The night before the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament, the Gryffindors snuck Marilyn into their common room up in the tower - bundling her up in red and black robes and huddling her amongst a gaggle of genuine Gryffindors so that the portrait of the Fat Lady wouldn't spot her and refuse entry. And then the party to cheer Harry on began. The Gryffindors had really gone all out - maybe to counteract the scorn that he'd faced from the other Hogwarts Houses, the other schools and the press all in one - with streamers, banners, and a mountain of (non-alcoholic) drinks and snacks. A Wizarding stereo blared The Weird Sisters, and the mood was overall one of over-the-top revelry. It wasn't surprising - not just because of that fabled Gryffindor loyalty, but because Harry stood a very real chance of winning this thing.

Funnily enough, though, Harry appeared to be the one who was least certain of that fact. Sure, he laughed and smiled and joined in with all of the fun as much as everybody else, but those laughs, smiles, and cheer all had just a slightly twitchy quality to them. And she couldn't blame him. It was easy for all of them to sit about and announce that he'd win when they weren't the ones walking into that maze tomorrow night. The tournament had started with dragons right out of the gate - what the hell would they see fit to end it with?

With things all rosy between herself and Hermione again, there wasn't a hint of an awkward atmosphere in sight, Marilyn was free to enjoy the night and make the most of it. There wouldn't be many more here - and she would miss it. While Beauxbatons would always take priority because it allowed her to dance, there was just something about Hogwarts. Beauxbatons felt more like home than her "real" home did, but hell did Hogwarts put up some strong competition.

George found her while she was mulling over that point, taking in the phenomenal view that the tower's windows offered.

"Saying your goodbyes?" he asked.

"Starting to," she admitted "We still have a bit of time yet. And the end of term performance us ballet girls have been putting together. But…it's all going to happen really quickly, isn't it?"

"Mm," he agreed "Like you said, though, there's still time. Days yet before we need to say our goodbyes - although, word of warning, I will be taking it personally if you don't cry."

"Do tears of joy count?"

"I'll think on that one and get back to you. And anyway, I'll see you over summer."

Yes he would. They hadn't dotted all of the 'i's and crossed all of the 't's yet, but she had his address so that she could write to him - it was written on a scrap of paper, in his handwriting, nestled right next to Draco's in her yearly planner, wrapped up in a scarf and tucked away neatly at the bottom of her trunk. They'd work out the specifics when the time came and he could confer with his parents properly on the matter, but she was already looking forward to it.

"So," George continued, leaning against the wall and watching her carefully "Have you and Malfoy said your goodbyes yet?"

Any chance she might've had at playing it cool was out of the window when she immediately choked on her butterbeer, a good deal of it going down the wrong way and some up her nose. In hindsight she'd regard that as a good thing - not even having the opportunity to lie to him - because he'd only take it as a betrayal if she did. George was the kind who could appreciate a bit of subterfuge and sneaking, but not outright lies.

As she coughed and spluttered, George clapped her on the back a few times. Unless it was his attempt at murder, it seemed he didn't hate her.

"Forgot how to drink, silly sod," he supplied in the way of explanation to a bystander "Don't often see that trait in a northerner."

Ducking her head, Marilyn grabbed him by the wrist and led him to the only vaguely quiet corner of the common room - the stairwell that led up to the boys' dormitories.

"Who told you?" she asked.

There was only one real candidate - only one person who knew, or who she knew knew anyway - but she'd long learned the lesson of what unfounded accusations could do to her friendship with Hermione. She wasn't about to be a raging hypocrite by making some of her own now that they were good again.

"Who else knows?" George frowned.

Not Hermione, then. She hadn't thought so, but she knew that Draco would never tell in general, and even if he was horribly concussed and did so anyway, it would not be George Weasley that he blabbed to, so that only left one other person.

"Just me, and Dr- er, him. Obviously. And…Hermione worked it out. A while ago. I swore her to secrecy."

George snorted, shaking his head "Of course Granger was all over it. Was that what you fell out over, then?"

"No. Sort of. Not really. It wasn't that simple - the stories in the press, the ones Pansy was going on about, she thought maybe I was the source of the leak. That I'd blabbed to Draco, and he'd ran with it."

"Did you?"

All things considered, she couldn't really get annoyed at the question.

"No! Of course not," she shook her head.

"All right, then," George nodded, accepting her response immediately.

It only made her feel all the more guilty.

"How did you know, then?" she asked, hugging her arms about herself.

"I worked it out - I'm not as daft as I pretend to be, you know," he scoffed "A lot of the time when one of you disappears so does the other, and I would've waved that off as a coincidence were it not for the fact that he leaves you alone. He'd never do that if he really hated you. You should've staged…oh, I don't know, a duel to the death or something if you wanted it to be really believable."

"A staged duel to the death?"

"Mm. I like to imagine it would've gone horribly wrong and he'd have ended up kicking it for real."

"Sending me to Azkaban. Nice."

"Better than snogging Malfoy."

"You speak as though from experience."

"Is that jealousy in your eyes?" he wriggled his eyebrows.

"It's guilt," she admitted with a grimace.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? Isn't it obvious?"

"Well it's not like there's anything between us - not of that sort, anyway. We tried, remember? We appear to be impervious to each other's charms."

"Tragic, that."

"Yes, I thought so too, until it came to light that you've just got diabolically awful taste. Now I'm almost flattered that I don't strike your fancy - I'd be forced to take a good look at myself if I did. My face isn't rodent-y enough, I think."

"So you're not angry at me?"

"You don't get angry at people who are sick, Marilyn, you just sort of pity them."

She wasn't sure she liked that, either. But pity would have to be better than hatred.

"This…isn't how I imagined this conversation going," she admitted.

The darkness of the stairwell made it difficult to make out his expression properly, but every so often his hair would fall away from his face as he shook his head or tilted it a certain way and she could make out his features. Anger and disdain were never there. Exasperation, sure. But not fury.

"Oh? What'd you picture?"

"Wands at dawn. A fair deal of insults being chucked about. The end of a friendship, y'know?"

"Nah. Malfoy's punishment enough in himself. You are wrong about him, you know? You're not a total idiot. A masochist, maybe, the ballet gives that away, but not an idiot. He must be different behind closed doors with you. Not that I want to think about said closed doors, because it makes me want to vomit, but that's just common sense, isn't it? I highly doubt you two meet up so he can sit and call you a dirty little mudblood between snogging sessions."

"No. He doesn't."

"Yeah, he saves that for when you're in public," George shrugged.

"I…" she winced and then sighed "Yeah. I can't argue with that."

"And that's not a red flag to you, is it not?"

"Of course it is, but it's…it's complicated."

"Then explain it to me."

"Why?"

"Because I want to understand!" he said as though it were obvious.

"Do you?" she asked doubtfully.

"Merlin help me, but yes. I'm afraid so."

Now that surprised her. This whole conversation came as a shock, really, but that in particular threatened to send her staggering to the nearby steps so she could sit down and collect herself.

"He's…he's not happy, George."

"Good," he said bluntly, and then threw his hands up in mock-surrender at her warning look, mimicking locking his lips shut before waiting for her to continue.

"All right, he likes the fuss and the luxury and the general superiority that comes with who he is and who his family are, but he's not really happy. Not when it comes right down to it. People who treat others that way never really are, are they? And he's not. He seems…lost, even, at times. It's sad. He's wasted on his lot, or he would be if he could just open his eyes…"

"And you're the one to open them, are you?" George's frown said it all in regards to how he felt about that.

"No," she scoffed as a knee-jerk reaction, and then faltered "...Maybe. I don't…well I'm certainly not clamping them shut. I'm not converting him here, but maybe I'm planting a seed. Something."

"That's what this is? Some covert mission for the greater good?"

"Of course not, I'm not that clever, I've more than proven that this year," she snorted "I wish I was that calculated, but I'm not. This is just…what I tell myself. How I square myself with it. We get along. I enjoy being around him when he's not being an insufferable little prat. Even sometimes when he is. I don't know why, I can't explain it, we just…mesh."

"Until it ends terribly badly."

"Until it ends terribly badly," she agreed with a sigh.

She kept going to start nervously fiddling - with the hems of her borrowed robes' sleeves, with the strands of her hair that were strewn about her shoulders, with her wand where it lay in her pocket. Every time she almost started, she stopped herself, and only succeeded in doing so thanks to the constant awareness of her body that dancing had gifted her with. The effect probably wasn't great. She probably looked like some fidgety little crackpot.

"I won't insult you by asking if you talk about any of us with him," he said.

"We don't."

"I really wasn't asking, Marilyn," he said.

"I'm telling you anyway. The only time any of you are brought up is if I'm saying nice things, or telling him to stop after he makes a nasty comment."

"He doesn't listen."

"I think half the time he can't help himself."

"Of course he can, he just chooses not to. There are people born pureblood who turn their backs on that hateful shit every day. He chooses not to."

"All of his friends and family are them. What is he supposed to do? Move out at fourteen? Cut them off and strike out on his own?" she had a very vague taste of what that would be like, and she wouldn't wish it on anybody "He's…he's torn. He's on the path to realising. I can tell. I'm sure of it."

As she spoke, any judgement, any derision, any humour slowly began to drain from George's face and he instead stood there, regarding her with a very sad frown.

"What?" she prompted quietly.

"You're going to be heartbroken when you see how wrong you are, you know."

She breathed a laugh - one that came from shock more than humour. That was the last thing she'd expected him to say.

"Yeah, well, I won't expect you to be my shoulder to cry on. I've been well warned, haven't I?"

"You have been. And I still will. I'll be annoyed, but I'll give it a good week before I let loose my first I told you so."

"I'll understand that it's implied from the get-go, if that'll help the temptation?"

The smile he gave in response to that was more than slightly begrudging.

"I s'pose we'll find out."

Her conversation with George stayed with her for longer than she'd have liked. Marilyn mulled over it when she snuck back to the Beauxbatons carriage, it kept her awake for half of the night, and it returned to her mind by the time she walked towards the steps that led up into the castle for breakfast. Ironclad proof that he had a point if there ever was one.

Funny, then, how quickly that point vanished when she caught the sound of somebody hissing her name.

"Baxter! Psst! Baxter!"

Whipping her head around, she blinked in surprise to find Draco's head poking out from behind the great stone pillars that had shrouded them from sight on the night of the Yule Ball. Once she met his eye, he motioned with a jerk of his head for her to come over, and then disappeared from view. She couldn't help but snicker at the whole display. From one who made such a big deal about being all posh and snooty, he really was a right silly sod at times.

Glancing around to make sure nobody had noticed - and then making a big show of kneeling down to fiddle with her shoelaces when a couple of students walked by - she waited until they were quite gone before she hurried over.

"What do you- mmf," he cut off her question with a kiss.

Marilyn sighed into it, her arms coming up to hook around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His own hands went to her hips, keeping her close when he finally pulled back until one lifted to tug at a loose wavy golden strand of her hair.

"You look very pretty today," he murmured.

She breathed a laugh "It comes naturally to me. Is that what brought this on?"

"Mm. Not really. I was going to suggest we meet up tonight. Make the most of this last week."

"It's the third task tonight," she pointed out.

"After the third task. Obviously. Come now, Baxter, don't be so distracted."

She might not have been, were it not for how he all but purred the words into her ear. Apparently he was in a very good mood.

"I don't know, I'll be expected to be there if Harry wins. To celebrate."

"He won't. And even if he does and pigs fly overhead, you'll just be fashionably late. It's fine."

"All right," she relented with a snort "Fine. An hour at most."

"I knew I'd talk you around," he smirked down at her.

Marilyn rolled her eyes - mostly because he seemed to have mistaken her griping for a true argument. Were she feeling really stubborn, he never would have won. He should've known that by now. Rather than voice all of that, though, she settled for giving him one last peck on the lips - and another on the cheek, to serve as a distraction so she could reach up and comb her fingers through his hair. In part because she knew fixing it would annoy him, but mostly because it was just much too tempting a prospect.

"Handsome bastard," she grumbled up at him - and then pulled away, striding towards the castle before their little flirtation with tempting fate could really backfire.

She could feel his eyes burning into her back, fighting off a smug smirk at that fact. Hopefully his good mood wouldn't go down in flames when Harry won.

A/N: This was originally going to be combined with the next chapter, but Marilyn's conversation with George grew to be way longer than I expected. I could spend entire dissertations arguing back and forth on Draco's faults and virtues, I do hope it didn't grow boring here. I just felt like there was no way she could discuss it with George without hashing it all out. Plus…we need this conversation for when the next chapter comes B)

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