one part of the band didn’t seem too keen on her anyway.
Peter shrugged and made an “I’m sorry” kind of face to the other two Marauders but followed Marlene nonetheless. Judging from the state of the Common Room, the party had already been going for a while. Half-empty goblets of firewhisky and deep emerald cocktails cluttered the low, black-marble tables. Some students were leaning dangerously on chairs and armchairs, laughing in hushed, conspiratorial tones. The room smelled of spiced mead, and something faintly smoky hung in the air, mixing with the warmth of too many bodies packed into the underground space.
Marlene fucking loved it. She pushed a balloon out of their way, which floated lazily in the air, and she could swear there were students here she’d never seen before.
To their luck, nobody was occupying the wizarding chessboard, so Marlene let herself sink down into the black leather fauteuil behind it. On the opposite side of her, Peter sat down on the far more uncomfortable-looking wooden chair. He didn’t seem to mind, though, his fingers were already floating above the board, mega eager to play.
The board came to life at once, the miniature pieces straightening their weapons, squaring their shoulders. With a quick wave of her wand, Marlene summoned two cups with spiked butterbeer and after toasting together, Peter and she began to play.
The first few moves were swift. Marlene had never been one for drawn-out strategies. She played on instinct, watching the board and honestly not really thinking several moves ahead. Peter, on the other hand, was methodical, occasionally pausing mid-move, his tongue poking out in concentration as he weighed his options. It was a delight to watch.
A particularly violent exchange between their bishops had one of Marlene’s pawns flying off the board and shooting through the Common Room. Marlene whistled as she followed the shooting pawn fly across the room. Peter accio’d it right back to the board, apparently this wasn’t the first time he saw this happening.
They continued playing and after another piece of Peter smashed to little bits Marlene cheered, spilling some of her butterbeer on the board.
“Oi, don’t celebrate too soon,” Peter warned. “Your queen is wide open.”
Marlene scoffed. “I like to live dangerously.” And honestly, the chances of her winning from Peter were next to none.
Peter gave her a flat look, then moved his knight. Marlene’s queen barely had time to shriek before his horse-piece sliced her queen down in one clean strike. The tiny figure fell apart on the board.
“Shit,” Marlene muttered, dragging a hand through her hair. “Alright, alright, I see how it is.”
Peter beamed. “What’s that? You admitting I’m winning?”
Marlene scoffed, taking a sip. “Hardly.”
She sent her rook into action and the little piece obeyed immediately. Peter’s knight barely had time to react before he was crushed.
“That was just rude,” he muttered.
“Oh, I’m sorry, are we not playing wizard chess?” Marlene said. The party buzzed around them, but Marlene barely noticed. She liked this, just her and Peter, locked in an overdramatic game.
Peter groaned as he stared at the board, his brows furrowing in frustration. He pointed at one of his remaining pawns and opened his mouth to speak, but what came out were rapid, unfamiliar words. “Qu'est-ce que c'est?!”
Marlene blinked. “What?”
Peter clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. He tried again. “Mein Springer—” He cut himself off, shaking his head furiously. “Pourquoi je parle comme ça?!”
Marlene burst out in a loud laugh. “Oh Godric, what the hell was in that shot you took?”
Peter threw his hands up. He tried to speak again, but what came out was something that sounded suspiciously like Russian.
Marlene gasped. “Oh, shit. Pete, that was Babel Brew.” She looked up, trying to find James or Sirius, because if anyone would appreciate this, it was them. But instead, her gaze landed on someone else.
Dorcas.
And she wasn’t alone.
She was standing across the room, her fingers intertwined with none other than Xenophilius Lovegood. His pale, wispy hair practically glowed under the dim, green-tinged lights of the common room, and he was talking animatedly, his free hand gesturing enthusiastic. Dorcas, for her part, looked… content. Amused, even, her usual sharp-edged expression softer than Marlene was used to seeing.
Marlene felt something twist in her chest.
"Oi, Pete,” she said, nudging him and nodding toward the pair. “You think that’s her boyfriend?”
Peter turned his head, squinting in their direction. He opened his mouth to answer, hesitated for a second, and then spoke words Marlene didn’t understand.
“Merlin, you absolute disaster.”
Peter groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, then tried again. “Est-ce que—” He stopped, shaking his head in frustration. “Is she—”
Silence. His eyes lit up in hope.
Peter glared at her, then turned back toward Dorcas and Xenophilius, still holding hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. He muttered something that sounded like French, then decisively moved his rook across the board.
“Dunno, Pete, that didn’t sound like a yes or a no.”
Peter pointed at her, looking utterly betrayed, then tried one last time.
“Marlene,” he said, voice full of determination. “Ich… denke… ja?”
Marlene sighed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I mean… why would they be holding hands if they weren’t?” She slouched in her chair. “Annoying bloody PDA,” she grumbled, focusing back on the board as Peter moved another piece.
Peter, still under the influence of Babel Brew, muttered something in what sounded like Dutch.
“Yeah, whatever you just said, Pete. Couldn’t agree more.” Marlene said. “I mean, do people have to rub it in everyone’s faces?” She ordered her pawn to move.
Peter huffed in frustration, then suddenly sat up straight. He grabbed his wand and gave it a sharp flick. A scrap of parchment zoomed toward him from a nearby table, along with a quill.
Marlene watched, eyebrows raised, as he hastily scribbled something down. A second later, he flipped the parchment around for her to see.
I AGREE. PDA IS BLOODY ANNOYING.
Marlene snorted. “Finally, something out of you that I can actually understand.”
Peter just shook his head and laid the quill aside.
Marlene pulled a slightly crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds from her jacket pocket. She tapped the bottom of the pack against her palm before sliding a cigarette between her lips. With a flick of her wand, the tip glowed red-hot. She took a slow drag, exhaling through her nose before turning to Peter. “Want one?” she asked, holding the pack out to him.
Peter made a face and shook his head.
“Your loss,” she said.
Instead, Peter flicked his wand again, and two small shot glasses of firewhisky rushed toward them, landing perfectly on the chessboard.
Marlene grinned. “Now you’re speaking my language, Pete.”
Quickly, grinning widely, Peter scribbled down something else.
SERIOUSLY? A LANGUAGE JOKE? TOO SOON.
Marlene laughed as she agreed, and the two of them grabbed the little shot glasses to keep the party going.
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