Marilyn pulled her hood closer around her face, her heavily scarred neck and chest catching the dim light just enough for people to steer clear of her. Once a bloke decided to cut in her way, leering. One quick slash of her wand and he was crouched on the floor in pain. She simply kept going, telling herself to save it.
Now, the Ministry had had conflicting feelings about her joining the Auror program. On one hand they needed a talent like her. On the other hand they thought she was off her rocker or nearly there. So they had suggested therapy. Marilyn had rolled her eyes. No amount of talking and dreamless sleep potions were going to get her through this.
But she did find something...therapeutic in nature. Marilyn rarely went out, but when she did she was usually prowling Knockturn Alley, where she recieved no odd looks and no faux-forced-friendly approaches. And one night she'd found something. A shabby cellar room, used to be storage but had since been cleared out and became something of a Fight Club.
A Wizarding Fight Club.
There were only two rules. 1. Don't talk about Fight Club. 2.No killing.
And it was perfect. It was heaven. Marilyn would arrive every Friday Night, shed her cloak and step into the circle, black leggings and tank top for optimal mobility. Some rounds were hand-to-hand, some magic only, some mixed. It was like she was born for it. Sometimes when she was lashing out a hex her vision blurred with memories. Her opponent became a Widow back in Guantanamo. Then she'd cry out in fury, wand slashing viciously, an onslaught of spells, "Sectumsempra, relashio, diffindo!" Topped off with a knee reversal hex, her opponant fell bloody to the floor where he was healed by the spotter. He'd be a bit out of it for a few days, but he'd survive. And she'd get away with a few more scars from particularily nasty hexes. Nothing she wasn't used to anyway. A particular thrill though was hand to hand, muggle combat. It wasn't just a relief to fight, it was a learning experience. These people were not friendly, but they also enjoyed a good fight, nobody liked an easy win. So they taught. Some mugglebornes who had dabbled in various martial arts attended and showed new tricks that proved extremely useful. After attending the club for a few months, sometimes even twice a week, with practice at home, Marilyn grew to be quite skilled in non magical combat. Each fight she got better and better, leaving the floor scratched, bloodied and bruised, but heart pounding in her ears like a drum.
Honstly, she thought it kept her sane. It helped her get out all of her frustration and emotions and helped her get better at fighting, in many ways.
The perfect therapy, Marilyn thought.
She fought everytime she was there and became relatively known in the circle, becoming one of the best fighters and duellers in the Club. That wasn't to say she always won, because she didn't. But she did win more often than not and always went down viciously dragging her opponent down with her, even if she had two black yes, was bleeding heavily and had a slightly fractured arm (all of which which did tend to happen more than once except for the fracture, that didn't happen all too often.) Thankfully she didn't see people often outside of University and she was always healed right after a fight.
And she always left with a sense of...not peace...but less turbulant. Less edgy.
And she always looked forward to the next session.
Home 
