Her trip to Egypt to acquire some Dark Artifacts from the smuggler’s hand before they can hit the market was rather a success. Yet, she’s already back in her station two days later, after what should have been four days trip. She hadn’t been getting too much of sleep for the past two days. As she walked through the fireplace, an idea crossed her mind. Her brother is probably working at this hour. The night is still early and she wasn’t really keen with the idea of going home just yet. So, what could’ve been better than a surprise visit?
It didn’t take her a while until she arrived and spotted her brother on his back facing her, behind the bar. She took a seat not far from him, put her belongings aside as she cleared her throat.
As far as Marlene was concerned, this was the project from hell.
Of everyone in Hogwarts, she felt as if she least needed the reminder that children were difficult responsibilities to care for, thanks, and could be wholly unwelcome—which she was assuming was the reasoning behind this project, but honestly, she’d completely blanked on whatever it was they were supposed to take from it the second she’d discovered the actual task. The only thing to rouse her from her difficulty processing it all, in fact, was learning who her partner was: Amycus fucking Carrow.
It was as if fate had decided to punish her. She’d been so good about not thinking about what had happened that summer, pushing it to the backburner because its importance paled immensely in comparison to everything else that had been going on—or at least, that’s what she’d been succeeding at telling herself—and she was incredibly frustrated that Hogwarts had basically mandated that she couldn’t escape it for at least twenty-four hours. Marlene was highly skeptical about the chances of the egg surviving the time period—hell, at this stage, she was highly skeptical about them even getting to night time without someone attempting some form of homicide—but she was Marlene McKinnon, Gryffindor to her core, and she did not know how to give up.
And so it was with a reluctant determination and outlook that was simultaneously tumultuous and grimly realistic that she found herself dubiously eyeing the egg on the table, doing her best to ignore whatever the fuck it was that Amycus—ugh—was doing to her left. It didn’t look like it was the harbinger of doom, exactly, but it certainly felt like it. They’d at least had the foresight to wrap it in her Gryffindor scarf to provide some semblance of warmth, but suffice to say that Marlene wasn’t exactly convinced by how this project was going that she’d made anything but the right decision when it came to dealing with her situation from the summer, and that it certainly hadn’t unlocked any maternal instincts in her—or at least, none that this thing was able to invoke, anyway.
Vaguely aware that Amycus was saying something—or at least doing something that was making noise, for it caught her attention—Marlene finally diverted her attention from the accursed egg and glanced at him. “Sorry, did you say something?” she asked, her tone biting with insolence and an irrefutable lack of sincerity to the apology. It wasn’t even intentional—goading and spiting were simply her natural reflexes when it came to interacting with Amycus, it seemed.
It goes like this; Amycus is drunk again, predictably so of course- a night of revelry after the success of a mission, and Rabastan is the one who has offered to take him home, make sure he doesn't splinch himself while Apparating. What happens ends up happening... a little different from the plan.
The darkness followed them while they walked, like a shadow, the blackness stealing underneath street-lamps and clinging to walls before eventually rejoining their pace as the lights faded into the distance. When they were close to the lamps, the shadows pooled at their feet and joined their figures into one misshapen whole. It was late night, curtains and blinds drawn and lights all switched off- and still the silence continued to be broken; words drifting into the air sometimes too loud or too quiet, either completely incoherent or oddly filled with clarity and clear.
If no-one had ever told Amycus how irritating he was while intoxicated, they should have, because the boy was unbearable, and unstoppable, seemingly completely unaware of the mounting impatience building in his older partner while they walked.
Nothing in Rabastan’s mood was helped by the fact that valuable information Janus could have used had instead been obtained by the Death Eaters, a failure on Rabastan's part that he had neglected to realize. For him at least, it had turned the celebrations of success into the sourness of failure, leaving bitterness in his mouth when he drank and a lack of interest in the proceedings. Never shown, of course, and that had not helped to improve matters either, with Amycus presuming he felt as he looked: buoyed by their triumph.
And that ire had only kept on growing when Amycus just kept on talking; that slight slur to his voice that belied his inebriation, the swaying step that left him leaning on Rabastan's arm, drunk enough that he was spilling his secrets like a man looking for salvation at a confessional, as if Rabastan was his priest.
It almost seemed like it would never end.
-that is until it leads up to the here and now, and Rabastan has promptly had enough. Fine, if the Carrow wants it so bad, Rabastan will give it to him. And then in the blink of an eye Amycus is being pushed into an alley, shoved against the wall- the thump of his back hitting the brick hard enough leaves utterly no doubt that bruises will form, and the sound of it only makes Rabastan feel mildly better, only increases the primal urge building in his gut. His hands that had previously been helping to guide the younger man's step now abruptly slam the slimmer wrists against the cold brick, fingers digging deep into the veins, feeling the pump of blood under his palm.
“Does anyone on thistrain have any Firewhiskey? My flask seems to be empty”
"Haven’t you at least the sense to wait until the Head Girl is out of sight before you ask a thing like that?"
“Head girl.. you? Andthere was I thinking that the position would have gone to someone who actually possesses magical blood considering it is a magical school and all”
"A quip about my blood status. I missed those over the summer. Is that really the best you can come up with? I was under the impression Slytherins were supposed to be clever."
“Oh trust me, Evans.Once we are away from all of this preying eyes, I’ll let you know exactly whatI think about filth like you”
"As much as I would look forward to that display, your fantasies will have to stay just that."
“Oh really? The thing isyou can’t really stop me, not really, can you Evans? Unless you get your lapdog Potter to come after me, and even then he’s not really going to do muchagainst me”
"The fact that you think I need Potter to rescue me shows how little attention you’ve actually been paying, Carrow."
“Well no actually, all Isee to hear is you and him, it’s escaping everyone’s lips. Although it mightnot be good gossip, who knows, I tend to stop listening to the talk of the school. However, if that is false and you don’t need him, then I’d be impressed to see how you do on your own”
"You’re grasp on the concepts of muggle sexism is really quite impressive for someone so opposed to everything about them."
"You think sexism is confined to just Muggles? And there was I thinking that maybe you were rather smart"
"And here I was thinking wizards were more advanced than muggles. Thank you for proving me wrong. You’re just as much a sexist pig."
