Tick.


Tock.


The click of the clock’s hands as they make their way around and around is going to drive you insane.


Tick.


Tock.


How did something so mundane become something so threatening?


The clock on the mantle is taunting you with its relentless ticking. Every second that passes is one second less that you and the friends around you have left to live.


And you don’t think that any of you have a great number of seconds to spare.


It pains you to think, as you gaze around at your friends, that the chances of their survival in this war are growing slimmer every day.


There’s Lily and James, their hands linked on top of the table. You notice that Lily’s other hand is resting lightly on her stomach. Could she be - ? A glance at her face confirms your guess. She’s positively glowing, and James keeps glancing at her with little smiles.


Frank and Alice, both intently focused on the report Alastor is giving. Alice has confided her hopes in you, and you suspect that she is now in the same boat as Lily.


Hestia Jones, calmly nodding along to Moody’s speech. She’s always been so helpful to you, and you can’t bear the thought of her getting hurt.


Remus Lupin, who – as usual – looks unusually haggard for a man of his age. You’d love to see him truly happy, just once. There’s always a storm cloud over his head.


Gideon Prewett, jotting down notes which he will no doubt later share with his brother Fabian, who’s currently out on assignment with Benjy Fenwick. Those three can be jokers, but their Auror training makes them very useful to the Order, and they’re a source of constant support and cheering up for the rest of you.


Peter Pettigrew, a quiet young man who occasionally puts forward a very clever idea. He’s always polite to you, and you feel rather sorry for him, always pushed out of the limelight by his friends.


Caradoc Dearborn, a kindly grey-haired wizard, shuffling through the parchment in front of him. Ever calm, but fierce in his fight against You-Know-Who, you don’t know where the order would be without him.


Edgar Bones, tapping his fingers on the table in thought. Wise and a master of strategy. You fear for him and his young family.


And Sirius Black. He leans back in his chair, casual, confident, but there’s a serious look on his face right now unlike any you ever saw on him at school. You remember the train trip to Hogwarts at the beginning of your fifth year, when you came across him taunting that Snape kid with a Dungbomb. That was the first time you exercised your Prefect powers and confiscated something. Yes, he was always a prankster, that Sirius Black, but now you admire the dedication with which he’s performed Order duties.


And you can’t help admiring his thick black hair, and the way it falls across his handsome face, either...


He glances around while your gaze is still upon him, and on catching your eye, he grins. A sad little smile pulls at the corners of your mouth, then you look away, and fall back into your thoughts.


All these people – these warm, wonderful people – they’re risking their lives every day. Yes, you all know exactly what you’ve got yourselves into, and you all believe in what you’re fighting for. But that doesn’t stop that fear gnawing at your heart: none of these people – your friends – deserve to die. But other wizards and witches have already died for the cause, and it’s more than likely that several more will too before this is all over.


You want to protect them all; you want them to be able to raise families; you want them to be able to do that in a time of peace. That’s what you’re fighting for – the futures of your friends, and of the British Wizarding community. You’re not afraid to die doing that. But you can’t bear the thought of any other lives being lost.


Still the clock ticks. The sound pushes its way back into your mind, and your head is filled with panic and dread.


“...Marlene?”


Alastor’s voice breaks through your thoughts.


“Oh – sorry?”


“Can you swap shifts with Black next week?”


“Uh, okay,” you say. It doesn’t bother you. Sirius must have been assigned to something else for the night he was meant to be searching for Death Eater connections. You’re staying here at Order of the Phoenix headquarters at the moment, with no job in the outside world, so you’re flexible.


“Right, then – that’s that sorted. Anything else before we wrap up the meeting?”


“I developed the photo we took last week,” volunteers Gideon. The stack of prints is passed around the table.


That seems to be all for meeting items, so Moody declares it closed and everyone filters out of the room.


“Planned anything special, mate?” Sirius asks his best friend, nodding towards Lily.


“Yep – can’t tell you, though, it’s a surprise for Lily until we get there.”


Lily grins and tugs on James’ hand. “Let’s go, then!”


They bid goodbye and leave. Counting in your head, you realise it must be the fourteenth of February. Ah – the Order’s young lovers are off to celebrate.


Frank and Alice have already left, and other members drift off to other rooms or their own homes. You’re soon the only one left in the dining room of the old house the Order of the Phoenix has adopted for headquarters.


It’s quiet but for the ticking of that bloody clock. You sit at the big old wooden table with the images of everyone who just left – plus those who weren’t at the meeting – waving up at you from a photograph.


Tick.


JamesLilyAlice-


Tock.


FrankGideonAbe-


Tick.


HestiaPeterFabian-


Tock.


AlastorCaradocSirius-


SMASH!


You blast the clock off the wall with a violent jerk of your wand. Glass, wood, bits of numbers and hands scatter over the thin burgundy carpet. You slump over the table and let tears finally wind their way down your cheeks.


“Marlene?” A voice drifts in from the hallway. “What was... oh.” Sirius is in the doorway, taking in the sight of the shattered clock and you hurriedly sitting up straight and trying to wipe away your tears.


He sweeps the shards of the clock into a pile with a flick of his wand, and in an instant he’s behind your chair, hands gently resting on your shoulders.


“It’s okay to cry, Marly,” he soothes. “I understand.” He runs his fingers through your hair, continuing to speak in that low voice full of concern.


This only makes you cry harder – this, after all, is exactly what you’re crying about! People like this don’t deserve to die - they deserve to have long, happy lives, with someone they love and children to raise and a dog to feed and gardens to trim.


You sob, feeling utterly pathetic, as he tries to calm you. Soon, thankfully, he leaves the room, and you slow your breathing in an effort to regain your composure.


But he returns a minute later. With, of all things, a cheesecake on a plate.


He sits down opposite you and puts the plate on the table. You stare somewhat incredulously.


“Cheesecake?”


“It’s chocolate!” he says, and for a moment you glimpse the younger, more carefree Sirius under his thoughtful face. It makes you smile for the second time today.


He slides a fork across the table to you.


“No, I’m okay,” you say.


“Come on, Marly, you know you want some...” He retrieves the fork and slices off a little piece of the dessert. “Come on... open up...” He waves the fork towards your mouth like a parent feeding a child (“...and the Chaser flies towards the hoop...”).


You laugh – you’re laughing! – and take the fork. The cheesecake is perfect: smooth, thick, rich but not sickly. Sirius picks up another fork, and the two of you sit there, slowly working away at the whole cheesecake.


“There we are – it’s good to see you smiling again, Marly. I think you’ve been taking this whole business far too seriously.”


“It is serious,” you point out.


“I know. But worrying doesn’t help. We all know what we’re in for, just like you.”


He understands you so perfectly, it’s almost spooky. He glances up from his bite of cheesecake and sees you gazing at him. “I know that’s what you’re worried about. You’ve always been selfless.”


You shake your head in wonder – he gives you far too much credit – and return to the cheesecake.


“This is delicious,” you say, anxious to distract yourself.


“Why, thank you. I made it, of course.”


You look at him in surprise.


“Nah, not really. The best thing I can cook is eggs on toast. I thought I’d get something from Madam Puddifoot’s to share with everyone for Valentine’s Day, but everyone except Caradoc has left, and he’s on a diet. So we get this all to ourselves.”


“Well, thank you, Sirius.”


“My pleasure,” he says, reaching out and putting his free hand on yours. “I’m just glad it’s cheered you up a bit.”


“Thank you,” you murmur again. The two of you lapse into silence – without the ticking of the clock this time, thank Merlin – and you’re acutely aware of his thumb drawing circles on the back of your hand. It sends a shiver up your arm, and you decide it’s time to be going.


“Well, I’ve got a report to write,” you say, putting your fork down.


“Oh yes, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your paperwork,” he says mischievously. In a flash he’s behind your chair again, waiting for you to stand up. He gallantly pushes your chair in for you, and you stand there awkwardly for a moment before impulsively wrapping your arms around him. He buries his face in your hair, and you rest your head on his chest.


“You’re a good friend, Sirius.”


“Yes,” he agrees. “But just a friend?”


He tilts your head back, and you gaze into his warm eyes for a moment before your lips are on each other’s kissing slowly, softly, the taste of chocolate cheesecake being shared between you once more.


And you feel, in the long minutes that you spend kissing Sirius Black, that not all hope is lost while there are still moments of bliss like this in life.


Everyone needs someone to hold on to, especially in dark times like these.