A/N: I'm sorry for disappearing, as well as for how long it took me to get this finished - this chapter fought me, and I'm still caught in a loop of endless (and completely unfruitful) apartment viewings/applications, so it's all A Lot. But here you go! I'm hoping I can keep updates a bit more consistent from hereon, especially with Camp NaNoWriMo starting soon.
It was good wine. Well, good in that it went down easily and it soon had her cheeks burning and the tip of her nose tingling in a way that didn't seem solely down to the cold Scottish evening.
"You're a decent dancer," Draco sniffed when the bottle began to run so low that what remained swished around the bottom every time they passed it between each other.
"I know," she said.
"Careful, that's the attitude that got you in trouble with your professor," he replied.
"Are you going to grass me in?"
He scoffed, and though she couldn't see very well in the darkness, she was certain he rolled his eyes at her too.
"Thanks for your help - with my essay, by the way. I got an E, and apparently from Snape that's as good as an O."
"For anybody not in Slytherin, I suppose," Draco replied, and Marilyn rolled her eyes before he continued - albeit highly begrudgingly "You're welcome."
"I owe you one."
She made to hand him back the bottle so he could have the last of it, but he gestured casually for her to have it. Not one to back down from a challenge, she held eye contact with him as she drained the last of it.
"Should I require a dance instructor, I know who I shall turn to," it was said teasingly, but not outright mockingly - that in itself surprised her.
"You never know, with this dance coming up you might need it. Can you dance?"
"Not ballet."
"Few can. That wasn't the kind of dancing I was talking about."
"Of course I can. Why? Is that an invitation?"
"I don't invite boys to dance with me," she snorted.
"Do boys invite you?"
"Only the very brave ones. Or the stupid ones."
"And which ones do you say yes to?"
"Neither."
There was just enough moonlight for her to see Draco's smirk "Can you dance?"
"You just complimented my dancing."
"That wasn't the kind of dancing I was talking about," he echoed her own words back at her.
"Why? Is that an invitation?" She countered.
He regarded her for a few long moments, during which she refused to falter beneath his stare, before giving a shrug and saying lightly "I suppose you'll find out."
Now that she had no idea how to respond to. So she said nothing. Because she was scared that if she did respond he'd hear the blush in her voice despite the fact that it was too dark for him to see it on her face, because she hated the fact that she was blushing, or that it was so easy to fall into this charming little back and forth with somebody whose views were so abhorrent, and because she knew that while amicability was one thing, if (no - when) he found out the truth of her blood status after this, he would be embarrassed. And his ilk did terrible things when they were embarrassed.
"We should return," he said finally after a few moments of silence.
Marilyn regarded the empty wine bottle doubtfully where it lay discarded among the roots of a tree. She supposed she could shrink it and hide it in her robes, but if they were caught with it they'd be in a hell of a lot of trouble. Her deliberations were cut short when Draco picked it up, took a few steps towards the shore and hurtled the bottle into it. It landed in the water with a splash that broke through the night and had her cringing at the noise.
"You'll piss off the squid," she pointed out.
"The squid," he echoed with a derisive snort like she was referring to Santa Claus.
And so whatever charm the wine had aided her in seeing was already diminished. Or so she thought, until he returned to her side and was suddenly surprisingly close surprisingly quickly. For a brief, horrifying, thrilling moment she thought he was going to try and kiss her. Even worse was the fact that she found herself wondering if she'd let him. And then, instead, he pressed a hand into the small of her back to lead her out through the trees with a casual "after you". With anybody else, she would've found it presumptuous at best and invasive at worst, but he did it so easily and casually that it had her fighting off yet another blush.
They were perhaps half way across the grounds towards the castle, far enough for Marilyn to breathe a sigh of relief that they'd gotten away with their little misadventure after all - even holding back a giggle or two at the thrill of the whole thing - when a voice boomed out behind them.
"Oi! You two! Stop right there!"
The voice of the Care of Magical Creatures professor was unmistakable. Shit. Her happiness had been premature. For a split second she contemplated running. She was fast, and she had the stamina. But the awareness that it would only get them both into much more trouble squashed the idea before she could even begin to take it seriously.
"Bloody oaf," Draco ground out lowly, slowing to a stop beside her.
Before she could even breathe a word of her own, though, he turned to her and spoke in a voice far louder.
"You turned left when you should have turned right, you see. An easy mistake to make - the grounds slope downwards to the west just as they do to the south, so the terrain looks much the same," his expression of innocent surprise that he then adopted when Hagrid finally reached them was so convincing that even she might've bought it if not for the fact that she could still taste the wine on her tongue "Yes, professor?"
"What are the two of you doing on the grounds at this time? It's far too late for you to be out here, this is grounds for a detention, Mr Malfoy."
"Miss Baxter here got herself lost on the grounds, I found her on my way back from Quidditch practise and now I'm walking her back to the Beauxbatons carriage."
Hagrid frowned and turned his eye to her. She knew little of the professor save for her classes with him, but that didn't give her nothing to work with - she'd proven a dab hand at dealing with the Blast-Ended Skrewts in their infancy. Hopefully that would be enough to serve her well here. Widening her eyes and wrapping her arms about herself (all the while praying that he wouldn't clock the borrowed robes), she looked between he and Draco with a worried, furrowed brow.
"I was just starting to gain my bearings around here, but with the dark nights setting in all of the grounds look the same and I must've gotten turned around," she fretted, raking a hand through her hair "It's two lefts then a right, right? I think I took the right too soon, or perhaps it was three lefts - I know the second left wasn't right, but by that point I was hopelessly lost already, so then I took a third left hoping it might balance it out, but then-"
Out of Hagrid's line of sight, Draco stifled a snicker as she continued to ramble nonsense, hoping dearly that if she did so enough, she'd talk in such circles that Hagrid would give up. It was a far cry from her partner-in-crime's method of cool, wide-eyed innocence, but the professor's frown of concern told her she'd done the right thing.
"Don't get yersel' worked up, lass, we've had students still gettin' themselves lost well into their second year," he turned to Draco, who dropped the amusement from his face just in time, eyeing him distrustfully "Get Miss Baxter to her schoolmates, Mr Malfoy, and then to yer common room with you."
Could it really have been that easy? It didn't feel right. But then he turned to her and said, after a moment's hesitation "If Madame Maxime needs this explainin' to her, send her my way, Miss Baxter, and I'll see it sorted."
Ah. So that was it. While she wanted to kid herself that the offer was down to her acting abilities - that he'd mistaken the tipsy flush of her cheeks for some sort of genuine panic - gossip concerning her headmistress and the groundskeeper had been rife for the last week or two.
"Right, yes, I will, professor," she nodded solemnly "I'm sorry for the fuss, it won't happen again."
They were dismissed with a nod and the wave of a giant hand, effectively brushed off as he turned and began walking back the way he'd come from.
"I'm sorry for the fuss, Professor Oaf, it won't happen again," Draco mimicked with the high, innocent voice she'd used.
"Piss off," she rolled her eyes as they resumed their uphill stride towards the castle "It worked, didn't it? And don't be horrible - he's sound enough."
"First the Weasley fool, and now that great hulking cretin? What does that say about your standards, Baxter?"
"What does that say about you, given that it's your company I've been in all evening?" She snapped back.
Draco was unbothered "That there's hope for you yet."
Marilyn rolled her eyes "Hagrid's better than your Professor Snape, anyway."
"Had it been Snape that caught us, it wouldn't have even been a conversation. He and my father are old friends," he sniffed.
She wondered if he expected a round of applause - if he did, he'd be disappointed. His, however, were not the only expectations that were thwarted, for when they walked past the entrance to the castle Draco stayed by her side rather than breaking off to head indoors, walking her in the direction of the carriage as he'd claimed to be doing in the first place.
Once they were a few yards away he slowed to a stop and she paused too, unsure of whether she should just keep walking. They weren't friends, and a long drawn out goodbye didn't seem the sort of thing in his character. No, he was more the type to wave a hand and announce that she was dismissed - and she didn't want to give him a chance to do that. Wouldn't it be better if she kept walking, with not even a backwards glance in his direction? Curiosity, though…that was what won out.
"This was entertaining," he announced with a bored shrug "Perhaps we'll do it again."
It was all far too casual and forced for it to appear as natural and easy as she suspected he wanted it too, and she let out a short puff of laughter, shaking her head. Presumptuous little dickhead.
"Goodnight, Draco," she said ruefully.
Then she took a step back, before he could get any ideas, before she did turn and had a chance to make her exit - without looking back.
The next morning was…a lot. While she wasn't exactly hungover, she still felt ever so slightly delicate, and when Marilyn walked into the great hall for breakfast, Chloe was sitting with the rest of the Beauxbatons students at the Ravenclaw table, her nose wrinkled and her lip curled as she spoke in quick, annoyed tones. Marilyn didn't need to hear what she was saying to know that she was slagging her off - and she was in no mood to deal with it. So, with a sigh, she cast her gaze around the rest of the room. The Slytherin table was out of the question, she wasn't desperate enough to consider that at all, and it was packed with Durmstrang students anyway. If she wasn't mistaken to be fawning over Draco, she'd certainly be assumed to be drooling over Krum.
Part of her was tempted to just fill her pockets with fruit and eat outside when an ear-splitting whistle broke through the hall, and then a familiar voice called out in the silence that immediately followed.
"Oi! Twinkle-toes! Over here!"
Marilyn's lips pursed, if only so she could maintain a pretense of exasperation under all of the eyes that were now on her, as George waved her over. As she approached, her harassed the boy at his side - his brother - into budging along the bench so she could take his place.
"Was that really necessary?" She snorted, slipping into the space as the chatter slowly resumed in the hall.
She quickly began loading her plate up with anything that even slightly resembled bread. Potions was her first class, and if the fumes weren't going to knock her sick, she'd need something substantial in her stomach.
"Is that the thanks I get for coming to your rescue while you stood there looking like a lost little lamb?"
"Thank you, Sir George - no, Saint George - you're the most charitable soul in this hall," she said drily.
"That's more like it," he tutted.
Something was going on. It took her a moment to realise it; at first she'd concluded that the weird atmosphere was down to all of the attention he'd just brought crashing down upon them, but while everybody else seemed to have returned to their conversations, those in their immediate vicinity had not. To her right, his little brother glared into his cereal, his lips pressed into a thin line. It was a stark difference, considering beforehand he could scarcely pass her in the hallway without turning a startling shade of purple. Harry Potter sat opposite her, and did an even poorer job than Hermione Granger, who sat at his side, at hiding the suspicious looks being shot her way.
Fred sat beside George and seemed entirely unbothered by all of this, but they were the only two who were acting with anything that even resembled normality. But George caught her confused look before she could speak - which was a good thing, indeed, because she'd been half a second away from demanding "what?" at the third strange look she'd gotten from The Boy Who Lived in as many seconds.
"All right, I'll admit it - no sense of subtlety with this lot about," George grumbled "I may have had an ulterior motive in extending this invitation to you."
"I'm bored of teaching people how to swear in French," she warned - and took it as a good sign when he laughed in response.
"We're happy enough with English," Fred chimed in with a shrug "If it's not broke, y'know?"
"Hear, hear," she took a sip of her pumpkin juice.
"My brother and I were taking a relaxing evening stroll about the grounds last night, and happened across rather an interesting sight indeed," George said.
Oh, Jesus. Marilyn sighed.
"Planning on becoming the first Muggle-born Death Eater, are we?" He asked, keeping his tone quiet and light.
Apparently that was a revelation in itself to the three of her fellow fourth years, who all blinked in surprise and then shared pointed looks with one another.
"Yes, I'm so masochistic that I decided dancing wasn't enough and this would be even better," she said flatly before sighing "I got lost on the grounds, he found me wandering and walked me back to the Beauxbatons carriage."
Hopefully the twins hadn't seen enough to know that she was lying.
"That doesn't sound like Malfoy," it was Harry Potter who cut in now, frowning.
"I'm a ballerina - it's rare that men behave normally around us," she said drily.
His eyebrows rose for a brief moment as if to say "fair play", and Ron's face slowly started turning pink again. She knew she was on the right track.
"Hear that, George? She called us rare," Fred said.
"It almost even sounded like a compliment," George replied "Well. Fair enough, then. Can't blame us for expressing some gentlemanly concern. See, you lot? I was right. No fangs, no horns, no Dark Mark."
Ron rolled his eyes but remained silent, Harry seemed more or less content to return to his breakfast, and Hermione…Hermione eyed her with a frown.
"You need to be careful. If he's being decent to you, then he mustn't know…he won't take kindly to it when he finds out."
"Don't worry," Marilyn waved a hand "It's fine. I know what I'm doing."
"Hope so," George said lightly - in a tone that suggested he very much did not believe her.
Marilyn couldn't particularly blame him for that.
A/N: Teenage Draco is a little bastard and I'm having way too much fun writing it.
