A/N: I don't know if I've mentioned, but the title of this fic comes from the Oasis song of the same name - highly recommend giving it a listen, if only because it's an absolute tune, but also because I feel like it fits the mood of this story.

The smile on Marilyn's face as she opened the door wasn't just one of greeting, but also one of relief - he was wearing a tie. A green one, to be precise, so dark that it almost appeared as black as his shirt and suit in the dark of the winter evening. It was one of the few things that could have made his usual choice in clothing more formal without him going full white-tie, and she appreciated it...and not just because it meant she didn't look like a complete idiot in her dress. The handsome bastard.

It was with no small amount of smugness, though, that she noted the way his eyes lingered on her as he took her in. Between the two of them, there was so much looking that they noticed rather belatedly that they hadn't yet spoken.

"Evenin'," she said at the same time he said "Hello."

Marilyn smiled at the same time he visibly fought to suppress a smirk.

"Come in, I just need to put some shoes on."

Heels with any amount of real height to them had been out of the question ever since her injury - something to do with the way they forced one to stand being a great risk of irritating the knee, which she absolutely didn't want to do considering she was finally braceless...for now. Luckily, though, it was winter and she could get away with a chunky heeled boot in this weather. In summer, though, her options tended to be flats or slippers, and she hadn't quite reached the level of wandering the supermarket in her pyjamas just yet.

"You look…" Draco hesitated, before finally settling on a word "Nice."

"Are you sure about that?" She teased him with an amused smirk.

"Of course," he shrugged.

"You didn't sound it," she said simply "But thank you. You don't look half bad yourself."

Okay, he looked drop dead gorgeous. The bastard always did. But after receiving a word as lukewarm as 'nice' she wasn't going to go and tell him so, was she? She had some self respect, after all.

"Between the two of us, we'll be the best looking fuckers in the place," she added, if only to ease the tension between the two of them.

She was never quite sure if she was imagining it. What made the whole hopeless thing even funnier to her was that Draco was far from her usual type - for the same reason the guys she danced with tended to be far from her usual type, really. They were all too pretty. Too handsome. Too clean. When she watched the Pirates of the Caribbean, it was Jack she liked, not Will. When she watched the Lord of the Rings, it was Aragorn who she went all heart-eyed over, not Legolas. Okay, so maybe the lesson she could take away from all of this was that she just wasn't fussed with Orlando Bloom, but still. Draco was very much more a Legolas than an Aragorn. Hell, give him some hair extensions and he could've been an Elven extra, easily. Although the thought had her snorting.

"What is it?"

"Oh, nothing. Just amusing myself," she waved a hand.

Her usual tastes aside, the joke was on her anyway. The more she looked at Draco, the more she enjoyed looking at Draco. Which was what she did once she was done zipping up her boots.

"Ready to go?"

"Lead the way," he said.

Their walk to the pub, thank the lord, was much more comfortable than the last time she'd seen him had started off. It almost seemed a shame to ruin it with the confession she knew she had to make. Although it was better than heaping bad upon bad, she supposed.

The pub was pretty busy when they walked in, with plenty of people milling around the bar and various tables. They had to awkwardly slip and fumble through the crowds to get to one of the few empty tables, taking an empty booth in the corner, Draco taking in their surroundings with unabashed curiosity as they slid into it on opposite sides.

"Don't tell me you've never been to a pub before," she was only half-joking.

It wasn't outside of the realms of possibility, what with him having never been to a cinema.

"Of course I have," he rolled his eyes "...But none like this."

"In the dark and scary north?" She teased.

"More north than this. My boarding school, it was up in Scotland. The highlands."

"And you snuck out to go to bars?" She asked.

She did a poor job at hiding her surprise at the prospect. He'd never struck her as being quite so rebellious.

"No," he huffed a laugh "No, there wasn't much sneaking out of that place. There were weekend trips, though, to a nearby village. There was a pub there. It was decent enough."

What constituted decent enough to him? Marble floors? Solid gold surface-tops?...God, she was starting to sound like Sarah. He never judged her upbringing or her home - not visibly or openly, anyway - she at least owed him the same. Reverse snobbery was just as bad as plain old snobbery. Still, his explanation did not explain his curiosity. He sat there taking in everything about their surroundings as if he was in some sort of museum - a historical reenactment.

"If you'll watch my bag I can go first if you'd like - but only if you agree not to rifle through my purse."

He rolled his eyes "I'll resist the urge."

"Good, very kind of you."

"-But I'll go. What would you like?"

"Oh, Draco, you don't have to-"

"Yes I do. You paid for the cinema. It's my turn," his tone left no room for argument.

Holding her hands up in mock surrender - both because she saw his point, and because she found people who bickered back and forth about who would pay the bill absolutely exhausting unless the situation was genuinely unfair - she thought for a moment.

"Toffee apple cider and...chips and gravy."

Not exactly the most lady-like dinner, but she wasn't exactly the most lady-like lady. Although she'd need to touch up her lipstick later.

"Chips and gravy?" He wrinkled his nose.

"You've never…? Oh, Draco," she sighed before amending her request "Chips and gravy, and two forks."

Southerners.

"Unless you plan to use the both of them, that's quite alright," he was putting effort into his whole disgusted act, but she caught the amusement in his eyes.

"If you don't try at least one you'll absolutely break my heart," she countered with a shrug.

A smile pulled at the corners of his lips, even as he seemed to desperately fight it, shaking his head and looking away as he gave his usual huff of laughter.

"One. Then I'll eat whatever actual meal I choose for myself."

"I'll allow it," her smile matched his.

"And the drink," he continued, apparently enjoying their little game of sniping at one another.

"You have a problem with that too?"

"Why order something that tastes like something else? A drink that tastes like a dessert? It's absurd."

"You're missing out, what can I say?" She shrugged "What are you going to take issue with next? My dress?"

"No," he countered, far more quickly and smoothly than she expected, not looking away from her once "You look lovely."

It caught Marilyn off-guard, there was no denying it, not with how her jaw threatened to drop and she fell silent, having been geared up for some gentle, friendly bullying rather than a compliment. Then, damn him, he rose and smoothly made his way over to the bar - albeit narrowly avoiding bumping into three fellow patrons who swerved him to take up the empty booth behind them. Marilyn smiled, and then ducked her head so he mightn't see it if he looked back. That bastard.

It would take him a little bit to get the bartender's attention, so she sat back and basked in how good it was to feel like a fucking human again. To wear makeup that was more than mascara and chapstick, to wear an outfit that went beyond comfort and functionality, and to sit in a bar with an attractive guy and have him leave her speechless - for the right reasons, no less. Cynical thoughts and dilemmas concerning where they stood with one another, how wise this whole thing was, and where it could possibly even lead aside, for now it was nice. For now. She was young enough that thinking of more than that could still be pushed aside in favour of embracing the moment. She felt she deserved to embrace the moment a little. She'd done precious little of that ever since she'd first been enrolled in ballet classes. Her mind was always on the next step - the next exam, the next audition, the next rehearsal, the next show. If the only good thing about her injury was it providing her with a healthy appreciation for the here-and-now, that was a decent enough upside.

And in the here-and-now, Marilyn was content. Even with the great Hermione Granger shaped cloud that loomed over her thoughts. By the time he returned with their drinks - her bottle of cider and a beer for himself - she'd already given herself a pep talk to tell him and get it over with rather than have it looming over her all evening.

"Somebody's going to bring the food once it's ready," he slid back into the booth, handing her the bottle of cider.

"Never pegged you for a beer guy," she said, thanking him before taking a swig from the bottle.

"Yes, well they didn't have a champagne fine enough for my tastes," he said drily before adding, with a gesture to her bottle "And it's still better than that monstrosity.

Marilyn smiled and took another exaggerated swig.

"So...there's something I need to tell you," she admitted.

Best do it now and get it over with. But however much she believed that, it did little to lessen the nervousness in the pit of her stomach as she pushed her drink aside and leaned forward, her elbows on the table.

"I don't like the sound of that," he leaned back in the booth, face quickly going from amused to expressionless.

"I don't expect you to," she admitted "One of your, erm, friends came to my studio a little while ago."

Draco's face threatened to go paler than his hair - it was an alarming look. She'd expected him to be annoyed. Okay, 'annoyed' was optimistic...she'd expected him to be furious. If not at her for keeping it to herself for so long, then at Hermione for showing up in the first place. But this was different. He looked horrified. Scared, even. His eyes went cold in a way to do with more than just their icy blue colour as they widened a little.

"Friends? Which ones? What were their names?" He asked.

"One of the ones we saw outside the cinema that time," she refused to let herself fidget nervously, keeping her hands clasped together on the table rather than allowing them to fiddle with her hair "Hermione, was it? I don't know if I'm pronouncing it right."

Some of the colour returned to Draco's face, but not much.

"Granger."

He all but spat out the name,

"Hermione Granger, that's it," she nodded.

"What did she say to you?"

It was more of a demand than a question, but considering the circumstances she could forgive him his tone rather easily. In his shoes, she knew she'd feel rather ambushed.

"More or less the same things you said," she said "It was...weird. She was very vague. Went through a lot of effort to speak to me just to say she 'couldn't say much'."

"More or less?" He pressed.

"More or less," she shrugged helplessly "Just that you were a nasty piece of work in school and that she wanted to make sure I was safe."

"Safe?" He echoed her own words once again.

"Safe," she said.

While she'd expected anger, and there was plenty of that there, at her confirmation his jaw clenched and he looked away sharply, visibly mulling the information over, it seemed to Marilyn that there was more than just rage there. He seemed...hurt, maybe? Exhausted, definitely. He appeared older suddenly, especially around his eyes, taking a deep breath in as his lips thinned and paled.

"Listen, you have to understand," Marilyn said slowly, hoping dearly he would hear her and actually listen "It's...hard for women. Meeting a guy who you have no mutual friends with, keeping your eyes peeled for red flags but being aware of what's a red flag and what's just paranoia...it's a lot, but it's life or death for plenty of us. When a woman comes to you and warns you, girl to girl, that you might not be safe, you have to listen. You have to pay attention, no matter how much you might not like what you're hearing - that is, until you can make your own mind up."

"And what assessment did you come to, then?" He all but sneered, still not quite looking at her.

In fact, she estimated that he was only a few seconds away from seizing his coat and leaving.

"That she was wrong, and that you're exactly who I thought you were," she said forcefully.

This, at least, got through to him. He stilled, a small amount of the tension leaving his posture as he settled back down where he sat. The only evidence of any remaining discomfort lay in the fact that he still wouldn't look at her, and in the way his fingertips drummed softly against the tabletop. Pushing back any reluctance, Marilyn reached forward and gently grasped that hand.

"That you're a good man."

He did look at her now, surprise shining through and surliness he was doing his best to affect. Marilyn stayed still, like she was trying to earn the trust of a stray cat and one wrong move would send it shooting off into the night. How could he be so arrogant when it came to his looks and even, to some extent, his abilities, but never his stock as a human being? The sort of stock to do with moral fibre rather than just good breeding or monetary value. She half expected him to shake his hand from her grasp and make some kind of joke to shove the situation in a new direction and pretend none of this had happened. In fact, that was what she fully expected - and that was the best case scenario. His hand twitched beneath hers, as if he was expecting himself to do so too, but then (perhaps through sheer force of will) it stayed still and, much to her surprise, he squeezed her hand back.

When he let go her hand slid away from his and she leaned back a little, waiting for him to speak. Biting on the inside of his cheek, he nodded slowly in acknowledgement of her words. Then he sighed heavily and whatever strange spell of sincerity that had overcome the two of them slipped away as he grumbled ruefully.

"Fucking Granger. Always sticking her nose where it's not needed. That means the other two won't be far," he took a sip of his beer.

"You know what they say about bad things coming in threes," Marilyn said.

She had little idea of who exactly he was walking about, but she could tell he was in no mood to be pressed for answers. The grunt that Draco gave in response told her she'd hit the nail on the head anyway.

"So," ah, now came the subject change "What does…"

Instead of completing his question, though, Draco trailed off, his eyes followed something behind her.

"Excuse me a moment."

Marilyn watched in pure bafflement as he slid from the booth but, rather than go in the direction of the mens' room, he stalked towards the bar's exit, the door barely closing behind the fellow patrons he'd almost bumped into earlier before he was pushing it open again.

Having no idea what to make of what had just happened - and not sure whether she was amused or exhausted by the fact that this was becoming a regular occurrence where Draco was concerned - Marilyn sipped at her cider and wondered idly if he was coming back at all.

"Potter."

Hearing that was like being hurtled back into his teenage years. Harry winced, and not just because the Polyjuice Potion was in the final stages of the uncomfortable wearing-off period, slowing his stride until he came to a full stop - Ron and Hermione doing the same a few feet ahead. Ron's hand, he noticed, slipped slowly into his jacket pocket - but Hermione's stayed firmly at her sides. Sighing, he turned around to face Malfoy, pulling down the hood of his hoodie. The jig was up, it seemed.

"How did you know it was us?" He asked.

"There were two other empty tables in the place, but you waited until the booth behind ours was free to sit down. Granger should've disguised herself as a man if you wanted to be a bit more inconspicuous, but it wouldn't have helped much - not considering you fell silent every time either one of us opened our mouths."

"It's been a while since the three of us worked together like this," Harry scratched the back of his neck "I suppose we're a bit rusty."

"How did you know where we were?" Malfoy's face was schooled into a hard scowl.

He was in no mood to reminisce, then.

"We followed you here," Harry admitted unabashedly.

"Why?" Malfoy asked sharply.

Evidently, he wasn't in the mood for chit-chat.

"Ron and Hermione told me they saw you with her," Harry paused and glanced around to make sure nobody was around to overhear him "A Muggle. Don't pretend you don't see why we had to check things out."

Malfoy only glared.

"What are you doing?" Harry couldn't help but ask "I don't think there's anything...malevolent going on, but I can't work it out."

"I don't see how it's any of your business."

"You're right," Harry shrugged "It isn't. But for your sake I hope you at least know what you're doing."

The look on Malfoy's face at that was less than promising...and it told Harry all that he needed to know.

"Look," Harry sighed "I probably shouldn't be telling you this - telling anybody this, but given what this all looks like…"

He waited for Malfoy to contradict him or argue. Instead he just watched him warily, brow furrowed in a deep frown.

"...There have been attacks. On Muggle-borns," he took a step closer, speaking quietly and intently "It's happened on and off since the war ended. Fanatics thinking or, or hoping that he's going to come back and praise them for their hard work. We'd been hoping it would disappear after a few years of that not happening, that they'd accept that he was gone for good, but lately it's...well, it's picked up."

"I've had nothing to do with it," Malfoy sneered.

"I know that now," Harry said "But, well - your mum's family disowned her sister for marrying a Muggle-born. What would happen if your lot caught wind of you spending time with an all-out Muggle? What would happen if whoever's committing these attacks did?"

Malfoy's face went a shade paler - which was saying something where he was concerned.

"How much does she know?" Harry asked quietly.

Malfoy's lips thinned and at first it appeared that he didn't plan on answering the question at all. Harry hardly expected him to. But then he did.

"Not a lot…" he said begrudgingly before sighing and correcting himself as he looked away "Nothing, really."

"Which only puts her in more danger. The less she knows, the less you can explain to her, the less you can protect her."

"You don't think I know that?" Malfoy snapped.

"This is stuff that any Wizard or Witch involving themselves with a Muggle has to consider, but you more than anybody."

"I know that too."

It was clear his patience was waning, and as such so was Harry's opportunity to do any sort of good here.

"Do you have a mobile phone?"

"No."

Well. He'd half expected a confused frown. The fact that he knew what a mobile phone was suggested he'd been around this Marilyn Baxter enough to see her use one and understand what it did. But Harry didn't need such reaches in inference and deduction to work that much out. No, that much was incredibly obvious after a few minutes of listening to them interact with one another. Among other, more surprising revelations.

"You need to give her some way of contacting you in case anything happens. In case anybody else finds out what's going on - anybody dangerous. Otherwise hours will pass before anybody knows. She's hardly going to owl you, is she?"

"And a mobile phone will help?"

It was funny how he could somehow seek his advice while acting entirely bored by his company at the same time.

"Not if it rings around any of your old school pals," Harry sighed grimly, shaking his head.

But then he thought of something. Pausing, he thought it through, and then he resisted the urge to smile.

"Have you heard of the Protean Charm?"