The timing of the Yule Ball combined with, well, certain decisions that Marilyn made during the Yule Ball could not have worked out better. Any time she caught herself - or was caught by anybody else - smiling or zoning out while smiling like an absolute idiot, she could just wave a hand and blame the success of her performance. It was a great excuse, not least because it would've been true under any other circumstances, and that was a feat in itself because it saved her from thinking about any uncomfortable questions - the answers to which would only ruin her good mood. No, she'd save those for when the Christmas holidays ended. That was certainly looming, and while she was determined not to all out dread it, she wasn't exactly looking forward to it, either.

The days that followed the ball were quiet, and she spent them mostly hanging around with the Gryffindor group and steadfastly avoiding looking even in the general direction of Draco. Well, other than when they were stealing off to secluded classrooms to kiss like it was going out of fashion before they parted ways, but even in those instances her eyes were mostly shut, so she still wasn't exactly looking at him then, either. Although the kissing probably negated the not looking thing. Maybe.

It was difficult to say whether any of her friends realised what was going on. Harry was preoccupied with the second task of the TriWizard Tournament (and it wasn't like they were particularly close, anyway), while Hermione and Ron had both been in matching foul moods since the Yule Ball. Fred and George - George in particular, really - were more of a risk, but she knew that worrying about whether they'd noticed anything would make her act weird, and her acting weird would make them notice, turning the whole thing into some horrible self-fulfilling prophecy, so she didn't venture down that route at all. Yet another thing to avoid thinking about. She'd raise denial into an artform by the time she was done here.

Moving carefully through the mass of rocks and great hulking tree roots six days later, she watched her footing carefully - anything that wasn't coated in ice was caked in slippery moss, and the bottle she was carrying wouldn't survive a tumble. There was also injury to think about, but it wasn't like she had a big performance coming up now so that mattered a bit less. Perspective, priorities, all that.

It was difficult for her to find her way without growing paranoid that she was about to get lost. Everything looked different in the snow and the ice, the shallows of the lake frozen into an entirely solid white which only turned grey and then black much further out towards the centre. It never melted entirely solid, it was too big for that. Dumbledore had made a point of warning them after the Durmstrang students had been caught daring each other to walk further and further out to see how far they could get without falling through.

Marilyn usually loved the snow, but the way it changed the scenery was seldom paired with all of the Hogwarts' staff's constant warnings about the Forbidden Forest and the life-ending potential of getting lost within. But she kept the lake to her left, and walked just into the treeline enough so that she couldn't be spotted too easily by anybody at the other sides of the shore, and mostly she just hoped she'd run into Draco before she got hopelessly and utterly lost. Wouldn't that be a fantastic way of punctuating her victory? Showing them all just how great she was, and then vanishing without a fucking trace. They did say to always leave them wanting more.

It was at the tail-end of that joking, albeit rather macabre, thought that she finally caught sight of that impossibly bright blond hair and let loose a short sharp whistle in greeting. Draco's head turned lazily, as if never even considering that he might get in trouble for being out here, and he nodded his greeting.

"You took your time."

Ah, the stuff of illicit secret interludes (because phrasing it as a romance would make her vomit) in every mass market paperback everywhere.

"I was retrieving this," she said, slipping the bottle from beneath her arm and presenting it to him.

His eyebrows rose about as much as they could without surrendering his permanently unfazed facade,

"This is good stuff. French. Did you steal it from your Headmistress?"

"No, I don't have a death wish."

"Mmm. It'd take either a lot of bravery or a lot of foolishness to piss off a woman of her monstrous stature."

"Don't be nasty."

"You're nasty all the time."

"Yeah, but I'm funny when I do it."

"I shall strive to one day reach the heights of your comedic mastery."

"Many have tried," she hummed.

"Your ballet mistress, then?" He lifted the bottle.

"I'd piss off Madame Maxime ten times before I even considered pissing off Madame Garnier. It wasn't stolen at all, it was a gift."

"From whom?"

Whom? Jesus, she was sneaking around with the poshest bastard to stalk the halls of Hogwarts - and that was saying a lot, considering it was a bloody castle.

"Chloe."

"The one who hates you?"

"That's the one. Her good taste only extends so far as wine."

He rolled his eyes, and Marilyn smiled in return.

"She got it from her parents for Christmas, and she passed it onto me - coincidentally, she did it in front of all of the Beauxbatons students who are miffed at her for…what she did. Chloe gets her redemption, I get drunk, everybody's happy."

"Particularly you, depending on the strength of the wine."

Marilyn snorted in response, and then made a very ladylike display of uncorking the bottle with her teeth. That earned her another eye roll - for it was rather less impressive than the spell he'd used to do so last time…which was exactly why she'd done it. Pulling their cloaks tightly about themselves, they took their time using heating charms to melt the snow away from the tree roots before nestling down into the space they'd made. Taking the first swig of the wine, and then another for good measure, she handed the bottle to Draco as he made hismelf comfortable beside her.

"This is quite a way to celebrate the little break you've got from ballet for the time being," he said after a few moments of silence.

"That's not something I ever really celebrate."

"That's because you're bizarre."

"I've really missed our little chats, Draco, they truly do warm the heart."

"Why wouldn't you celebrate having actual free time now? I heard one of the seventh year girls all but crying over breakfast because she could eat whatever she wanted, too."

"Eh," she shrugged "The novelty of that wears off after the first day or two. The food you miss when you're training is never as good as you convince yourself it'll be. The free time is mind numbing. It's all too empty after you've spent ages achieving a goal. Usually it's best to have the next big goal lined up immediately after, or else you end up feeling low in the aftermath."

"That's absurd."

"Of course it's not. The adrenaline and the determination and the discipline that it takes to get you there is part of the thrill. Then you achieve it, and none of that is there anymore. It's bound to leave you feeling off-kilter. All that empty time, it gets suffocating. Utterly bloody unbearable, really. People need goals - ambitions. The ones worth anything, anyway. Anything less than that and you're just begging for mediocrity to come along and bite you in the arse while you distract yourself with empty shite."

It wasn't something she was really in the habit of speaking about - mostly because, well, it was just a fact, wasn't it? She didn't speak about breathing air or drinking water, either. By the time she was done talking, though, she had the horrible feeling that she'd started to sound like some sort of cringe-inducing motivational speaker. She hadn't even had enough wine that she might be able to blame it on that. When she turned her head towards him next she was ready to crack a joke to distract from all that she'd just said, fully expecting to find him looking either bored or downright mocking. Instead…instead she couldn't place the look on his face. She blinked, then her brow furrowed and he looked away.

"We're getting back into greatness isn't greatness when it's expected of you territory," he pointed out softly before taking a few quick gulps from the bottle.

"Yeah, well, a lack of recognition isn't an excuse for being shit. That's just pathetic."

Draco grinned at that, and she fought against the urge to stare because he always looked so different when he smiled - a true, genuine smile that lit up his whole face, rather than a nasty smirk with no mirth at all to it. If he could smile like that around anybody, he could very well easily convince the whole school that he was the nicest guy to attend Hogwarts. Up until he spoke, that was.

"Is that to be your New Year's resolution, then?" He asked, handing her back the bottle "To not be shit?"

"New Year's resolutions are for the mediocre, too. I don't need a new year to start to have a goal."

"My, you must be the life and soul of every New Year's Eve party you've ever attended."

"I can appreciate the moment just fine," she rolled her eyes "I just don't need January to start in order to make a new goal and stick to it. But…as a moment, I enjoy it."

"Yes, I can hear that."

"I do! It's an opportunity to reflect. To take stock. To look ahead. All that good stuff."

"As I said, Baxter, life and soul."

She laughed quietly. That smile stayed on his face as she did so and he leaned back. The little groove they were taking shelter in wasn't particularly wide, so his action meant they were pressed tightly together in a way that was just shy of discomfort. A couple of weeks ago, it would have been very uncomfortable. But now Marilyn found herself leaning against him, even if they both pretended not to notice how they sought out contact with the other. The same way they more or less pretended that none of the horrible shit between them had happened…with the exception of a handful of vague references and the occasional joke. Again, denial into an artform.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she teased "I didn't realise you're middle name was The Sesh, I should have known."

"The Sesh?" He echoed.

"The session."

He looked no less confused, and so she clarified "Y'know, the party."

"You're suggesting I don't know how to party?"

It was difficult to tell whether he was genuinely offended by the notion or if he was just teasing.

"I'm saying what your lot classifies as a party is nowhere near the actual thing. All caviar and classical music, probably."

"You've never seen one of our parties."

"And I never will."

And that was what induced the risk of an awkward silence. The source of that horrible shit that had gone on between them at its bare bones - her blood status and his shockingly vile views towards it - was what they ignored most of all. Religiously, almost. "Remember how you think people of my blood status should be subjugated, haha, that's wild" could be laughed off even less easily than "remember when you went out of your way to humiliate me in front of the entire school, good times", and that was really saying something. It was just a complicated one, wasn't it? On the asshole scale, he was definitely worse off than she was with everything that had gone on, but there was no denying that she'd had a hand in it by letting the charade go on as long as it had. There was a definite natural selection element to that, wasn't there? She'd played with fire, she'd gotten burned. And now here she was, sticking her hand in the flames again.

Sure, now was different, but that didn't change the fact that if she got burned a second time she'd never forgive herself for allowing it to happen. But there wouldn't be a third. Her assurance of that fact to herself was dampened a bit as she leaned into him a bit more.

"I'm surprised she was allowed to keep it," he said when the silence threatened to settle.

"Hm?"

"The wine."

"Ah - well, they're all very European, aren't they? Most of them were probably sipping wine at dinner before they could even read or write."

"Doesn't seem conducive to the learning to read and write," he replied drily.

Marilyn snickered.

"What do parties with your lot look like, then?" He asked "Like this?"

It took her a moment to see past his ever-imperious tone and realise that he actually seemed to be genuinely curious.

"Sometimes," she admitted "Usually with more people. It's a staple of a Muggle working class childhood to get drunk in a park somewhere with your friends. Hang around outside a shop, ask somebody who's of age to buy you a few bottles of cheap booze."

"Why would they do that?"

"Well you give them the money for it, and if you pick who to ask properly it'll usually be somebody who remembers asking strangers to do the same for them as a teen. Usually you need to go with either uni students or little old ladies if you want 'em to say yes. Middle aged rockers work, too. A tip from me to you right there."

"I'll keep it noted. So you do this even in winter?"

"Well sometimes somebody's parents will fuck off somewhere for a weekend - we call them empties because, you know, empty house. That's when things get a bit wilder."

"You surprise me. You don't seem the sort."

"Gets me out of the house for a bit," she shrugged "What I do depends on if I'm dancing or not. When I have to behave I'll have a bit of wine then find somewhere quiet to hang about. Try not to get spewed on."

"I think I'll stick to mine, thanks."

"Who said you were invited?"

He snorted, then he hesitated and then he admitted "It's really not that different."

Her shock over that admission was dampened by the fact he seemed as bemused by that fact as she was.

"Oh, come on," she didn't believe him for a second.

"The surface of it is, obviously," he said "But there are some vague, minor similarities. At the parties my parents throw, once I've shown my face for a suitable amount of time, a bunch of the younger ones always steal off to the gardens with a few bottles of champagne and make our own party."

"You little hoodlum, you," she teased.

"It's better than answering the same questions for the fiftieth time that evening alone. So what are your plans for the future? What do you want to do? As if we all don't know that the answer best well be 'whatever it is my parents are currently doing' and leaving it at that."

"So you all sneak off and get absolutely mortal? I'm struggling to picture it."

"Mortal?" He echoed with a snort "You're so bloody northern. But yes. The trick is to not be the one who's worst off. It's difficult for my parents to be unamused at me for slurring a word or two when Crabbe is vomiting into their topiaries."

"Topiaries? You're so bloody southern."

"That's not south-specific. The word you're looking for is posh," he sniffed.

Marilyn grinned then. She rather liked him when he wasn't taking himself too seriously, rare an occasion as it was.

"I suppose it makes sense," she shrugged "All those good pure-blooded sons and daughters having to be all buttoned up and well-behaved all the time."

Draco looked at her strangely again then, and Marilyn suspected that encountering basic empathy was just as much of a novelty to him as some of her more northern slang was.

"I suppose," he said finally, fiddling with the rim of the bottle for a moment before handing it back to her.

Marilyn took a few gulps from it, needing to do so if she was going to raise the topic that she wished to. It could go pretty badly wrong, and she thought she already knew the answer, but she had to be sure. Then she could formulate a plan for going forward. Or, well, she wouldn't end up being confused and looking like a tit. Although the more the days went on now, the more that seemed like a given.

"Everybody'll be back in less than a week," she pointed out.

"Unfortunately," he said flatly.

Well. That sort of answered her question. Didn't it?

"What's going to happen then?" She pushed.

"We'll go back to dealing with homework. Either Diggory or Krum will win the tournament. Those two clones you love so much will go back to finding new and unusual ways of being the most annoying human beings to ever stalk the halls of Hogwarts," he rattled off each scenario in startlingly quick succession, evidently having given the matter a lot of thought "Hopefully Potter will perish in one of the upcoming tasks."

"Charming."

"Are you asking where we stand?" He asked sharply.

"Oh, don't ask it like that," she grumbled "I'm not asking if you're going to declare your love for me in front of the whole school for all to see - so Snape can applaud and Pansy can cry and Fred and George can…oh, I don't know, drag me to the school shrink for immediate psychological help."

"Good, because that would be a damn foolish question."

"I know. It would cause just as much trouble for me as it would for you, so calm it. That's not what I was asking. I was trying to find out if you had a plan."

"For what? Can't we just go on as we have been?"

"That'll be a lot more difficult to get away with when everybody's back. We're lucky we haven't been caught yet as it is - we nearly were in the broom cupboard that time."

"But we weren't."

"And I got cobwebs all over my uniform."

"We'll stick to cobweb-free broom cupboards from here on out."

"You're impossible."

"I mean it! What has to change? What were you hoping for? A…a cessation?"

"An armistice?" She returned drily.

"Now that would just be boring," he replied at a deadpan "What's your plan, then?"

The way he tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear as he spoke took a great deal of the potential bite out of his words.

"I don't know," she admitted "We'll…we'll need to either stop, or be very careful."

"No, I was planning on being reckless and stupid."

"We've been plenty of that lately," she snorted.

It was then that he apparently realised that mocking her wasn't getting him anywhere and that a different approach might come in handy.

"It's a youthful indiscretion," he pointed out quietly, turning towards her and leaning in until he was all but nuzzling at her neck "We're all entitled to at least one. We're being smart about it, and we're being discreet. It's what? A few more months? Then everything will…everything will go back to normal."

Was it fanciful thinking when she noted how he didn't sound all too thrilled by that prospect? Was she hearing what some small and pathetic part wanted to hear? Or was he just as confused and lost in all of this as she was? None of the answers seemed particularly warming. But…he had a point. Didn't he? Everybody was entitled to a bit of teenage stupidity. Hers was long overdue. She worked hard, she performed well, she did what she had to. But she wasn't a robot. Wasn't it about time that she acknowledged that? What girl didn't dream of some fairytale moment - dressed up in a ballgown, kissing a handsome guy in the snow? Okay, usually the fairytale princes weren't from hateful families who formed their beliefs on whether others should live or die based on blood status, but who in reality was perfect?

Turning her head until their noses brushed, she found herself hoping that she'd feel nothing. That she'd find herself thinking with the utmost clarity - maybe even able to laugh and convince herself that she was toying with him for a bit of fun. Give me a sign. Any sign. If this is a bad idea, if it's a good one, tell me. Now that was a fanciful thought - especially for somebody who didn't really believe in anything in particular. Not as far as gods or goddesses went, anyway. His eyes glinted in the dim lighting, as glacial in colour as the snow and ice all about them, but with a warmth that worried and thrilled her all in one. Returning his gaze evenly, she slowly arched one eyebrow. If he wanted to kiss her, he could bloody well do so. She wasn't going to initiate it every time. Despite what her current problems suggested, she did have some amount of self respect.

He leaned in closer still, his nose nudging hers until even just the slightest breath would close the gap between their lips. Still, he continued to watch her. With their close proximity came a level of unguardedness and she saw then everything she herself was feeling - desire, curiosity…worry and trepidation. She wondered then if Pansy saw all this when they were together, but knew automatically that the answer to that was no. Then, another question came up. What was he seeing in her own eyes right now? No answer came readily in response to that one. She stopped worrying about it when his lips met hers, though, and tingles erupted all throughout her limbs. It was difficult to even pretend it was in response to the cold - the wine was already kicking in and making it hard to feel any kind of chill.

Sighing, she kissed him back readily, her eyes fluttering shut as fireworks began to erupt off at the castle. Maybe that was her sign. But was it a good or a bad one?

A/N: So here's the deal. I originally intended for this to be a very short story - literally like ten chapters, featuring a collection of snapshots of this school year and leaving it at that. I forgot that I'm a long-winded motherfucker, you guys did not, it inevitably grew into this. The thing is, right, the original edited plan was to end this story at the end of their fourth year with an epilogue that takes place during their eighth year, ultimately leaving things sort of up to the imagination. And I could absolutely still do that!

The thing is, I am a wee bit worried that people might find an ending like that without any concrete written out resolution a bit disappointing, and the more I think on it, the more I could adapt this story to fully cover what would end up being a lot of the canon (with a time-jump implemented into it) if that's something people would be interested in. My original plan stood because I didn't expect there to be a great deal of interest in this little spin-off, which was basically a fanfic of one of my own fanfics, but people are enjoying it and some people are even enjoying it without having read Little By Little, so I'm happy to turn it into one of my whole full scale back on my bullshit epic length sagas if that would be of any interest.

I can do either way, I'm happy to do either one, there's potential here - especially with the whole Wizarding war being a thing, so let me know!

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