A/N: Remember when I said that my moving wouldn't negatively impact update speed, and then I vanished for a whole month? Good times. Joking aside, I'm sorry! I'm doubly sorry for having left it where I did. The good news is that I'm back, I'm settled in my new city, and I just made the decision to expand my 'Marilyn is a witch' AU of this little series from the short-term thing it was originally meant to be into a full blown fic, so if that strikes your fancy please do go and check out Half the World Away! Always Oasis songs with me and this fandom.

Marilyn's moment of pride that she'd done the good and right thing by informing Draco's mother of his accident lasted just about as long as it took for her to notice the sound of a cane tapping insistently against the hardwood flooring of the hospital not ten full minutes later. She knew that sound - she'd know it anywhere. It haunted her fucking nightmares the same way those of others might feature a phone call saying they'd die in seven days.

Inhaling slowly, she rose stiffly to her feet and drew herself up to full height. At least, she reasoned to herself, the cane always gave Lucius' presence away - it was the closest they'd ever get to putting a bell on the fucker so he could never catch them unawares. He rounded the corner barely a half step behind his wife who tore down the corridor like she was being chased by - well, by the very crackpot she used to worship, her white-blonde hair in disarray about her as she swept towards her.

"Marilyn," she breathed, apparently forgetting that she despised her just for now, clasping one of her forearms in both delicate hands once she was close enough "Where is he?"

"That room there," Marilyn nodded towards it "But they won't let me in. They won't let anybody in. Not until they learn what happened."

She'd barely finished responding before Lucius was scoffing, his features twisting into a scowl as if she'd just told him that she hadn't yet seen Draco because she didn't know how to work a doorknob. Turning on the heel of his immaculately polished shoes, he strode towards the nurse who stood guard in the doorway and promptly had the what was more or less the exact same discussion Marilyn had just had with her. Although he was even less nice than she'd been.

Narcissa watched the exchange with drawn features. To her credit, though, she seemed to reach the conclusion that her husband's efforts would prove fruitless long before he was willing to admit the same, turning back to her.

"Why are they having trouble finding out what happened? Is he unconscious? Aren't there any witnesses?"

"By the sounds of it he's lucid and can explain just fine, it's that he won't. He was…he was working. He doesn't trust anybody but his own private doctors - mediwizards, whatever, I don't care - they're the only ones he'll tell the truth to, the only ones he'll let heal him. They're all under those vows - indestructible vows, something."

"Unbreakable Vows," Narcissa corrected, but not half so condescendingly as Marilyn would have expected.

Marilyn's eyes flickered towards Lucius, anticipating mockery there if it was not to be found with his wife, but instead he appeared thoughtful - even if only begrudgingly so. Apparently he approved of the measures taken by his son. Outrage welled within her and for a second she wanted nothing more than to begin shrieking that Draco wouldn't have taken such measures in the first place if not beholden to his end of the deal he had with them. Her safety for his secrecy. But it would fix nothing, and for all she knew they were probably deluded and hateful enough to blame her for that, too. If she didn't have the audacity to exist, Draco wouldn't need to keep his work secret to keep her safe.

It was her anger talking. Her anger, her fear, and her panic. She couldn't start lashing out - the last thing he needed was to her to fly off the handle and start a brawl with his parents out in the hallway. If she was being totally honest, he'd be just as secretive even if there was no deal with them. One of the things he loathed most was how everybody and their mother tried to poke their noses into their business - he cursed the name of Talulla Foxx a minimum of twice a month as it was - and so having people know the truth would be a worst case scenario for him. And Marilyn was inclined to agree. Of course, usually the secrecy kept them safe. Now it was biting them in the arse and doing the opposite.

"What sort of foolish idea was it to only have one Mediwizard available should this happen? It's tempting fate," Lucius sneered.

"Forgive me, Mr Malfoy, but if you'd listened to me properly you'd have heard that I said doctors, plural. He has a few. None of them are damn well answering."

Whatever response Lucius had in store to that was silenced when Narcissa placed a warning hand on top of his where he clutched at his snakehead cane.

"How long has it been?" Narcissa asked.

Marilyn glanced at her phone "Twenty-six minutes since I arrived. Longer than that, though, considering I don't know exactly when he arrived."

"You're timing it?" Lucius asked in disbelief.

"Yeah - so I can tell his sodding doctors exactly how sacked they are," she replied flatly, and then added as an afterthought "After they've treated him, of course."

It was only then that she noticed her hands had begun to tremble again, and she wedged them under her arms as she hugged herself tightly, adding at a grumble to distract them from the motion "For the amount we pay them, they should have been here before this fucking happened."

Maybe her language wasn't particularly classy, but she didn't give a shit.

"The children?" Narcissa asked her next question.

As she did, Lucius glanced about as if expecting to find them hiding under the furniture waiting for a chance to pounce. Maybe that was what he expected of half-blood children.

"At home - with their nanny, who is highly trained in combat magic, and a whole team of security, just in case."

Was that disappointment she detected on their grandfather's face? It was difficult to say. Draco had mentioned that his mother had made a few innocent passing comments that she was sure Lucius would like to meet his grandchildren - the only grandchildren he would ever have, no less. Of course, he was always conveniently otherwise engaged whenever Draco brought them over to see their grandmother, and none of them even pretended there was any chance that Lucius might visit them one day.

It would be a rather neat little solution for him, wouldn't it? To meet them in a way that was entirely accidental and required little to no effort from him other than to just stand there, being all imperious and superior. Caelum would be scared of him, she wagered. But Evelyn? Evie feared absolutely nothing. Much to Marilyn and Draco's mingled delight and horror, depending on the circumstances. Mostly it was a blessing, though - especially given her fame-slash-infamy as the first ever half-blooded Malfoy. Were they ever to meet, it would be very interesting where Lucius was concerned.

"It wasn't deliberate, then?" Narcissa pressed.

"If it was, they did a very good job of making it not look like it. But like I said, we've doubled security with the kids on the off-chance."

"And you? I could be a trap. Injure Draco, draw you here."

She'd love that, wouldn't she?

"My children aren't here," she shrugged "And I'm not leaving."

Not least because she was going to tear the bloody head from the shoulders of whatever doctor got here first. The one who showed up last would lose other parts. Maybe the Malfoy name really was taking hold of her. If she was expecting Narcissa to try to press the matter - to try and get rid of her (it was sort of the senior Malfoy's thing, after all) - she was surprised when the woman instead seemed if not pleased then at least somewhat mollified. Then she asked another question.

"You came from work?"

No, I wear pointe shoes every day for fun. Marilyn stifled her annoyance further - and she didn't even begrudge it. Were it her, she'd have asked five hundred questions one right after the other without even pausing for breath the instant she'd arrived - she'd have screeched them down the corridor and expected answers before she'd even paused for breath.

"What? Oh, uh, yeah."

"You're not expected back, then?"

"I gave the role to the understudy."

"The whole role? Is that how it works?"

"For however long I'm here, I don't care. I'm not about to start haggling over stage hours, I really don't care. Look, does anybody want a coffee or something?"

Anything to get away from this bloody interrogation. She didn't mind when the questions were to do with Draco and his well being, or even the children, but how many performances she may or may not miss because of this really was the furthest thing from importance. It wasn't like Draco would be here worrying about who would oversee production or shipments while she was the one suffering in a hospital bed. Hell, he made it a point of pride not to oversee the mundane bits anymore, such was his success. He was personally involved in just enough to make sure everything was done right, but he wasn't a control freak over it.

"Whisky," Narcissa said.

Marilyn blinked in surprise and was just about to awkwardly point out that she doubted the hospital had a fully stocked bar, but her astonishment was put to an end when a crack sounded and a house-elf appeared, dressed in rags.

"Yes, mistress?" It squeaked out.

Oh, Christ. What were the others called? Brandy, Sherry, and Alcopop?

"Go and fetch tea for Mr Malfoy and I. And for…Marilyn?" Narcissa asked.

It was one of the very few times Marilyn had seen the woman appear awkward, and she knew it to be because she was debating whether or not referring to her as Marilyn or Mrs Malfoy would be more proper-slash-backhanded. A big part of the problem was likely wondering which one of those two she wanted to be.

"Coffee. Black coffee, no sugar."

Narcissa raised one pale eyebrow as if to question the wisdom in that, but said nothing. Thank Christ.

"When you've done that, go to Draco's home, fetch shoes and a proper change of clothes for Marilyn. One of their elves will assist you."

"We don't have elves."

Lucius scoffed, and Narcissa's lips pursed "The nanny, then."

"I don't nee- all right. Fine. Yeah. Thank you," she wasn't sure whether she was thanking Narcissa or the house-elf.

It disappeared with another crack, and then Narcissa directed a worried glance towards the door of Draco's hospital room before she turned to her once again.

"He mentioned to me that you wouldn't have them in the house."

"I won't."

"They would make a significant difference."

"We don't need them."

"I thought he would have convinced you otherwise by now."

"How easily can your husband convince you to change your mind on a matter you're decided on?"

Lucius sneered, his lip curling as he prepared to spew venom her way, but then Narcissa surprised the most of them by smirking - just slightly, but it was still there. Catching the look, Lucius only seemed doubly outraged by it, but whatever response he was about to give was cut off when an older, portly man barrelled down the corridor. One of Draco's doctors - the back-up, but not the back-up to the back-up. Mullet, that was his name. She'd found it hysterical when Draco told her.

"Mrs Malfoy," he breathed to Marilyn when he reached her "I'm so sorry, I was-"

He glanced in the direction of the senior Malfoys (the ruling Malfoys, in their minds) and then did a double-take, going a deathly shade of white.

"I-I wasn't aware that-"

"I don't care," Marilyn cut in the second she could find the words "Whatever it is, I don't give a shit. Stop speaking to me, get in there, and help him. We've waited long enough. We'll discuss everything afterwards."

No sane human ever needed much of an excuse to flee a displeased Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and Mullet might've had a dumb name but apparently that didn't extend to his survival instincts. He bowed his head and ducked into the hospital room, the nurse recognising him and offering no argument. That was good, because at this point Marilyn would have rugby tackled her to get her to move and let the man in. It was only when the door slammed shut behind him and she didn't manage to catch so much as a glimpse of Draco as the doctor ducked inside that she realised she was about to begin another round of unbearable waiting.

The wallpaper on the wall opposite to the one on which she leaned didn't line up properly. It was all dark wood panelling on the lower half, and then sickly pink and cream striped wallpaper for the upper half - it reminded her of those old drumstick lollies that teachers used to pass around as a reward when she was a child. It was terrible, it was in need of replacing, and it didn't line up properly when two different sections of the wallpaper met. This meant that instead of one of the stripes being a few inches thick, it was only a centimetre or two so. By the time they'd been waiting for almost an hour, she was resisting the urge to tear it from the wall entirely. The Malfoys would love that.

There were other things, too. One of the candles affixed to the wall was burning down unevenly, one side sloping down and dripping wax at a much quicker rate than the other. It must've been a magic candle, though, because as the wax dripped down it simply vanished instead of splashing down onto the wooden floorboards. Speaking of the wooden floorboards, there was one that emitted a high pitched creaking noise every time somebody stepped on it, and she knew that once she was done with the wallpaper, that particular board would be next. There was also a nurse at the desk at the end of the corridor who had the most annoying laugh known to man, so maybe her vocal chords could be third on her list. Now Lucius really would love that.

Whisky had returned toting the drinks and some warmer clothes. Marilyn pulled them on atop what she was already wearing, hoping to work some feeling back into her limbs through all of the layers, and then used a pocket knife from her ballet bag to cut the ribbons from her shoes because she couldn't face the idea of sitting and unpuzzling the knot. She never wanted to wear these ones again anyway. Her coffee hadn't cooled at all by the time she'd shoved her feet into the trainers provided, but she gulped it down anyway and made peace with the fact that she wouldn't be able to taste anything for the next week thanks to her impatience. It was difficult to picture the idea of ever having an appetite again, anyway.

It was a miracle that she had any sanity left at all when the doorknob turned and then clicked before the door began to open. She'd spent so long watching the stupid thing, and so many times braced herself, certain that it was turning only for it to be a trick of the candelight against the finely polished brass, that when the the doctor finally stepped out she was barely willing to believe her eyes. He looked tired, dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief when he regarded the three of them warily.

"He wishes to speak with you, Mrs Malfoy."

She and Narcissa both shifted at once, and the man winced "Er the youn-, oh, um, his wife. He wishes to speak with his wife. It's quite safe, don't wor-"

Marilyn was already pushing past him as he spoke, only vaguely aware of Lucius stepping into the path of the doctor before he could try to make a getaway while they were distracted, his cane slipping out to the side seamlessly so he couldn't side-step him.

The room wasn't particularly well-lit - the sun was setting outside and the blinds had been pulled down, leaving everything slghtly grey-tinged and dim. More worryingly was the smell. It wasn't exactly strong, but it was definitely noticeable, faintly like burning. It reminded her of the horrifying amounts of time she'd spent frying her hair with straighteners as a teenager.

"It looks worse than it is," Draco spoke.

He sounded…he sounded like Draco. Plain and simple. The same sort of voice he'd use when they spoke into the darkness late at night up until one of them drifted off to sleep first. Though the words were supposed to be reassuring, they didn't exactly have that effect solely because it was Draco who was saying them. He wasn't the soft and cuddly type, not often, and she loved him for it. If all was genuinely well, he'd be cracking a joke - or berating the doctor. Something.

Marilyn felt torn. She wanted to cry and hold him and ask if he was okay, and she wanted to scream at him that he was an idiot and that he should have just told the healers exactly what had happened and they could bullshit their way out of it later. She settled for swiftly approaching, staring at him and trying to take in his injuries - which was more difficult than it sounded because her brain was struggling to process anything at all, static threatening to fill her ears much in the same way it had when she'd first heard of his accident earlier that day.

Her first thought was that it wasn't as bad as she'd expected. Of course, nothing could have been as bad as what she'd spent all that time in the hallway imagining. Lost limbs, missing noses, flesh melted down to bone, something. Apparently sensing her need to have a moment to comprehend it all, or perhaps just fearing her reaction, he waited patiently, lying back in the bed as he directed his gaze up to the ceiling. She realised it was the latter when she took in how his jaw was clenched and he barely seemed to blink.

Burns. They were burns - bad burns, all over him in bright red angry splotches, the skin shiny and tight, blackened at the edges like when paper was singed at the corners. Some were on his face - a particularly big and nasty one had divested him of his right eyebrow, scarcely missing his eye and taking his hairline at his temple back an inch or two. It had gotten the top of his ear, too, and travelled down the side of his neck. Others coated his arms, but if there were more she could not see them.

"Oh, Draco," she breathed.

"They'll all heal without a trace, I made sure to ask," he grumbled "But it'll take a while. They have to heal them before they vanish them, and that's been quite the process. Happily, we all know how much you like the Phantom of the Opera, so at least I can provide that particular fantasy for you for the time being."

"Just don't ask me to sing for you."

"I'd be more likely to beg you to stop, darling."

There was her husband. Giving a laugh that sounded distinctly forced - and somewhat watery - she slowly sat down at the edge of his bed. He winced just slightly, but when she went to stand again he latched onto her hand. Checking to make sure his hand had escaped unscathed (it had), she squeezed it, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles.

"What the hell happened, Draco?"

"I was working on a new formula - for the batteries. If I can offer double the charge, I can charge double the price. That means stronger, more condensed formulas. My prototype…ruptured."

"Ruptured?"

"All over me," he replied sourly "And it had the distinctly charming quality of sticking while it burned, meaning that it continued to burn after it stuck. That was what took so bloody long - that fool had to remove it all bit by bit and then treat the burns beneath. It wasn't what I would consider a particularly good time."

Pressing her lips together, she swallowed against the lump that threatened to form in her throat. And then she lifted his hand to her chin when her lips began to tremble despite the thin line she was pressing them into. That was…that was torture. Literal torture. She'd seen her share of prison shows thanks to her true crime documentaries that he disapproved so heartily of, and that was something straight from those - microwaving sugar and such just to throw over one's enemies through sheer virtue of the fact that it was fucking impossible to get off, and it wouldn't stop doing damage until it was off.

The more she inspected him, the more damage she noted. There were even flecks of the stuff stuck in the ends of his hair - the same black that clung here and there to the edges of the burns.

"It'll do more harm than good to remove those bits," he explained when he noticed her staring "They'll flake off naturally, and then they can treat the scars. There won't be any trace of them."

"The scars don't bother me - not beyond the fact that they'd bother you," she shook her head.

"They'd bother the children, too. They can't see me until they're gone, it would only frighten them."

She saw his point - and she agreed with it, really - but she didn't like it. Mostly because she wanted him at home in his own bed, away from all of this.

"Are you in pain?" She asked.

"No. Not really. Once Mullet got here he gave me a rather strong painkiller."

Marilyn froze "Once Mullet got here?"

And here she thought she'd never be able to say that name without finding it hilarious and absurd.

"So all that time that we spent out there waiting for him to arrive, you were sat here, all of this shit stuck to you, riddled with burns, and no pain relief?" She fought valiantly to keep her calm.

"They're fools - they gave me some waffle about policy, not being able to offer me anything at all until I told them the full story. They're bloody fools, I don't see what harm a numbing potion could have done-"

"Oh, they're absolute fucking wankers and I'll get to them soon enough, but right this second we're talking about you."

"Can I just take a moment to remind you - my darling, devoted, very beautiful wife - that I'm currently unwell in a hospital bed?" He ventured with what would have been an easy, charming smile if not for how he winced when doing so aggravated the big burn on his face.

"And in five minutes time you'll be treated like a king right up until you're fully healed, and maybe even a good while after, but we need to have a talk before you really begin to reap the benefits of this," she said.

"I was hoping more of a god than a king, truth be told," he replied drily.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?"

"Not one of the bigger gods - not…not Zeus, or Odin. Hades, perhaps. I'd even settle for Poseidon."

"I'm not laughing, Draco."

"Oh, come now, I was fairly certain the injuries weren't serious. Painful, yes, but not serious."

"And you have the medical training to know that for yourself, yeah?"

"I have something infinitely better - common sense. It's in short supply in this dump, and it served me well."

"It wasn't common sense, Draco, it was dumb luck and we can't have this happen again. I won't have this happen again. What if it had been worse? What if you'd been unconscious?"

"If I'd been unconscious, they'd have been able to treat me - I tell you, their policies are-"

"I don't give a shit about policies, Draco! We need a plan of action for if this happens again. One that gets you treatment the second you're through these doors, and I don't care if that means we double, triple, quadruple the security budget for the kids and I spend the rest of my life dodging curses. I don't care, I'll do it all day every sodding day if that means that I won't lose you, because that is not an option."

Before she could get too proud of herself for getting all of that out without her voice cracking or just completely falling to bits in general, she choked on a sob as she tried to catch her breath at the end of her tirade. Shifting in the bed, Draco began the slow process of sitting up, giving her only an unimpressed look when she tried to stop him. Once he was up, he wrapped the arm that was mostly unburnt around her shoulders to pull her towards him, resting a great deal of weight on her when he did. She didn't mind at all - it served to reassure her that he was there. That he was okay.

"It won't happen again."

"A week ago you'd have said that it wouldn't happen at all," she sniffed "When Dimitri showed up at my work, when he told me, I thought…"

Well. That thought wasn't worth repeating. She was taking deep shuddering breaths in and out, doing what she could to collect herself - all the while being thoroughly annoyed that she was putting him in a position to comfort her when he was the one who'd been injured today. But now she had an opportunity to actually feel her emotions, and they were demanding to be heeded.

"We'll formulate a plan," he promised "This won't happen again."

She opened her mouth to argue, and he promptly corrected himself "If there ever is another mishap, there won't be a repeat of this farce."

Nodding her relief, she pressed another kiss to the back of his hand - mostly because she was worried that kissing him properly would pain him in some way. He returned the favour by squeezing her tighter. After a few moments of silence, and once her breathing was mostly back to normal, he spoke again.

"Is it the accident, or can I hear my father?"

"I phoned your mother. When I got here. I thought…well, she should know."

"Mullet mentioned that they were out here, but I was certain I'd misheard. He also broke the news while attending to my face, so I was rather distracted."

"He's a fucking idiot, and he's getting sacked."

"Just as soon as I'm pretty again," he promised drily "You phoned her?"

"Yeah. She brought your dad. He's out there giving Mullet a bollocking right now."

She turned to Draco before he could fully wipe the surprise from his face. Reasonable, really. While they weren't quite at war with one another over the last few years, given Lucius' general warm and fuzzy demeanour, it would've probably been more believable to say that he was out there right now trying to convince one of the doctors to put his blood-traitor son out of his misery.

"It'll save you the bother, I suppose."

"Oh, no, I get my turn next," she replied.

"I've taught you well," he murmured fondly.

Huffing a laugh, she shook her head "I should step outside and give your mum a chance to see you."

"I never expected you to have such regard for her."

"I just keep thinking…if it was Caelum - or Evie," she sighed "And considering you haven't cursed me to high heaven for telling her yet, I'm guessing you're not opposed to the idea, either."

"At least I know she'll fuss over me properly and not give me a right old telling off."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure."

Turning her head, she did kiss him properly then, pulling back but not putting any distance between them afterwards, reluctant to leave his side at all. Lucius' fury became all the more noticeable in the silence.

"Mr Malfoy, you have to understand, I'm your son's secondary mediwizard-"

"Ah, of course, I see, so you prefer it when you're being paid to sit on your backside and do nothing - in that case your negligence is perfectly excusable."

"If you want your chance at him, you'd better go and save him from my father," Draco snorted.

"I'll be just outside," she murmured, finally releasing his hand and rising to her feet.

Marilyn resisted the urge to look back at him as she left the room, knowing she'd only immediately return to his side if she did so. Slipping out into the hallway, Narcissa called off Lucius before the task fell to Marilyn to awkwardly do so.

"Lucius."

His nostrils flared, and he looked remarkably like Draco as he stepped back with a sneer on his face. Mullet looked about two seconds away from trembling like a chihuahua.

"Go and see your son," Narcissa said softly.

Now that was a surprise. Even Lucius seemed taken aback by it, looking at first like he might refused before he finally relented, sweeping away from the doctor and not allowing himself to so much as pause as he approached the door and finally stepped inside.

"Mrs Malfoy," Mullet began hesitantly, and it took Marilyn a moment to realise it was her who he was referring to "I really must offer my-"

Any desire to fight him had abandoned her along with her adrenaline, and she sighed tiredly. Another time.

"We'll speak after the next round of treatment, Mr Mullet. If you're done here, I suggest you go."

He didn't need to be told twice - and it was a miracle he didn't leave a trail of dust in his wake as he fled.

"The next round of treatment?" Narcissa enquired softly behind her.

"The healing has to be done in stages," when Marilyn turned, she found the woman looking just as tired as she herself felt "It's…it looks worse than it is. Apparently. He's all right."

Narcissa nodded slowly, lifting her arms at first as though she was going to wrap them around herself before pausing and clasping them neatly before her instead.

"I'm surprised you didn't go in."

She was talking just to fill the silence - apparently her newfound lack of terror also reunited her with her ability to feel awkward. At first it looked like she wouldn't respond, but then she pursed her lips, sighed, and admitted quietly.

"Once I have seen Draco, Lucius will have an excuse to insist we leave. The more time we leave for his worry to wear away, the more time we leave for his pride to return. The two of them are rather alike that way. When next might he feel any desire to actually speak with his son?"

Marilyn nodded slowly, but she didn't really know what to say.

"I…" the woman hesitated, and then visibly steeled herself before she continued, her gaze fixed stonily on the wall opposite her "I must give you my thanks. For contacting me. I never would have anticipated your doing so."

"I said to Draco that if it were my child, I'd want to know."

"Yes. You would. Draco is confident it was an accident, yes? There isn't any danger to the children?"

"It was definitely accidental. He doesn't want them seeing him, though. Not 'til he's healed."

"He'll be staying here, then."

"That's an option," she said, and then pushed on before she could think better of what she was about to say "Or…"

And then she did begin to think better of it anyway. But when she looked up she found Narcissa watching her, and there wasn't half of the hatred or resentment that usually lurked there. In fact, she struggled to find any. And maybe it was just an act - or maybe she had such a limited amount of energy in that moment that she had to only temporarily abandon her disdain - but Marilyn wasn't in the mood for more strife. Not after she'd spend the day terrified that she was about to lose her husband.

"Or," she continued with a sigh "Maybe you could take the children. For a night or two."

It was then that Marilyn caught a glimpse of how she might've looked when Dimitri first walked into the rehearsal space that day. Narcissa's face fell slack and her jaw threatened to slacken before she caught it just in time, her mouth snapping shut as she continued to stare at her in wide-eyed disbelief, like she was waiting for her to laugh and shout 'sike!' - and usually it would've been a reasonable assessment.

"I think they'd like to sleep over in the house where Draco grew up," she added quietly "He'd be best off at home to recover. And they love you."

There was another beat of silence and she began half-expecting some sort of excuse or a rejection. Anything to throw what she'd just done in her face, rejecting the shred of an olive branch she'd just extended and have her feeling ridiculous for even doing it in the first place. Instead, Narcissa collected herself, brushing down her robes with her hands before saying simply.

"The children are welcome at Malfoy Manor anytime. We'd be happy to take them."

We. She knew Narcissa would. With Lucius it remained to be seen. She wouldn't begin making arrangements to get Draco home until she was sure they wouldn't be treated to a 'those half-breed mutts will not be sullying any of our guest rooms' style rant in the next hour or so.

They did fall silent then, knowing that any further attempts at conversation would be stilted and awkward. Tenuous truce aside, they were not friends, even if that truce had been bolstered by their shared panic and then relief over Draco's wellbeing. She could hear speaking from inside Draco's room - voices, but not words. But she couldn't detect any trace of anger, not even a little bit of snippyness. Whatever was being said inside, while she doubted it was particularly emotional and fluffy, it wasn't bad.

Lucius finally emerged from the room a few minutes later, his face unreadable and not sparing her so much as a glance as he addressed his wife "I'll wait for you outside."

Well, at least she wasn't going to find herself making awkward small-talk with him.

"Lucius," Narcissa stopped him before he could take his leave.

Approaching, she place a hand on his shoulder so that she could lean in and murmur something in his ear - something Marilyn couldn't make out at all. Evidently, though, it was something he didn't like. After a pointed look from his wife, though, he paused and then sighed, before finally regarding Marilyn herself. She watched him back evenly. She hadn't cowed to him when they'd first met, and she wasn't about to begin doing so now. Too much shit had passed between now and then for her to even be tempted to do so. He'd tried to have her killed, for one. She could withstand a bit of eye contact after that.

After a moment, he sighed again…and then he nodded. That was it. A nod in parting. But coming from him, it might as well have been a big wet kiss. Although between those two possibilities, she'd take the nod each and every time. Her reaction to either eventuality ended up being the same, though - freezing in astonishment, and only managing to return the nod at the very last second before he was turning and leaving. Narcissa didn't hang around to laugh at her surprise, already striding into the hospital room, leaving Marilyn alone in the corridor to recover.

Well, it certainly had been a day full of surprises.