A/N: Exciting news! I'm now in the stages of my second draft of my original novel. I'm aiming to have the first few chapters off to my lovely beta readers sometime in the next couple of months, and then I'll know if what I've been working on for years has been a big ol' waste of time or not. So, y'know, thoughts and prayers are appreciated because I am terrified.

When Marilyn was yanked by the arm into a dark corner of the courtyard on her way out of the castle after practise that night, she was already lashing out with her nails before she even knew who it was who'd grabbed her in the first place. Luckily for him, Draco caught her by the wrists before she could do much damage - and before she could snatch her wand from her pocket.

"Feeling feisty tonight, are we?"

"You're in a good mood," she narrowed her eyes at him as he smirked at her.

"You can tell that from all of the five words I've just said?" His eyebrows rose in questioning.

"Given that none of those five words were insults, yes."

The corners of his lips downturned as if to say 'fair enough', but then it was replaced by that same smirk again. It wasn't even a particularly nasty smirk, either, which was somehow more worrying.

"I have a surprise for you."

And that was when she went from worried to downright scared.

"For me?"

"Yes, Baxter, for you - or else I wouldn't exactly be telling you about it, would I? Wait here for five minutes, and then come to the seventh floor. The corridor that has the tapestry with the trolls doing ballet. D'you know it?"

She did - surprisingly. Mostly because an amusing number of Hogwarts students had it as their one ballet reference and thought it would be a great way of initiating conversation with her. Marilyn barely got out her responding nod before he was giving a lopsided smile that was just a tad too genuinely cheerful. It struck her for the millionth time then what a different person he looked like when he was cheerful like that. When he offered a smile not prompted by nastiness or delight at somebody else's misfortune. It was tragic. The world would've been his for the taking, given his looks and his intelligence and how genuinely charming he could be when he actually wanted to be so, if his values were just a little different.

Then again, she mused once the five minutes had gone by and it was time to start walking, she supposed in his view the world was indeed already his for the taking. It was just a world very different from hers. Maybe that was a good thing. In his view it likely was a very good thing…but Marilyn didn't envy it. It wasn't particularly enviable, after all. He could have whatever it was he wanted in life so long as what he ended up wanting dwelled within the firm perimetres of what his parents wanted him to have. What was befitting a good pure-blood son.

Marilyn's future had a lot more left up to chance, but at least she had a lot more choice in what that future was. Ah, the perks of being a child of neglect. Give her absentee parents over overbearing ones all day every day.

The corridor Draco had cited was empty when she reached it, but that was no surprise because there was nothing actually in it. Lessons were done for the day and it didn't seem to act as a go-between towards any of the common rooms, so there was little reason for people to pass through here now. Well, there was usually nothing in it. As Marilyn slowed to a stop beside Draco where he leaned against one of the walls, she blinked in surprise at the gigantic double doors on the wall opposite.

"Was…that always there?" she asked doubtfully.

With moving staircases, enchanted ceilings, and poltergeists it was difficult to tell what was the norm in Hogwarts, even by the Wizarding world's standards. She didn't want to ask just to be met with an eye-roll and a snarky "What, you haven't heard of the Tuesday room before? The one that's only accessible on Tuesday evenings? Better bring snacks, because if you're in there once it turns Wednesday you're absolutely fucked".

But Draco's shoulders squared and his chest puffed up as he responded "I discovered it."

"You discovered it?" she asked doubtfully "It's a room in a school, not an uncharted island."

It spoke volumes about the good cheer he was in that her doubt earned her little scorn other than an eyeroll. She wasn't going to get cocky by putting it down to where she stood in his graces instead of just the mood he happened to be in.

"Hogwarts is different," he shook his head "It's not just some old classroom that's fallen into disuse, it's…well. You'll see. Come on."

Maybe the way he glanced about to check for witnesses before he took her hand should've robbed the moment of its heart-flutter inducing, Disney-like feel, but she still had to fight a blush as his fingers intertwined with hers. She took solace in the fact, though, that he wasn't entirely immune either - a pink flush dusting high upon his cheeks as he pretended to be otherwise entirely unaware of the implications of the gesture.

The door opened surprisingly quietly and easily, given the sheer size and weight of the bloody thing. Once they slipped inside, she turned to shut the door behind them and only then did she take in the room - and once she did, she was absolutely lost for words. It was an impressive room, easily double the size of the classroom she and her fellow ballerinas had monopolised to practise in down in the dungeon, but while that room was dark and dank, this one was anything but.

For one, this one had windows. Big massive windows that spanned from the floor to the impressively high ceiling, flanked by deep emerald green curtains thick enough to block out any trace of light if pulled shut. The wall to the far left played host to a grand fireplace taller than either of them both in terms of height and lengthways - more impressive to Marilyn, though, was the giant curved sofa, the same shade of green as the curtains and easily well big and cosy enough for anybody to comfortably sleep on should they see fit.

"It's like our own little common room," she breathed a laugh "You're sure nobody knows about it?"

"I've been here four years, Baxter," he pointed out "Have you any idea of the utter scenes that play out over particularly good study spots in the library or out on the grounds? If this was the sort of place that was always just about, it would never be empty. It gets stranger, too, though."

She didn't see how it possibly could, but given that it was a good sort of strange she went along with it quite happily when he took the hand he still held and led her to the other side of the room. So distracted had she been by just how tempting the sofa and the fireplace looked that she'd barely even glanced towards the other side of the room. When she did, though, and her eyes registered exactly what she was seeing, this little room went from being a fun little curiosity to something else entirely.

The right hand side of the room was divided into two halves. The one closest to the window boasted a study spot - a wide desk easily big enough for four to sit at, and a supply of ink, parchment, candles, and books.

"The only books there are all on topics at least one of us is taking for our OWLs," he said "And if that wasn't enough to spark suspicion, there's…that."

The that which he was referring to was the section left thus far unexplored - not that there was a lot to explore, but that made it no less shocking to her. A practise space. The stone floor was covered in a section of wood much like the one Madame Garnier conjured for them to practise upon, with mirrors lining the wall of the corner that was not windowed. More than that, a barre was affixed to the mirrors, too, along with a free-standing one pressed into the corner. Both looked to be absolutely perfect for her height.

If Marilyn hadn't known better, she'd have accused him of doing all of this. But even if he'd taken it upon himself to pursue a future in one of those Muggle TV shows that flipped houses for people, there was no way he could've done all of this.

Finally letting go of her hand, Draco strode to the windows and peered out of them "After I first found this place, I went out onto the section of the grounds to try to spot these windows and they…they weren't here. It's not on any maps of the school that I can find in the library, either. For all intents and purposes, this room doesn't exist."

"How in the world did you find it?" she asked - almost afraid to sit down or touch anything lest it all suddenly vanish.

"It was more difficult the second time," he replied sourly "I had to recreate exactly what I'd done the first time, and that hadn't been deliberate. You need to pace back and forth a few times and…and think."

"Walking and thinking are the super strategies that keep this room hidden?"

"You've been here long enough that you shouldn't be surprised that the latter part isn't much of a given," came the dry response "It's not just any sort of thinking, though, it's specific, you have to think about…" he stopped abruptly, pursing his lips "Anyway, it'll do rather nicely for what we need, will it not?"

"What do you have to think about?"

"Something to do with what you need the room for, something like that, I don't know."

"So…you were pacing the corridor and thinking about me?" she asked, resting a hand gentle upon the smooth wood of the barre.

"No, I was thinking about Chloe, she seems less apt to ask inane questions," he scoffed.

"You're too young for Chloe."

"You're too young for the Weasleys."

"Ron's in our year."

"You know what I'm talking about."

Marilyn smiled - not even the sort of smile she usually gave when she was succeeding in needling him. Mostly because she was touched. Whatever he'd been thinking about in order to conjure this room had given him all this; a setting which was an eerily happy medium for the two of them. While he couldn't take sole responsibility for it, he'd still had a hand in it in some vague sense. It was difficult to be miffed at his thinly veiled accusations in the fact of that…especially when the gripes he was voicing were eerily similar to her own thus-far unfounded fears concerning one Pansy Parkinson. She was just a bit better at hiding her jealousy. Hopefully.

It was tempting to prod at him with a 'why do you care?' if only out of curiosity to see how he'd answer. But if one was to get a heartfelt confession from Draco Malfoy, it wouldn't be from antagonising him - and the fact that they now stood in this room together was sort of one in itself, wasn't it? She wouldn't throw it in his face.

"George is just a friend," she said finally.

"And the other one?"

"Fred?"

"It would have to be, wouldn't it, unless there's a third gormless clone."

"Fred is less of a friend than George, to tell the truth. I get the feeling he mostly tolerates me because George finds me funny."

She knew he was bothered when he didn't take the opportunity she'd just handed to him on a jewel-encrusted, snake-emblazoned platter to snort out a 'I can't imagine why'.

"You seemed to be getting on just fine down in the hall."

"Fred makes it easy," she shrugged honestly.

"And I?"

Only Draco Malfoy could make a request for reassurance sound like an interrogation - or a telling off from a teacher.

"And you…" she thought about it for a brief moment before snorting "You like to make it very difficult. That's a bit more fun."

He smirked then, pride lighting up his eyes, and she knew it was the right answer - because he lived to be bloody contrary. Difficult, indeed.

If the magic room that had presented itself to them in Hogwarts was supposed to be some sort of safe haven for them, it more than succeeded. Calling it the magic room seemed pretty stupid considering that it was in a magic castle - mostly Marilyn referred to it as their room in her head, but that was…that was a bit much. Wasn't it?

Well, whatever it was, it was a blessing. It was brand new territory for them, being able to spend time together without worrying about being caught for some reason or another. In the best possible case scenario, before the shit had really hit the fan, teenagers were still terrible gossips. Teachers, too, for that matter. Even hidden away in the forest, they were worried about being caught and subsequently flung into detention, but here there was none of that. The most nerve-wracking part was trying not to be seen entering the room itself, but even then the risk was drastically minimised…and just there enough to add a bit of excitement to her flurry of bad decision making.

It was almost embarrassing, really, how often she retreated to their room. And she could tell herself, even to herself, all day and all night that it was just a nice chance to get away. Chances at peace and solitude were few and far between at boarding school, and she'd been provided with one that was near enough always guaranteed. That, however, didn't explain the disappointment she felt on the times she slipped into the room only to not be met with the sight of bright blond hair and green robes. What mostly eased the sting of the voice in her head that liked to scream 'what are you doing, you daft cow?' during such instances was the happiness she always spotted on his face when she entered, or he walked in and found her sitting on the sofa. Oftentimes he quickly covered it up afterwards, but she wasn't so delusional as to imagine its presence completely.

They fell into a nice little routine. Marilyn would tell the ballerinas that she was off to hang out with the Gryffindors (while telling the Gryffindors the opposite), while Draco would tell his friends…well, he'd tell his friends to mind their own bloody business, from what she could gather, and then they'd steal away to the seventh floor. But they'd always stagger out their arrivals so as not to be suspicious, obviously.

Once inside, the outside world was left at the door and they got to just be. They studied, they talked, Marilyn practised - and felt guilty for the praise she was gaining from Madame Garnier all the while for having ceased spending every waking minute in the rehearsal room. When they left, it was with the utmost reluctance, and it was difficult not to resent the rest of the castle afterwards. Yet another way she was losing her bloody mind. The end of the school year was going to be a nasty shock, but if she kept going the way she was between now and then, it would probably be what was needed - going cold turkey. Plus, she'd have going home to contend with. That would be fun.

It was on one of her journeys up to the seventh floor on a grim, grey and rainy day that Marilyn was stopped halfway up one of the quieter staircases that led up to the fifth floor by a hand grasping at her upper arm. Whirling around, she wrenched her arm free while her other hand reached for her wand, but she stilled when she was met with the sight of Hermione, breathless with the newest edition of The Daily Prophet wedged beneath her arm.

"Jesus," Marilyn blinked, trying to shoo away the oncoming adrenaline rush "Sorry, you gave me a fright."

What was it with Hogwarts students and frightening the life out of her like this?

"I've been chasing you since the third floor," came Hermione's out-of-breath response "I did call, but you were miles away, apparently."

"I usually am at the minute," she replied, trying not to sound too guilty "Sorry. All the excitement, what with the second task being in a couple of weeks and all. Has Harry figured out the clue yet?"

"I…Yes, he has."

"Ah. Good, then. I don't know if Fleur has yet, we don't really speak much and she plays it all a bit close to the chest. Don't worry, I won't pry for details or anything, what with me being the enemy and all."

Her half-hearted attempt at a joke fell flat when Hermione frowned at her "Why would you say that?"

Marilyn returned the strange look - all right, it hadn't been her best joke, but it wasn't one that was particularly hard to work out. She illustrated her point by offering a pointed look down at her blue Beauxbatons robes.

"Oh - ha, yes, right," Hermione forced a laugh "I'm sorry, I…I don't know what I was thinking. I was only chasing after you because we were all going to meet in a bit by the lake to discuss plans for the upcoming Hogsmeade trip and George thought you might want to be included."

"I can't, sorry, but it's sound, I'm good with whatever, I'll just follow along with what it is you lot want to do," she shrugged.

"Do you mind if I ask what prior engagement you have that's so pressing?" Hermione's voice was sounding less forcibly jovial and more suspicious.

"Oh, erm, a meeting with Madame Garnier. To discuss my…legs."

"Your legs?"

"Yeah. They're sort of important for ballet, y'know? Best to keep a close eye on them."

"Right," Hermione didn't even pretend to believe her.

Marilyn didn't mind, though - she just needed her not to call her out on it. She was already turning back towards the stairs, and planning what roundabout route she might take if Hermione saw fit to trail her. The Gryffindor's plans, however, didn't seem to be quite that subtle.

"Because I thought you were off to see Malfoy again," she called after her.

Torn between playing dumb and hissing at her to keep her voice down, Marilyn instead settled for stopping still and then slowly turning, regarding the girl in worried silence. It was all the answer Hermione needed. If she'd even needed one at all.

"Every time you disappear, he's nowhere to be seen either. Every time."

Still, Marilyn said nothing. She didn't know what to say - she didn't know what to do. All she knew was the panic and the dread slowly welling up within her.

"Who…" she breathed and then coughed, restarting with a bit more strength to her voice "Who else knows?"

"Nobody. Well. Not of our lot - if they've noticed, they haven't commented on it, and that wouldn't be like them, would it?"

Nodding slowly, Marilyn hovered awkwardly but then sighed. It was clear this conversation wasn't nearly done, and so when Hermione jerked her chin for her to follow her before overtaking her on the stairs and leading the way to a tucked away corner of one of the hallways. Nestled between a pillar and a window, Marilyn folded her arms to stop herself from fiddling before speaking quietly.

"What are you going to do?"

"Do?" Hermione echoed "What could I do? It's your business, I'm not…I'm not here to threaten you - and if you thought I was, you've definitely been spending too much time with him, that much is certain."

"What, then?"

"I…I wanted to talk to you about it. To ask if you've lost your mind, if I'm being entirely honest. But mostly to talk."

Wise far beyond either of their years, Hermione was regarding her with a look that Marilyn had previously only seen on the faces of teachers. Not quite you're in so much trouble, but more you might be in trouble, but I know this isn't you so please tell me what's going on at home to make you act like this. Stern but sympathetic - there was a nuance to it. Although depending on her answer, she knew it could lean more one way than the other. The sympathy would vanish right quick if she was to hit back with something along the lines of "Hermione, have you seen his hair?".

"I don't know what to say," Marilyn admitted.

"Explain it. It doesn't make any sense - he humiliated you in front of the entire school, and then suddenly it's back like nothing happened? I don't understand it. How can you even stomach being in the same building as him, never mind…"

"He sent me that broom," she said - as if it explained it all.

"I've pieced that much together," Hermione replied "That's nothing - that's Malfoy throwing money at a problem, as usual."

Well, if that was supposed to have been her trump card she'd have been absolutely scuppered.

"By that reasoning, he viewed where we stood with each other as a problem," she pointed out softly.

"Yes, what could possibly motivate Malfoy to want to be back in the good graces of the pretty Beauxbatons ballerina?" Hermione rolled her eyes "He's playing with you, Marilyn. This is what he does with people."

"He doesn't view us as people - Muggle-borns. We're to be sneered at, not played with. Not talked with. Not…"

Not kissed.

"And this is all meant to be an argument in his favour, is this?" Hermione stared at her like she'd gone mad.

And that was probably a very fair assessment.

"I didn't mean- you're not getting it."

"Then help me get it, Marilyn."

"Ordinarily. Ordinarily he thinks all of that. But not now. Not…" not with me, but she wasn't daft enough to voice that either "I'm making him see things differently. I'm making him doubt. He is, I know he must be. He's really different behind closed doors, you know. He's not the same person. He's a prick at times, yes, I'm not blind to that, but he's not all bad."

"And if that's the best thing you can say about a person, what does that suggest about them?"

"You don't know him like I do," she murmured, and hated how daft and cliche it sounded all the while.

Hermione didn't seem convinced at all - and she could hardly be blamed for it - but that was when the sympathy did win out, her dark eyes filling with sadness as she regarded her, even if that sadness was highly exasperated.

"You know what you sound like, don't you? Like any woman who's had to justify staying with somebody who treats her badly for his own amusement."

"It's not like that."

"Yes," Hermione said dully "Well. Here's what he's like in front of closed doors. I won't tell anybody what I know, not now, but somebody will find out sooner or later - and that's if he's not playing some new game. You should remember the other side of him."

It was then that she finally pulled out the copy of The Daily Prophet she'd had tucked beneath her arm for the duration of their conversation, already opened to an article by Rita Skeeter, the headline of which read "Dumbledore's Giant Mistake". Marilyn accepted it wordlessly.

"I'll see you later," Hermione sighed and then took her leave.

The farewell was likely meant to act as reassurance that she hadn't fallen out with her, but it was overshadowed by just how heavy the newspaper in her hand felt.