"Would you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"I can't, I'm not old enough."

"I'm aware, Baxter, that's why I said 'would you' and not 'are you going to'."

Well, he had a point there. Straightening a little, Marilyn smoothed the tip of her quill's feather over her chin as she considered the question. It took less consideration than she first anticipated, though, and then she shrugged.

"No."

"No?" Draco quirked an eyebrow.

"No," she repeated "I'm guessing by your surprise that you would."

He hesitated for a moment "No."

"No?" It was her turn to blink in surprise, mirroring the look he'd just given her.

"Not because the idea frightens me - if I did apply, I have no doubt that I'd get in, nor that I'd win," he cocked his chin slightly as he spoke "But such antics wouldn't be befitting of somebody like myself. Firstborn pure-blood sons don't dance around like…like…"

"Like ballerinas?" She asked drily.

"Like fools. We're not here to entertain."

Marilyn snorted "Fair enough."

They'd come to an uneasy sort of truce over the last couple of weeks. Not quite friends, but not enemies either. They would hardly seek each other out in the great hall at dinner, nor even outside of this classroom at all, really, but within this classroom they could speak with ease. Relative ease, at least. More ease than she'd expect. It made the class pass more quickly, it cut awkward silences to a minimum for they neither ignored one another nor felt any great need to be overly friendly, it became a surprisingly decent way to get through a lesson.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Are you suggesting that it's beneath you but not me?"

"The Baxters aren't one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Even if you are a pure-blood and not a half-blood, it's still not the same."

"I haven't got any interest," she sighed with a shrug "I'll watch it, given that I'll be accused of shirking the spirit of things if I don't, but between dancing and schoolwork, I have no interest in adding this to my list of responsibilities."

"Not even to prove Beauxbatons' glory?"

"I've got nothing to prove," she snorted.

"People with nothing to prove don't say they've nothing to prove," he pointed out.

"If you say so," she shrugged.

He stopped writing at that, pausing. Marilyn made a concerted effort not to allow her own essay writing to stop - but evidently it hadn't been the sort of response he'd expected from her. What, did he really think that he'd push her into some sort of mad frenzy, justifying her lack of any need to justify herself to him? It was probably what he was used to. Only when she began struggling with her essay and her writing slowed, then wavered, then stopped entirely did he avert his ice-grey gaze from his face to her parchment.

"Dried valerian root."

"What?"

"The three most ineffectual ways to use valerian - roasted, boiled, and dried. It's the juice that holds the properties, those three options all waste the juices."

"Your potions' master mentioned roasted and boiled, but not dried," she argued, but only half-heartedly because she could see his point.

"Well he's not going to give you all of the answers, is he?" Draco rolled his eyes "Some common sense is expected. We're not first years."

She huffed a laugh, dipping her quill in the inkwell before nodding "I see your point. Thanks."

"You'll soon adjust to the way things are done around here," he sniffed.

Marilyn rolled her eyes, but kept silent. Mainly because muttering 'what a dick' beneath her breath probably worked against that oh-so-important fostering of community spirit between the schools. She continued to think it for the rest of the class, though.

Baxter, Draco surmised, was a half-blood. She hadn't rushed to correct him when he'd brushed ever so slightly against the topic of her blood status, which could only mean that she was indeed a half-blood. Or maybe she was a pure-blood, but of the blood traitorous sort. He doubted it, though, for those types never shut up about it for long, and his mention of the Sacred Twenty-Eight had earned him no lectures. Then, though, he remembered her words - the ones that seemed to be true, at that. I've got nothing to prove. Perhaps she was pure-blood, but just didn't feel the need to flash it around? There were plenty among those at Durmstrang and Beauxbatons who were the same. It was the sort of question that could be easily answered by his mother, but he was entirely unwilling to deal with the thousand questions if he wrote home mentioning a girl. Not for something as simple as mild curiosity.

But she was an odd one. She sat at the Ravenclaw table with the rest of the Beauxbatons students, looking comically small between two seventh years, speaking to neither of them. Instead she ate like a bird - quickly but delicately - while staring at a textbook in her lap. As far as her own peers were concerned, she hardly seemed to socialise much with them - indeed, from what Draco had seen he was the only one from either of the other two schools who she bothered much with at all. At least nobody could accuse her of having poor taste.

Or so he thought. For almost as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he noticed one of the Weasley twins sauntering her way. With an idiotic grin on his face, he paused by her and tapped one shoulder while ducking his head down by the other. The Baxter girl turned her head in the direction of the shoulder that had been prodded, right in time for Weasley to say something almost directly into the other ear. It earned him a yelp of fright that Draco heard even above the chatter in the hall, and he watched in interest. From what he'd seen of her, she wouldn't take it kindly - the idiot was sure to have earned himself an earful. Instead, though, any smugness left Draco's face when she grinned, then laughed as she shook her head and greeted him cheerfully.

Draco's face soured. Maybe she was a blood traitor after all.

"Looks like Beauxbatons doesn't have the same proper ideals that Durmstrang does," he hadn't realise that Pansy had followed his line of sight until she commented.

"What?" He feigned ignorance.

It didn't matter if it was particularly convincing ignorance - she'd hardly call him out on it either way. She pressed her lips together and gave a shrug that was just a little too pleased. Draco wondered if there was anything more entirely tedious than jealousy. He couldn't even take any satisfaction in it, it was so boring. Once she returned to her dinner, he turned his disapproving gaze back to Baxter and the Weasley. During their quiet, fairly amicable chats in Muggle Studies, she'd never struck him as the type who might find idiocy to be a fair replacement for actual humour. Maybe she just liked having a sixth year sniffing around her, even if that sixth year was barely a full step up from a street urchin.

Weasley appeared to ask a question, his head tilting as he offered Baxter a goofy grin - she, in return, answered it with a smile of her own, and whatever her answer was made him laugh in response. Then, Draco noted with what felt uncomfortably like dismay, she closed her book, pushed her plate aside and rose to her feet. As she did so, though, she cast her eyes about the hall where they met his. Draco didn't look away - he was never the first to look away. Baxter blinked those wide blue eyes of hers, apparently surprised to have found him looking at her, and then she quickly looked away. Draco smirked.

The twin, being a Weasley, of course didn't notice this happening right before his nose, waiting patiently for her to step one foot over the long bench she sat on, then the other. And then they were leaving the hall together…but Draco's annoyance waned, because just as they reached the great double doors to leave the hall, Baxter glanced back again - perhaps to see if she'd find him still watching. And the frown she gave when she did couldn't hide the pretty blush that coloured her cheeks.

Draco smirked - only when she was out of sight. Was it any wonder? A Weasley was hardly a match for somebody such as himself.

His former boredom returned, though, his newest source of entertainment now gone, and as he moved the peas around his plate with his fork, he remembered one very interesting detail. The ballerinas practised not too terribly far from the Slytherin common room.

When George offered to walk Marilyn to her practise room in the dungeons that evening in order to shield her as the Grim Greens (as they now conspiratorially called them), part of her had been oddly worried that he had some sort of ulterior motive - regardless of the fact that he'd been nothing but genuinely nice to her thus far. But it was simple paranoia, fostered by the less than pleasant introduction she'd had to Hogwarts boys, and she did truly dread the prospect of wading through a sea of emerald to get to her ballet lesson, so she accepted. And she was glad that she did when she caught Draco Malfoy staring at her in the great hall.

Had he found out the truth about her blood status? No, she doubted it. It was no secret at Hogwarts that his disdain was of the vocal sort, and she knew if he felt that she'd bamboozled him in some way or another that it would earn her more than a look of vague interest over dinner.

"So, I hear you met my brother," George said cheerfully as they began their walk through the halls.

She was finally beginning to learn her way around. Sure, she still couldn't meander without getting lost, but she was capable of getting to her classes without the constant worry of ending up in the wrong wing of the castle entirely.

"Don't," Marilyn groaned with a wince "You could've warned me that you were a twin, you know. I went up to him spouting nonsense about green being grim and red being rad."

"It's funnier when I don't warn people," he said brightly.

"He just went along with it!"

"Yeah, that's Fred."

"I'll admit it was almost impressive how smoothly he adapted. He looked at me like I'd lost my mind for all of a split second before letting me continue on like a lunatic. Took him a good five minutes to put me out of misery."

"That's funnier, too," he said - but warmly, like she was in on the joke as well.

It only made it marginally less embarrassing. Not least because there'd been witnesses - ones who had watched on in clear amusement, no less.

"I wouldn't worry about it. He said he admired your zest," he added when she didn't seem much cheered by his reassurances.

"Yeah. Well. I don't suppose you'll take my mortification as payment for your help that day?"

She pulled her satchel carefully out of the way so it didn't block her view of the steps they descended going down into the dungeon. While she fancied herself fairly graceful, the stairs in this place had a habit of being nastily uneven and worn. The students here were used to it, but took great joy in watching their visitors stumble only to catch themselves at the last second before they got a mouthful of stone.

"Does the fact that I'm helping you here again now mean that I can embarrass you again for a laugh later?"

"That's your sick plan, is it? To keep offering your help so you can humiliate me throughout the whole year?"

"If only I was a quadruplet rather than a twin. The laughs could go on and on."

Marilyn snorted.

"But no, I'm afraid I'm not quite that much of a schemer. Red is rosy, remember? My plan is a simple one - this seemed like a fantastic way of meeting the seventh year ballerinas, and having their first impression of me be one that showcases my incredibly chivalrous side."

"And if I tell them of this plan and ruin it all?"

"I'll tell them about the delightful first impression you made with Fred - if I can't be chivalrous, I can always be funny."

"Well," Marilyn sniffed "In that case, it's a pleasure doing business with you."

"Speaking of chivalry, though…if you'd be open to a friendly warning."

"Only if it's friendly."

The rehearsal room, now decked out in mirrors and dance equipment thanks to a bit of spellwork, was in sight…but George drew to a stop, for once looking almost serious - but no less comfortable.

"My brother - other brother. Younger one. Fourth year."

"Ron," she said knowingly "He's in my transfiguration class."

"Ah. That explains how you remember him. Well, the fourth years talk. Word is you're getting pretty close to Lord Git-face himself."

Marilyn sighed.

"Look, if you're stupid enough to believe the same tripe that he does, that's you're decision and natural selection will get you for it in the end. But if you're not…the Malfoys aren't the sort you want to be around."

"If I was stupid enough to believe in all of that while actually being a Muggle-born, natural selection absolutely would be out to get me," she replied simply.

"Oh."

"Oh," she repeated.

"Well, that makes everything a lot simpler then. But what's a Muggle-born doing cozying up to a Malfoy?"

"We're not cozy. We sit together in one class, and that's it. People are just idiots."

"Hm. Sometimes true. None more so than Malfoy, at that."

Marilyn thought back to how he'd helped her with her essay, and stayed quiet. Whether he took that as agreement or something else was up to him. But then again, she supposed there was a difference between being stupid, and being unintelligent. It was the same difference between being a dick, and being dangerous. She only hoped that she'd been right in her conclusion that the Malfoy heir was the former and not the latter. At least for now.

A/N: "Jealousy is boring" says Draco, jealously. I'll say it now, I already know we're definitely going to have more chapters than I initially planned.

Also, in my digging when it comes to researching pure-blood ideology in the canon universe, I discovered that apparently the Malfoys were some of the few among their lot who wouldn't completely rule out the possibility of marriage to half-bloods if it meant freshening up the gene pool (which I found surprisingly practical - but then again they don't strike me as the type who'd embrace a grandkid with the Habsburg Jaw), so that's my basis of logic as far as Draco being fine with hanging around Marilyn while he believes she's a half-blood.

I do still doubt that he specifically would be allowed to marry her if she was a half-blood (the wiki mentions his parents' disappointment that Astoria Greengrass, though a pure-blood, wasn't from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, so it looks like the leniency as far as half-bloods go is very, VERY occasional - you know, when the children begin to sprout extra fingers and toes), but I think some sort of teenage association with a half-blood wouldn't be totally out of question, although still considered beneath him, probably with the caveat that all involved would have to be under no illusion that it might go further.

Thank you for attending my TEDtalk.