A/N: You might spot a name of an OC that you recognise in this chapter if you've read Little By Little - because I now know this story is going to be another full length extravaganza, I know Marilyn's Muggle friends will feature, and seeing as this is an AU of the other story, I'm pretty much recycling the characters who she had as friends in the last one. There will be changes and adaptations made, but I figure people liked them in the last story and it just makes more sense to have them here again rather than create whole new ones. For those who haven't read Little By Little, it makes no difference for you either way, but I hope you enjoy them when they crop up!
"Oh, leave off."
Marilyn blinked up at George in the face of his aghast criticism "What?"
"You knit?"
For all of the build up and excitement surrounding the second task of the tournament, it was boring on an absolutely lethal level. It was difficult to follow up the dragons of the first round, sure, but after all of the champions dove in, it was quickly turning into an hour of staring at the lake. Known to most here as the equivalent of a quiet lunch break. It was like they weren't even trying.
"I mean, not as a rule," she answered George's question.
"As a lifestyle, then?"
Her new bracelet dangled against her wrist with every stitch she knitted, hidden from sight by the sleeve of her robes.
"Yes. We gather together in secret clubs with balaclavas on to disguise our identities."
"Woolly ones?"
"Yeah, they itch something awful. Terrible in summer, too."
"You need to learn some more breathable stitches, I reckon."
"That'd just sacrifice anonymity."
"Fine, suffocate then."
"Friendship with you really is a thing of beauty, you know," she snorted.
"Strange colour, too."
The yarn appeared a murky sort of purple colour, but any amount of scrutiny found the colour not looking quite right - it left the eyes of anybody who looked feeling funny, trying to blink the discomfort away. It wasn't something that one could really grow accustomed to, and so she tried to look at her handiwork as little as possible as she went on, only stealing quick glances long enough to make sure it was good enough. So far, so good.
"It's all the shop in Hogsmeade had," she lied with a shrug "It does the job."
She finished her row and was about to begin a new one when she turned her head in response to the gaze she still felt burning into the side of her face.
"What?"
"Explain, then," he nodded to the ball of yarn bundled into her lap.
"I don't understand."
"Marilyn, Marilyn, Marilyn. Mon petit chou. Some decisions require explanations. Joining cults, for instance. Deciding to walk everywhere on your hands. This is one of those things. A girl of your age and decent enough looks - knitting? It's not right. It's unnatural."
Groaning, she accepted that she wouldn't be left in peace unless she did explain, and so she heaved a sigh and thought about how best to go about it without giving away too much of how it was she'd come to learn.
"A few summers ago, one of my Muggle friends, Taylor, was going on holiday with her family. They asked that I stay with her gran while they were gone - they had no other family in town, they were worried she might have a nasty fall or something and nobody would be around to help. They even paid me a fiver a day for it - considering they were gone for two weeks, it was a great deal."
"A fiver?"
"A galleon and a knut."
George whistled.
"Exactly," she nodded "The gran wasn't half bad, and she taught me to knit while I was there. I think it was mostly to break the ice in the beginning, but it wasn't half bad. I got decent enough at it, and you can sell that shit on the side easy. It has a bit of charm to it, being all handmade. Pays for the renting of a practise space over summer so I don't get rusty."
"Parents all 'pay your own way, learn the value of a sickle' types, then?"
"Something like that."
"Was she a real nightmare? This grandmother? The wage says grim things."
"Not at all. She was lovely - I was ready to beg her to adopt me by the end. It felt skeevy even accepting the money, for what ultimately amounted to eating their food and using their gas and electric, but they insisted - and continue to insist."
What she neglected to mention - and what her friend's family had also neglected to mention - was that said grandmother had practically been in better shape than Marilyn herself had been at the ripe old age of twelve. She was a yoga instructor, for Merlin's sake. It had taken her all of two days to figure out that the whole thing had been an act of charity disguised as her doing them a favour. But she was much too grateful to call it out, and it had since become a recurring thing. Enough for her to no longer dread summer break as much as she had back in her first year at Beauxbatons, anyway.
"What did your parents say? Think my mum'd go mad if me and Fred were off staying with strangers every summer."
"Yeah, but she'd be worried for the strangers."
George grinned "Very true."
She got another row done before he decided he wasn't going to let her get away with the silence.
"So?"
"I'm knitting, not sewing."
"You're being incredibly deliberately difficult today, you know?" he said, and then mused "It's actually pretty impressive."
"You must've rubbed off on me."
"I had heard that rumour."
Marilyn snorted - a very unattractive snort, but it eased her discomfort a bit about his dogged line of questioning.
"They didn't care," she said finally, knowing playing dumb wouldn't help.
"You never go home for the holidays."
"None of them so far, no."
"Are you going home for Easter break?"
"No."
"So you're only ever home for summer."
"That's not that uncommon. I'm hardly the only student at here - or Beauxbatons - over the holidays. All that back and forth is too much. It's actually recommended there that the first years stay at school for every holiday other than Christmas so they have more time to get over the homesickness."
Not many listened, but Marilyn had been happy to. She'd stayed at school, she'd worked on her French, and she'd basked in the sheer glory of not being at home. It had been her best Christmas ever.
"And then when you are home for summer, you're gone for two weeks of the six."
"Minimum."
During the times when she had no choice but to stay at home, she was out within an hour of when she first opened her eyes in the morning, and back only when staying out any later would mean missing the final bus back to her neighbourhood for the night. At her simple one word response she was braced for a whole bunch of discomfort - even if she didn't let on as such, with the exception of her motions becoming slightly fumbling and awkward as a result of her nerves. But, despite George's impressive talent when it came to being a wind-up merchant, nobody could ever say he wasn't kind. He and Fred were both kind, and they were both good, but George was just the gentler of the two. Marilyn was reminded of that fact when she chanced a look at him and found him nodding slowly, looking out over the stillness of the lake with an unreadable expression.
The quiet settled in just long enough for her to wonder if she should've just lied - invented a story of domestic bliss and a doting mother who was counting down the days until she arrived home again. She couldn't pretend to herself that she wasn't lying about the state of her relationship with other people, just in reverse, so wouldn't this just be more of the same? But all of the evidence pointed to the contrary, she didn't want to heap more lies onto the one she was already telling, and she wasn't sure she could even imagine a decent home life well enough to lie about having one in a satisfactory manner. Not in the way she could easily envisage what it was like to hate Draco - he was an infuriating little bugger at the best of times.
But then, finally, George sniffed and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
"You should come to the Burrow at some point."
"The what?"
"The Burrow," he repeated "My house. There's so many of us that mum n' dad probably wouldn't even notice there was an extra for a while so long as we dyed your hair ginger. And if they did…well, you're decent enough at masquerading as a good influence that I'm sure they wouldn't mind. We pick up all sorts of strays."
"I'm a stray?" She echoed, amused.
"Yeah, but a fancy one that decided to strike out on its own. One of those fancy fluffy cats that's worth a fortune. Can't let 'em out into the garden or else they'll be stolen and sold."
"Planning to sell me, are you?"
"Soon as I find a buyer, you're gone," he replied.
"You're not doing a great job at advertising this little visit to me, you know?"
"I probably shouldn't have led with the threats of kidnapping," he said.
"Oh that's a second or third day revelation at the earliest. Build a sense of security and all that first, you know."
"I'll remember that for next time."
"Should I warn Hermione?"
"Hermione's far less trusting of me, she'd be a terrible target."
"Ah. Fair."
"Although Malfoy might be jealous."
Marilyn gave the barest hints of a flinch, dropping a stitch and just managing to stop herself from swearing, which would only bring it to his attention. She fixed her mistake as smoothly as she could, and then frowned.
"Why?"
"No doubt he'll view himself as having a monopoly on nefarious plans for you."
"Is that you rethinking your plans of entering the stolen ballerina market already, then?"
"Of course not. Pissing that little prat off just adds extra charm to the whole plan."
Snickering, she resumed her knitting, a little more slowly than before.
"I mean it, though," George added, his voice adopting a newfound level of sincerity.
"You're going to kidnap me and sell me like a fancy cat?"
"About visiting," he clarified "If the north ever loses its charm and you need a break, drop us a line and we'll work out some sort of visit. Me n' Fred will be able to use magic outside of Hogwarts soon, we could even turn up and Apparate you back."
"You don't have to."
"I know," he made a face "Unless this is your way of saying you've got no plans on keeping in touch once you flounce back to Beauxbatons."
"I don't flounce."
"Twirl, then."
"I never had any intention of dropping contact after the school year," she replied "I neve thought you'd allow it."
He smiled.
"Thank you, George," she added quietly "I'll take you up on it someday."
"Good," he nodded.
They were, thank Merlin, saved from any big emotional scene by movement on the water - at first a series of big, chaotic splashes obscured what was happening from sight and several teachers, including the three headmasters, jumped to their feet with wands in hand. Even Marilyn dropped her knitting, craning her neck to try and see what was going on. Fleur - she realised it quickly, the moment she saw the blonde hair and heard the groans of some of her peers in the stands around them.
"Crap," she sighed, shaking her head "There's no chance we're winning the tournament now."
"Don't tell me you weren't rooting for Harry," George didn't try to hide his happiness, grinning as a lifebuoy floated itself out into the water, sank down over Fleur's head and began to drift her to safety.
"On a personal level Harry's more likeable, sure, but I'm sort of obligated to go for Beauxbatons."
"Rubbish. You're English, and you're not half as snobby as Fleur."
"Yeah, but if I run about supporting Harry I'll be the target of a very French angry mob. They'll wield pastries of mass destruction and everything."
"Baguettes are the most violent of all the breads," he nodded sagely.
"They don't call it pain for no reason."
"I take it back, you'll never be welcome in my home."
Exhausted, the seventh year girl could do little other than cling to the floatation device, barely conscious as she fought to regain her breath. When they were close enough to the dock-like stands that had been situated over the lake especially for the second task, the buoy lifted up out of the water entirely, bringing Fleur with it up onto the docks. Her friends, along with Madame Maxime and Dumbledore, all converged on her at once to check if she was okay.
They were saved from worrying for too long, though, because the moment Fleur's strength returned to her, she was trying to throw herself back into the lake, shrieking out in rapid-fire French. Even Madame Maxime had trouble physically restraining her, and every time she seemed to get a good grip on the girl she ducked and weaved out of it, desperate to get back to the water, entirely unhearing in the face of their headmistress' insistence that she calm herself. George frowned and turned to Marilyn for an explanation.
"Her sister," she replied quietly, setting her needles down to her lap "She's begging them to let her go to her sister."
"If it was Percy, I'd let them have him," George replied, but the joke only sounded half-hearted at best.
"They…they wouldn't actually let anything happen to her, would they? Now that Fleur can't save her?"
"They can't do, surely. Imagine the hell it'd bring down on the schools if they allowed it."
"...Dumbledore did give that warning at the beginning, before people began applying."
"Yeah, but that's different. That's in case one of the champions gets roasted alive by a dragon or something else not completely preventable. This is different. Her little sister isn't even one of the champions, she didn't sign up for it. There's no chance. Still, seems cruel not to tell her that, doesn't it?"
Watching Fleur's sheer desperation to get back into the water had Marilyn struggling to believe George's assurances as much as he seemed to himself. But he had more reason to panic than she did, didn't he? Ron was in that water - and Hermione. They'd already pieced it all together, given the two's notable absence from the audience. No, surely it would be fine. The threat of danger was just left ambiguous to stir up excitement. She had to admit that it was working - although she felt more worry than excitement, the previously tedious task of watching the lake suddenly stirring up dread in the pit of her stomach.
Some ways down the stands, Draco's friends were roaring with laughter as he mimicked Fleur, face contorted into an exaggerated mockery of her terror as he pretended he was going to dive into the water. Marilyn grimaced and looked back out at the water.
Even Marilyn herself had to admit that she did a poor job at hiding her surprise when Hermione took the seat beside her in the library that evening. The lake water had done surprising wonders for her hair, and while it had dried in a mass of wavy curls, they were the artfully messy sort that many girls would pour hours into trying to achieve. She didn't comment on it, though, and kept her admiration silent. What could she say? A lake-bed kidnapping looks good on you?
"How are you?" Marilyn asked quietly.
Before her on the table were several textbooks, a half-written essay, and in her lap sat her knitting. The librarian didn't care what they did in here, within reason, so long as they did so quietly, and so she'd snuck in her little project with the pre-prepared excuse that it helped her focus.
"I'm well," Hermione answered in a tone equally as hushed "It was unnerving but, well, Viktor succeeded, didn't he?"
"He did. With a hell of a lot of flair."
"Yes. I'll admit, there are more pleasant things to wake up to," Hermione realised belated what she'd said, before Marilyn could even give in to the immature snicker that threatened to force its way out of her, flushed crimson and spluttered "Not like that I mean, just that he had the head of a shark and nothing can exactly prepare you to see that the moment you open your- oh, shut up."
Smiling, she said nothing. Mainly because she was thrilled that whatever dumbassery was going on between herself and Draco had not yet shot dead her friendship with Hermione. Not yet, anyway.
Before she could get too comfortable in that assumption, though, she caught the distinctly unimpressed look that the girl was shooting her half-finished wrist-warmers.
"Don't tell me you disapprove of knitting like George does."
Brown eyes rolling in exasperation, Hermione waved her wand once over the bundle of yarn in her lap and they both watched as the charm Marilyn had put on it was disbanded and the wool turned from that strange murky purple into a deep emerald green.
"You really need to work on your charms," Hermione said flatly "I spotted it a mile off."
"Nobody else did."
"Nobody else was looking for it. But they'll work it out eventually."
"Yeah, well, thankfully the other sort of charms in my repertoire are much more reliable."
Hermione did not laugh "He's not the sort to appreciate handmade gifts, you know? If it didn't cost a fair few galleons, it's not something he'll be grateful for."
"My options are limited," Marilyn replied sourly "Look, he got me this. For…for a present."
She'd almost admitted that it had been a Valentine's Day gift, but that sounded ridiculous even to herself and she knew what sort of look that confession would draw. Rolling the sleeve of her robes up, she brandished the bracelet at her wrist. Hermione didn't appear impressed. At most she appeared surprised for perhaps half a second, but then she sighed.
"It's worthless, Marilyn. All right, maybe not literally worthless, not monetarily - it won't turn your wrist green, but that's just it. Something that would turn it green from somebody with less would still be worth more. This is what he does. He throws money at things to get what he wants."
"I'm not a thing, Hermione," she grumbled.
"To him you might as well be. Look - a broomstick?"
"Yeah. It's sentimental."
She wasn't about to give Hermione all of the details about the night of the Yule Ball. She wasn't about to spoil it for herself by doing something so daft.
"It's a reminder of yet another time he threw money at you to fix something horrible he'd done."
"Even if that was the case, which I don't agree it is, that would suggest that he recognised he'd done something that needed fixing in the first place," she pointed out.
"Do you really believe that? That it's really just a nice little gesture? A gift with not a single string attached?"
"I do," she admitted quietly.
It was a tricky one. The sort of tricky that involved a tight-rope and a pit of alligators below. If the alligators also happened to be one fire, and wielding swords. While she could understand Hermione's hatred of Draco - easily, if her going on four years of life at Hogwarts had been anything like Marilyn's six months - she was entitled to her own feelings on the matter. Especially seeing as the matter had most recently involved her own humiliation. She would never ask that Hermione forgive Draco for anything, nor even that she feeling anything other than sheer loathing for him. All she would ask was that Hermione extended the same courtesy, but reversed, to her.
Maybe securing such a promise would mean swearing up and down to her that if her own stupidity bit her on the ass and he did hurt her again, she wouldn't expect comfort from her - and that was a promise she could easily make, because she'd be much too mortified to go to her for reassurance should that happen anyway. No, in such an event she'd need to simply curl up and perish. Or move abroad and change her name, whichever ended up being easier.
"Listen," she sighed, looking about to make sure they wouldn't be overheard before she continued "It's good yarn, and I'm good at this shit. It'll look shop quality if nothing else. If he doesn't like it, that's fine. I'm not an idiot, I do know who he is, I'm not anticipating that he'd end up thrilled with it, and I'm not expecting tears and gratitude. But the fact is that he's given me two very fancy presents now, and I haven't given him anything at all, so this at least somewhat squares us in my mind, if nothing else. I don't have the funds to go out and buy something fancy, I'm limited to what I can make, and unless he wants a beautiful hand-sewn practise tutu, this is what I've got."
Hermione's eyebrows knitted together and she watched her silently for a few moments…but didn't offer an argument. Instead she hesitated, opened her mouth to speak, and then shut it again. Marilyn wasn't even slightly tempted to prompt her to say what was clearly on her mind, because the hesitations spoke volumes about how Hermione thought she would like hearing it. She wasn't exactly one to flinch from saying what was on her mind, and Marilyn admired that, and she even related to it, so what could it be that she wished to talk about now that had her hesitating so?
"So…you haven't given him anything?"
"What? No, I just said that. I can barely treat myself on a Hogsmeade trip, never mind anybody else."
"No, I don't mean presents, I mean…you haven't given him anything? One thing in particular?"
For a few long seconds, Marilyn stared. And then she understood Hermione's meaning and stared a bit more, her jaw slackening.
"What? No! Of course not! We're…we're too young for that!...Aren't we?"
She'd understand such a question if they were sixth years, and maybe even if they'd been fifth years at the absolute youngest, but fourth years? No. It was much too soon, even if this thing with Draco, unlabelled and confusing as it was, hadn't been so new it would be too soon. They were too young for any of that. Or at least she was.
"I certainly think that we are," Hermione said, her cheeks turning pink.
"So you and Viktor haven't…?"
"Of course not!"
"Well you asked me," Marilyn pointed out archly as if her own cheeks weren't blazing "And he is older…"
"He's very understanding of my boundaries. A perfect respectful gentleman, really. That's why I'm asking, though, because while we are, in my opinion, too young - and I'm relieved to hear you say it - are you sure Draco thinks so, too? Perhaps that's the reasoning behind all of the gifts…"
"No," Marilyn said flatly "Absolutely not."
"He's just not the sort who's used to hearing the word no, Marilyn. Nor the type who reacts well to it."
"So what, you think he wouldn't listen if I told him no?"
"No! That is - yes, for all of his many flaws, I do think he would listen in that I don't think that he'd…that he'd force himself upon you, I just worry that he mightn't be very understanding about it. I'm not even sure he'd be above applying a bit of pressure before backing off."
"Then you don't know him at all. We kiss, Hermione. That's it. And we talk more than we kiss, truth be told."
Okay, they did kiss a lot. And those kisses weren't exactly light pecks - not most of the time, anyway. At most they'd done a bit of heavy petting, above their clothing. But that little detail was absolutely none of Hermione's business, and there was never any sort of indication that either of them expected it to lead to more. Their little hideaway in the castle was eerily good at providing what it was either of them wished for (up to a point - she'd idly hoped for a CD player once with no luck, so it seemed there were indeed limits) but it had never come up with a bed and a contraceptive potion. Thank god.
Of course, they were only human. Teenage humans, at that. There were times when things got particularly heated and they'd have to stop, knowing that they were reaching a point in that particular session where they would either have to go further or stop entirely, but it was never a debate. Never an argument. They always did stop, and neither of them commented on it or griped about it - they'd quietly distract themselves with the other, much more innocent activities the room offered, both pretending not to notice quite how flushed the other was, and that was the end of it. Every time. There was never any pressure. Temptation? Maybe. On her part. She couldn't speak for his, it wasn't something they'd discussed, it was too bloody early and intimidating to discuss it. But that was it.
Something in her face must've shown that she had reached her limit with this particular topic of conversation - or maybe Hermione was just satisfied that she really wasn't secretly some sort of personal sex gimp to Draco Malfoy. Not yet, anyway. Sighing, the Gryffindor nodded, and fixed her with that concerned look again that made it very difficult to be pissed off at her, because it reinforced that this all came from a place of concern. Finally, she lifted her wand and waved it over the yarn again - it returned to its previous shade of purple, although this one was much more vibrant and messed with the eyes a lot less. Marilyn pressed her lips together and nodded her thanks. Mostly, she very much wished that Hermione hadn't just planted that seed, because she already knew that now it would bother her.
A/N: Tumblr - esta-elavaris
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