Her first day of lessons after the incident was somehow better and just as bad as she'd imagined, all in one. Better thanks to the fact that the reality of things could've never matched up to the horrors she'd spent all the previous day (and night) imagining - not unless Draco decided to set out for a repeat performance. And worse because, well, walking into each and every classroom with her head held high took every ounce of training Madame Garnier had ever instilled in her.
Muggle Studies was the worst, which was exactly why she had to treat it like it was not. She walked in and purposely did not look towards the back - she didn't need to look in order to know that Pansy Parkinson would be sitting in her former seat beside Draco - but what she didn't expect was for a Hufflepuff girl to wave her over and offer up the seat beside her, effectively saving her from hovering awkwardly at the front of the room as she tried to spot a free seat. What Dumbledore had said, it seemed, about Draco's actions not reflecting the views of the school as a whole, had been true.
It wasn't just the Hogwarts students, either. Her Beauxbatons frères et sœurs had rallied around her. Nobody was more surprised by that than Marilyn, but apparently they'd come to the decision that the Beauxbatons student they liked least was still worth their loyalty more than whatever students from the other schools they liked most. Or maybe they just didn't like Draco and his cronies very much. Even if it hadn't been officially pinned on him, it was obvious that it was him - that incident had marked the turning point not only of Pansy Parkinson going from being permanently furious to outright gleeful, but also from Marilyn herself dropping all association with Draco. Sure, there wasn't any evidence for him to actually be held accountable and punished for it, but it was a bit of an open secret that it had been him. Which was just what he'd intended, she supposed.
Pansy's glee lasted only for one full day - after which she went back to being furious. It didn't take long for them to find out why.
"She was pulled out of Charms by Snape this morning," Hermione explained at dinner that evening, a pleased smirk on her face "And informed that, thanks to the word of several witnesses, she's banned from the Yule Ball."
"Bet Snape enjoyed delivering that news as much as she liked hearing it," Ron snorted.
"He didn't seem pleased," Hermione sighed "But he rarely does."
"Probably more angry that she was stupid enough to get caught than anything," Harry said "It's not a good look for his House, is it? All of the people in the shit for it are Slytherins."
"And one Durmstrang lad," Seamus Finnigan added from a few places down "Karkaroff's fuming at Dumbledore, word is. Says he has no right to dictate how his students are punished - apparently Dumbledore said that since the ball is happening in Hogwarts, he gets final say over who attends and who doesn't."
"Durmstrang's always been dodgy, though, hasn't it?" Ron said "Karkaroff probably thinks that sort of thing is good. A requirement to attend, even."
"That's like saying Hogwarts is dodgy because a quarter of us are Slytherins," Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Viktor Krum picked up a quill I dropped in the corridor by the library," Marilyn said "He even smiled as he handed it back to me, which I'm guessing was meant to be a show of support from the Durmstrang side."
"Tell 'im you've already got a date to the ball," George said.
Ron was quick to ignore his brother's impressive show of faux possessive outrage, scoffing "Krum'll have had a date from day one."
"How has Snape been with you?" Hermione was quick to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand.
"His usual pleasant self. If I was one of you I'd be for it, I think, but maybe he doesn't want to risk being a total prick with a student from another school. Or maybe he'll start when Dumbledore isn't keeping quite such a close eye anymore. Either way, I'm doing my best not to give him an excuse."
"He rarely needs one," Harry said flatly.
"Comforting. Thanks."
He offered her an apologetic smile in response. They were saved from their talk of the dour Head of Slytherin house, though, when a couple of Beauxbatons girls brushed by, offering warm shoulder squeezes and overly cheery 'good mornings' to Marilyn as they did.
"And there's that, too," she said.
It was nice of them. Really, it was. Their determination to remind her that she wasn't alone in this and that, even as Slytherin fury towards her increased tenfold. She'd been caught off-guard by how many of them went out of their way to be nice to her - it was overwhelming, and it had her feeling guilty that she hadn't made more of an effort with her older schoolmates when they'd first arrived. Mostly, though, she sort of wished they wouldn't bother. The more it went on, the more it reminded her of what happened.
Although she supposed if she couldn't forget, she couldn't lose her motivation to show the bastards what she was made of - although the risk of that was already slim to none. Wolfing down her meal before most had even finished a quarter of their plate, she grabbed a chocolate cupcake in the way of pudding and stood. Mumbling her farewells, she took up her bag and began to make her way towards the dungeons.
She knew she was growing far too used to being here, because the castle somehow felt cosy in the evenings - lit all by torchlight that set everything in an orange glow. Of course, the dungeons were always lit by torchlight, though, so once she descended the steps below ground-level the effect was dampened, and it was ruined entirely when she spotted Pansy Parkinson at the end of the long corridor, speaking in quick, angry tones to the girl at her side, her face crumpled in fury. Refusing to react - and absolutely refusing to run - she took a bite from her cupcake and met the girl's gaze evenly, her other hand drifting towards her pocket just in case.
Pansy didn't move, but her voice did rise in volume as she glared furiously.
"I didn't even do anything! I bet she convinced all of those pathetic little blood traitor Weasleys to lie and say they saw me shouting just to get payback because she's jealous."
It was funny, really - how short-lived the girl's glee had been. And what could she do now? The staff at Hogwarts would be on high alert for another incident, particularly one that involved Marilyn herself, and Pansy had marked herself as one to watch thanks to her inability to keep her mouth shut yesterday. The most she could do was what she was already doing; spewing venom from across a corridor. It truly did put a spring in Marilyn's step and gave rise to a sort of smugness that she felt especially entitled to after the previous morning. All of that was why she offered Pansy a smile and a wink when their eyes met before she turned and entered the practise room. The girl's furious shriek of annoyance was a reward in and of itself. No doubt she'd spend a good long time describing it furiously to Draco later on, and that just increased Marilyn's cheer - hopefully he'd get a nice chronic migraine.
That thought was enough to have her whistling a cheery little tune to herself as she polished off the cupcake and began to change into her ballet gear. Her goal was a grand one - some would say unrealistic, but she didn't need that sort of thinking in her life - and Madame Garnier had impressed upon her with no room for misinterpretation that if she wanted to achieve even a fraction of her goal, she'd need to work her arse off. It was an intimidating goal, given that she already worked more than she probably should. But it would be worth it.
The routine that Clarabella Vane was known for was impressive even for her, a seasoned ballerina, so Marilyn wasn't quite deluded enough to think that she might be able to match it. She did confidence, yeah, and arrogance, definitely, but not delusion. That, she liked to think, was her saving grace. Given that lack of delusion, she knew there was no chance that she'd be able to do a full routine on the very tip of the broom itself. A week or two ago she'd have considered it a great victory that she could even dance atop the length of the broom - of course, back then she didn't have anything to prove, and she did like to drive her points home when she took it upon herself to make one. If she could even brush against the feats that Vane was known for, she'd consider her performance a success.
Time ceased to be of any consequence to her as she practised - she danced until she couldn't dance anymore, and then she took a break the moment the tremors left her muscles. She went through her moves atop the broom until she misstepped, and then she slipped from it, swore, and jumped right back up again before the broom could even clatter to the floor. Other times - albeit a bit less often - she didn't fall at all, and jumped lightly back to the floor with a grin on her face…before she shook out her limbs and started from the beginning again.
By the time the other girls arrived, her limbs already shone with sweat and she knew she'd get a right bollocking from Madame Garnier about not burning herself out before they could even rehearse together. However - she'd managed to go through her whole routine three times without slipping from the broom. Sure, it was three times out of what was probably ten, but she knew she could get that number up. Her success rate was almost fifty/fifty already, and while it would go down when she upped the difficulty again, there was time. And she was stubborn.
Her fellow ballerinas filed in one by one, slipping through the door without fully opening it, and then falling silent when they spotted her already there.
"Are you well, Marilyn?" Esme asked in French "We weren't sure if you'd be here tonight."
"I'm fine. Ready to get on with things," she replied before pausing and sighing "Thank you."
Chloe watched the exchange with pursed lips, finally shoving past Esme so that she could pass to the other side of the room and begin changing. Marilyn shot a curious look towards her back, but mostly thought nothing of it - not until Esme approached and continued quietly as the others followed Chloe's lead, albeit not half so angrily. In fact, a few of them offered their token back pats and arm squeezes as they brushed by, sympathetic looks on their faces telling her that she was now seen as the baby of the group rather than the arrogant little pest.
"What's going on?" She asked Esme quietly.
"Chloe is the one who told them - the green ones - about your blood status."
The redhead spoke quietly, but not quietly enough judging by the square set of Chloe's shoulders and the clenching of her jaw.
"What?"
"She admitted it to Fleur at lunch, and Fleur told the rest of us so that we could tell you. She thought you should know."
Marilyn stared at Esme, for once well and truly speechless. She wasn't sure she'd have been able to respond in English, nevermind French.
"How could I have known what was going on? The pug-faced girl was harping on and on thinking she was a Pureblood - I was confused. I overheard, I corrected her. It was a simple mistake," Chloe cracked and finally snapped from across the room.
"There's only one reason why someone goes out of their way to tell another that somebody is a Muggle-born," one of the other girls pointed out with an eye-roll "We all know who the little snakes are - what they believe, the families they come from. You knew damn well what you were doing, Chloe, at least have the class to own your actions now that they've bit you on the-"
"What did she expect?" Chloe demanded - and Marilyn noted that she discussed it like she wasn't in the room with them "We all saw how she carried on with that boy. We all knew who he was. What did she expect, not telling him? How were we to know she hadn't told him?"
"You knew what you were doing. We know you knew. Being a coward now doesn't help," Esme said.
Marilyn remained silent. Chloe finally met her gaze after a few moments, and then looked away again, a scowl on her face so stern that it threatened to break her delicate features. She muttered a few choice phrases under her breath, earning one or two back from the girls near her. Esme ignored it, still not joining the other girls to change in favour of continuing to speak to her.
"We can tell Madame Garnier. We should tell her, really, she would want to know. But we thought it best left up to you - you're the one in the middle of it all."
Nodding dumbly, she took a moment to comprehend the words and then another to actually think about them. The silence weighed heavily on Chloe, apparently, for despite the careful lack of expression on her face, she fumbled with the lacing on her shoes and had to restart. Twice. It wasn't without reason, either, for as stern as their ballet mistress was, the topic of unity between them was one that she viewed as being of the utmost importance. They were a family. Sisters. Hadn't Marilyn herself been on the receiving end of one such lecture only recently? No double she'd view an arrogant remark or two as being far less of a misstep than opening one's sister up to a world of blood-related prejudice. If she was intimidating when she was unimpressed, she was terrifying when she was angry. Properly angry. And this? This would make her furious.
It would certainly be a pretty bit of revenge, all in all. Which was why nobody was more surprised than Marilyn when she finally replied.
"No."
Several heads shot up and turned her way.
"No - I don't want any more drama. No more fuss, no more bullshit. It's insufferable. I just want to get through all of this and move on."
Where would it end if she agreed? Chloe did this because Marilyn herself had annoyed her in class, so now if Marilyn grassed her in, what would Chloe do after that? And what would Marilyn then have to do in turn? When would it end? She barely had the energy for the here and now. At least this way, if Chloe didn't drop the matter, she'd look like a dick of the highest order. Okay, maybe she wouldn't be earning a friend by refusing to tell Madame Garnier, but she'd hopefully at least be shirking an enemy. She'd gained too many of those as of late, getting rid of one seemed prudent.
Esme's lips pursed…and then they stretched into a smile and she shrugged her compliance, finally stepping away to go and get changed. Marilyn chanced one last look at Chloe after that, and found her looking even more furious, albeit slightly less pale. She supposed if she'd given okay to bring the hammer down, it would've absolved the girl of any guilt. Now she was stuck with it.
A/N: A note on the French thing — I didn't want to have them have a whole conversation in French and then translate it in the notes because it irks me when stories do that, but I couldn't imagine them speaking in English, so I took the italics route. It's something I want to keep to a minimum, though, so there shouldn't be too much of it later.
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