A/N: Back on my long-scale bullshit it is. I would apologise for being like this, but hey, we're all having fun. I'm very excited for my plans for this story now that I'm adjusting them to cover the canon properly! This chapter is mostly just setting some things up, but I hope you guys enjoy what I have planned for later. Thank you for all of the feedback and lovely messages! I'm so glad you're enjoying it enough to want a whole lot more. I guess it's time to binge the movies/books and make some plans.

School did start back up, and things went more or less back to normal. Classes resumed, and now if Marilyn caught people looking at her or whispering about her it was usually followed up with a compliment on her performance. Once young Hufflepuff even approached her and asked for an autograph - an autograph, of all things. Sure, it was a crumb-riddled dinner napkin that he asked her to sign, but the encounter still bowled her over. Pansy came back looking distinctly tan, for apparently her parents had treated her to a Christmas abroad to make up for Hogwarts' cruelty towards their darling daughter, but she looked no happier for it. Whether that was because word reached her of Marilyn's triumph, or because Draco was back to barely looking at her, it was difficult to say. If Marilyn was bowled over by having given her first ever autograph, Draco's behaviour threatened to send her to the hospital wing entirely.

While she'd never admit it to anybody other than herself - or out loud at all, really - she'd been fully prepared to spend the new term watching him and Pansy sucking at each other's faces and calmly pretending both not to notice and not to care. There wasn't much of an alternative, was there? An argument would only lead to tedium, and she knew what he would argue before there was even any cause for argument at all. She'll know something's up if I act differently. It's not like we're exclusive. What did you expect? Why do you care?

Those last two questions were tied in terms of what she'd most hate having thrown at her. Mostly because she couldn't answer them.

But, happily, no argument came. Because no cause for argument came. And so Marilyn's biggest source of conflict was that she was presented with no source of conflict at all. Apparently she didn't know how to just be happy.

At least, she noticed once the first week back at lessons drew to a close, he was playing it smart. He showed none of his former disdain for Pansy that he'd been so happy to wear on his face back when they'd first become involved in this little entanglement. She would speak to him and he would respond. At best he'd look mildly interested, and at worst he'd look bored, but none of that was out of the realm of the ordinary where Draco was generally concerned.

Still, Pansy was aware of his change in attitude towards her - she might've been a nasty and vindictive little cow, but she wasn't an idiot. Marilyn had heard her complaining to a friend one day a few rows behind her in Muggle Studies, bemoaning his decision to shoot the messenger and put distance between the two of them. The fact that she'd once again been cast off from the prime spot beside him, replaced cruelly by Crabbe, was evidence of that.

"He's embarrassed," her pal had replied "That's why he's acting weird. Boys do the strangest things when their egos are bruised. Just give him time, he'll go back to normal."

Pansy's responding sigh signified that she wasn't so sure - of the solution her friend posed, or of her psychological insight into the teenage male psyche, it was difficult to say. The important thing was, though, that she didn't suspect the truth. How could she? Marilyn knew the truth, she was one half of the equation involved in the truth, and she still struggled to understand it most days. In fact, most of her level of understanding was gained when she accepted the fact that she did not understand it. Maybe she never even would.

Headaches and Pansy aside, there were other problems. They didn't have nearly as much free time with school starting up again - and while Marilyn's dancing was not nearly so time and energy consuming anymore (there would be a farewell performance, it was deemed, but in the name of fairness she would be at the back with no flashy moves, and so dancing was more or less going through the motions now), when time was not an issue, privacy absolutely was. Not only did they have the whole of Hogwarts to contend with - students and staff - but they also had the combined forces of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang seventh years, too. The risk of being caught was only exciting when they remained uncaught, and the longer this went on, the less likely that seemed.

The last call had been their closest yet, springing apart and feigning a heated argument when - by sheer dumb luck - the fifth year boys who had just rounded the corner happened to cough before they did so, saving themselves from an eyeful they didn't know they were about to get. The whole time, Marilyn prayed that her lips were not swollen, and that her state of disarray could be put down to anger.

It was that which had prompted their little break. Just to regroup, have a period of time where they knew for a fact they would not be seen together, and to focus on other things. Of course, it was therefore sod's law that said break meant that Draco was all she could damn well think about. It was a challenge not to miss him last time, and she'd hated him then. Or at least she'd tried to hate him. Now? Now it was impossible - and that was pathetic.

Suddenly she found her mind filled with inane, pitiful worries that would crop up as she readied her school bag for the day ahead, bathed after a particularly strenuous practise, or tried to fall asleep with her schoolmates in the Beauxbatons carriage. What if this was the end of things? It would probably be easier if they made this little adjustment period a permanent thing - for everybody involved. And given that they'd barely so much as made eye contact in that time, it would be a way of doing it without dragging out any awkward goodbyes or having an argument instigate it. A way of cutting ties before they were fully, well, tied. Minimum mess, minimum bad decisions. He could return to Pansy - he'd surely realise, given time, that she was a more convenient option. A more natural option, given their shared beliefs. And how could she forget those beliefs? What, was she stupid enough to think that she could change a lifetime of hate by batting her eyelashes at him?

The thought - the question - that plagued her the absolute most, though, was a simple one. Was he thinking about her half as much as she was him?

Probably. It wasn't even an arrogant conclusion, just a logical one. She was a Muggleborn - and with any other of her kind, Draco wouldn't piss on them if they were on fire. She must've really wormed her way under his skin if he was associating with her at all. That sort of thing wasn't forgotten in two measly weeks.

"What's got you smirking like that, then?"

The unfortunate aspect of sharing a study period with George was how little attention he liked paying to his homework, and how much attention he liked to pay to winding her up. She couldn't even escape with the excuse of sitting with her own schoolmates, either, for on these study periods house-specific tables were unheeded and all the students gathered were herded onto the two central-most tables in the Great Hall so that the teachers might patrol more effectively to make sure everybody was on-task and not slacking.

"How incredibly charming and good looking you are," she answered his question without so much as glancing his way.

As she did so, she made an effort not to drop the smirk too quickly. That would only look suspicious.

"Liar."

"Excuse me?"

"That would be worth a full blown smile at least - you were smirking, so you were thinking about somebody infinitely less charming and good looking than me."

"All right, I was thinking about Fred."

"Just because I find myself obligated to pretend I give a fig about how the Order of Merlin was founded at the moment doesn't mean I can't hear you," Fred said flatly across the table, not once lifting his gaze from his essay.

"If you wanted to distract me from my prying by mocking my brother, Ron would've been a better bet," George confided.

"He's not here."

"So you could've been especially cruel, then."

He said that like she didn't know damn well if she had been, he wouldn't have found it funny at all. That was the way with siblings, wasn't it? George continued to regard her with narrowed eyes - but it was a comical, exaggerated sort of suspicion. That either meant that she was safe, or that he was lulling her into a false sense of security. Marilyn, however, was fairly certain it was the former. The real suspicion had surface sometime around New Year's, and the virtue of she and Draco enforcing a little firebreak meant that strange looks and odd comments had faded into curiosity, and into what they were now. Jokes.

"What is it you've got planned next, then?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"I didn't mean here."

"Where, then? The moon?"

"Yes, I thought you might've decided to go and find the rest of your people."

"That's Uranus," Fred opted for the low-hanging fruit he was presented with.

"Yeah, your mum was my neighbour," she volleyed with a classic.

"Oh, trust me, you don't want to be taking the name of Molly Weasley in vain. She can be cruel and unusual when she wants to be," George sighed with a great deal of mock-wistfulness.

"You speak as though from experience."

"You speak as though you've forgotten exactly who it is you're talking to," Fred pointed out.

And that was very fair.

"I meant in your plan to dominate the world one twirl at a time," George dragged the conversation back to the topic at hand.

"Oh. That. There is no plan. Not for the rest of the year, anyway. Rehearsal, staying on my game, playing at being a good team player, that's it."

"So what plan do you have?"

Maybe that suspicion wasn't entirely gone, then.

"Who says I have any plan?"

"That smirk."

"I told you, I'm going to seduce Fred."

"Tell me when the Order of Merlin was founded and disbanded and I'm all yours," Fred muttered "It's not in any of the recommended reading. Bloody useless. Where's Hermione when you need her?"

"Founded sometime in the Middle Ages, ended after Merlin died," Marilyn replied "It's not in the books because we don't have exact dates - if you point that out, there's no risk of it looking like you're not being vague on purpose to hide that you just don't actually know."

"Great, I'll see you in the broom cupboard by Gryffindor Tower at midnight."

"Romantic, I like it."

"If you like that, just wait 'til you see Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," he replied.

"Keep talking dirty to me like that and we won't even make it there."

Three things happened after that in quick succession. McGonagall, who Marilyn had not realised was in earshot, bit out a curt 'that's quite enough of that, thank you Miss Baxter, Mr Weasley', and Marilyn felt her cheeks blaze, muttering an apology as Fred offered his Head of House a cheeky grin. Only when the severe woman had swept down to the other end of the table did he shoot her a wink.

"Don't worry, darling, she's just jealous."

Any response she was about to formulate was lost when the sound of a book smacking shut a few places down reached her ears and a mop of platinum blond hair rose above the rest as Draco took up his book and his bag.

"She's not the only one," George commented lightly, making no effort to lower his voice.

"Mr Malfoy, you've another half hour left of this study period," McGonagall warned sharply.

"I'm going to the library. I'll have Pince sign a note," he didn't wait for McGonagall to agree.

Maybe he was thinking about her after all.

Draco was annoyed. And he was annoyed that he was annoyed. Then, rather headache-inducingly, being annoyed at himself for being annoyed served only to spark more annoyance. It was rather a vicious cycle. That annoyed him, too. But did she really have to go on like that? All…all joking and flirtatious with those two idiots? Yes, she'd alluded to having discovered that nothing of that nature lay between herself and Idiot One - an admission that brought him yet more annoyance the more he considered it thanks to the questions it brought up - but that did not mean she hadn't decided to test out that same hypothesis with Idiot Two.

Striding through the corridors, he went straight past the library and on towards the staircases instead. He'd never had any intention of going to the library - and if McGonagall asked, he'd say he'd shown his note to Snape. Snape would cover for him. He didn't even really know where he was heading, truth be told. There was no destination in mind, only a goal - avoid people. He'd reach a crossroads and choose the least populated corridor before continuing on, up and up until he was on the sixth or seventh floor, pacing around to try and expel some of his miffed energy, his mind replaying how that stupid lanky bastard had flirted. And how Baxter had flirted back.

It was a joke. It must have been a joke. It was clearly a joke. That was how she was - but that was how she was with him. It irked him, to put it incredibly lightly, to see her replicate her manner of being with others. Any others, really, but especially those two goofy-looking gits. It led to troubling questions - ones like whether that was just how she was with everybody. If the answer to that was yes, it meant that he was likely much more caught off-guard by this strange spark between them, whilst to her it was just normality. If the answer was no…it meant those two idiots were somewhat special to her. Neither answer left him particularly happy. The tapestry on the wall opposite seemed to mock him - Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls how to do ballet.

Either way, though, whichever answer was the right one to his question, his problem remained the same. This required separation had gone on long enough, and to end it they needed a place. A place where they could be comfortable - undisturbed. Where they wouldn't have to worry about everybody and their mother happening across them at any given moment. Where they could spend time together uninterrupted. A safe haven. But where? If there were any quiet spots in Hogwarts, they were already known to most students here because they were quiet. Such spots were commodities among teenagers. It was no use. It was-

He paused, something in his peripheral vision catching his eye. A door that had not been there before.

A/N: Who amongst us hasn't accidentally had a teacher overhear us say something wildly embarrassing?