"You didn't tell them that it was Malfoy, then," George pointed out.

He waited until they sat on the shore of the lake before he pointed out her blatant bullshitting, at least. It wasn't like he was out of practise when it came to keeping teachers out of his business.

"I didn't," she confirmed.

"Can I ask why?"

"You've heard the phrase about snitches and stitches?"

"...Stitches?" he frowned "Like with knitting?"

Ah. So maybe he hadn't, then.

"If I tell on him, there's no evidence, and I become the stupid little mudblood…" the word hurt to say, rubbing raw in her chest, but she made herself say it for that very reason "...who got Lord Malfoy in trouble because…oh, I don't know, because of spite at being rejected. It helps nothing, and it makes several things worse."

"Ah. So it's because it makes revenge easier, then?" He asked slowly.

"Why else would I have done it, George?"

Pressing his lips together, George gave a shrug.

"Oh come on," she gave a laugh totally bereft of humour "You really think that after all of that I'd harbour some sort of weird crush on him? I can barely forgive myself for kissing the dickhead - every time I think of it I feel sick."

"He probably feels that way, too."

"Which should help, but only makes it worse," she sighed.

Her voice was getting dangerously close to cracking again.

"I thought you said he kissed you?" George asked after a moment - teasingly.

"I said I don't know who started it. But I was an…an active participant."

The biting wind from the lake felt like it was piercing through to her bones and set her teeth chattering. But going inside meant people, and here they'd more or less have peace at least until lunchtime, so Marilyn pulled her cloak tighter around herself and clenched her jaw against the shivers.

"Ah, the stuff of all great romances," he said in mock wistfulness.

"You're an expert on them, are you?"

"Enough to know that people kiss people all the time, and that it doesn't have to be the end of the world. Even when one of those people is that git."

Marilyn turned her head to face him, and found him very close. His eyes flickered towards her lips, and then back to her eyes, but he didn't initiate anything - only made an invitation. A very clear invitation, at that. Marilyn hesitated, and then she leaned in and he closed the gap.

It was no revelation that kissing George was entirely different from kissing Draco. It was gentle, and soft, and caring - safe, even - and…she felt nothing from it. In fact, she spent the whole thing feeling painfully aware of herself; her hands, her lips, her brain that never shut the fuck up - all of it. Finally, she pulled back, although she didn't quite dare look at him.

"So…" he said slowly.

Marilyn instantly knew he felt the exact same way about it as she did - and then she met his gaze, a sad smile rising to her lips. .

"Didn't feel right, did it?"

"Oh, thank Merlin," he groaned "Was worried I'd just made things a whole lot worse if you didn't agree."

"Mighty confident in your abilities, there."

"I'm some kisser," he shrugged "…And it was worth a shot. Now we know."

Marilyn smiled tiredly "Now we know. And now Dra- Malfoy isn't special among the boys here anymore. Friends, then?"

"Friends," he agreed, leaning back on his elbows "You should still come to the Yule Ball with me, though."

"George…"

"Hear me out - I don't have a date because…"

"Because the whole doesn't feel right discovery came on a bit late?"

"Mighty confident in yourself, there," he echoed her own words back to her "And you don't have one because…"

He trailed off and Marilyn raised her eyebrows, hoping her expression would make him phrase his next words carefully.

"…Well, you're not very personable, are you?"

Apparently his sympathy over everything that went down that morning had a time limit to it. Or maybe he just knew his comment would make her smile.

"I befriended you," she pointed out.

"Which just speaks for how very personable I am, really," he replied "We balance each other out. You get to go with a built-in anti-Slytherin filter, and I get to look like the knight in shining armour who swept in to save the day - all chivalrous and that."

Marilyn made a face. It was tempting. She'd been happy enough to not go with anybody, but now with everybody paired off and dated up, it did leave her feeling pretty vulnerable. Sure, she could stick with others throughout the dance, but there'd inevitably be times when they went off with their dates and she'd be left to either third wheel or sit on her own. If Draco's anger was so great that he would do that to her in front of everybody, what would he do if he caught her alone?

"It'll piss Malfoy off something rotten, too," George added cheerfully.

"Oh, well in that case you should've led with that, you've got yourself a deal," she drawled "I don't see why it would piss him off, though. He hates you almost as much as he hates me now - wouldn't that be a match made in heaven?"

Sighing, he shook his head and cast his attention out over the lake "You're doing nothing for the stereotype about ballerinas being stupid."

"There is no such stereotype," she frowned.

"I know, but outright calling you dense felt too mean. Today, at least."

"I'm not sure I want to be your friend anymore."

"Too late, you had your chance at being something more."

Marilyn shook her head, and then she laughed, and then she slowly began to feel better. Maybe she needed somebody to call her an idiot more often.

The day off of classes, although given to her in kindness, ended up being a bit of a mixed blessing. Yes, she'd been in no state to sit through classes and pretend that her mind was on anything even remotely resembling work, but she spent it dreading the next day rather than relaxing or recovering. The first day would be the worse, she knew that. Then it would fade. They were teenagers, there was no shortage of stupid drama going around, especially in the run-up to the ball. It was just waiting for it to fade that was the trick. And that was why she couldn't face the hall at dinner time.

Maybe she should have just forced herself to go in - break the ice with every student all at once, let them get their whispering and staring out of the way under the watchful gaze of Dumbledore himself…along with every other member of staff for that matter. It made sense. It would've been the smart thing to do. It was what she'd intended to do. But then the early night drew in and brought paralysing dread with it, weighing her down so heavily that she was sure she wouldn't be able to set foot in the hall even if she'd tried.

So she hid. She wasn't proud of it, and she would only allow herself to do it for that one day, but it was what she did. The dungeon was even more out of the question than the Great Hall, for painfully obvious reasons, so in the end Marilyn parted ways with George, retrieved the practise broom and her pointe shoes from the Beauxbatons carriage, and found a secluded part of the grounds to practise on. She kept her robes on, not only thanks to the cold, but because they allowed her to keep her wand close at hand.

Of course, the rest of the castle was hardly empty - she walked past plenty of people from all three schools as she went about her business. Most stared, a few snickered, but more often than not their brows furrowed in sympathy and they offered smiles that were probably meant to seem reassuring - especially from those in the older years. After the fourth or fifth one, Marilyn stopped meeting their gazes.

Dancing in the dark was no more difficult than dancing in the dungeon had been - it wasn't like she could spend the actual performance staring at her feet, anyway, so this was just good practise. The fact that she actually had a cushioned surface in the form of the grass below to fall onto was just an added bonus…as she almost did, with a sharp gasp, when a spinning jump brought into view a mop of platinum blond hair.

Stumbling down from the broom, she only just managed to land on her feet, rolling her ankle in the process. Panic overtook the ache that shot through the joint, though, as she whipped out her wand and pointed it at him, staring at him with wide eyes.

"What the fuck do you want?" She demanded.

"Classy, Baxter, truly. It's a wonder it took me so long to figure out what you are," he sneered.

"Get fucked. You're the last person on this planet that can talk about class after what you did this morning."

Part of her wondered if he'd deny it. An even smaller part of her hoped that he would. However, contrary to what recent events might suggest, the rest of her had a brain, so it came as no surprise when he did not. Instead, he gave a twisted imitation of a smug smile - despite the fact that none of that mirth reached his eyes.

"What did you imagine? That I'd embrace your inferiority and beg you to attend the Yule Ball with me? You're not that good a kisser."

"That's not what you said last night."

"Now listen here, you filthy little mudblood," he hissed "If you breathe a word of that to a single soul - a single, solitary soul, I'll-"

"I'm in not more of a rush for people to know about it than you are," she interrupted, the broom flying up to her hand the moment she held her fingers outstretched "I'm going to the Yule Ball with George, I'm going to see through the rest of the school year here, and I'm going to forget I ever so much as set eyes on you. So don't worry, I have about as much desire to admit that I was stupid enough to think you were anything more than a deluded little prick who'll believe whatever makes him feel superior in the moment than you do to admit you found a mudblood like me to be better company than your pureblood girlfriend."

His glare intensified and he began to splutter more venom in response, but Marilyn's voice rose and she continued, refusing to be cowed.

"And what does that say about your values? Either you're an idiot who can be taken in by a lesser being such as myself so long as she's pretty with a pair of nice legs…or there's nothing in your beliefs at all. Tell me - which of those two conclusions do you want going around? I think I know which one you'd like least, but neither of them are very good for your lot, are they? But…like I said. I'm just as much of an idiot here as you are. So the secret's safe. Congrats, Draco. Have a nice life."

One hand held the broom and the other brandished her wand, but both of them shook almost as much as her voice by the time she was done. Draco stood still save for the furious heaving of his chest beneath that stupid bloody snake emblem, but she didn't wait for a response - it would only be more bile, anyway.

"So that was the plan, then?" He called after her "I confess, I was curious as to what your ploy was."

"There was no fucking ploy," she spat, whirling "What sort of bullshit political thriller do you think we're living in? I didn't…"

She stopped short and his eyes flashed - because, for the first time during this conversation, she'd almost lied to him. There was no pretending that she didn't know he didn't know. Not really. And the only way she could lose anything resembling the moral highground now would be to play dumb and innocent.

"I didn't have a plan," she said finally "You assumed, and I made the decision not to correct you. Because what sort of fucking idiot gives hateful bigots the excuse they're looking for to hate them?"

"The same sort of fucking idiots who kiss those hateful bigots," he pointed out sharply.

"I didn't expect to…I didn't expect to get along with you. I didn't expect any of it. There was no plan. I thought I'd make Muggle Studies bearable by not correcting your assumption, and that would be the end of it. By the time it became painfully bloody obvious that it wouldn't be that simple, there was no turning back."

His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as he listened - but he did listen. And when he was done, his eyes bore into hers for a long while as though trying to detect any slightest hint of falsehood. Marilyn returned his gaze evenly, if not tiredly. Exhaustedly. This had gone on too long. She'd had enough. Finally, he gave one sharp nod. It was perhaps the most civil response she could've hoped for.

"Aren't you going to apologise, then?" He asked sharply.

Aaand…there it was.

"Fuck off," she breathed a laugh, shaking her head - disgusted and amazed all at once by the sheer audacity of the boy who stood before her "Fuck right off. Are you going to apologise for what you did to me this morning? In front of the entire school? Because that was done far more deliberately with miles more malice."

The tears were back - filling her eyes, not helped by how stubbornly she refused to blink so they wouldn't start falling. She had no idea whether it was the point she'd made, or the presence of those tears that had him finally looking away, furiously scowling at the patch of grass before his shoes.

"Goodbye, Draco," she said finally, turning in the direction of the Beauxbatons carriage.

This time he didn't stop her.

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