There was something up with Baxter. Now, that was hardly the first time that Draco had thought that - and usually, especially these days, he did so with much more affection than he'd ever own up to. But now he meant it in a factual way. He entered their meeting place after dinner, and found her in her dancing gear, face and arms already glistening with sweat and a few wisps of golden hair stuck to her face as she twirled round and round and round, over and over and over again, the music from the gramophone the room boasted so loud that he almost feared it threatened their secrecy.
The brash and energetic brass instruments sharply contrasted the unhappy furrow of her brow that spun into sight with her every turn. It was a real frown, too, not just a product of concentration or discomfort. He'd watched her dance enough to know that if there was anything other than a look of affected serenity on her face, it was because she was in no mood to feign it. A wave of his wand had the music down to a quarter of its original volume as she stopped and dropped down from the tips of her toes until she stood properly on both feet. Her chest heaved, and ordinarily he might've blamed that for her lack of greeting, but she was making a good effort not to look at him, either. Instead, her eyes were fixed on her legs as she tried to chop the feeling back into her thighs with one side of her hand.
Any harder and she'd give herself bruises.
"I struggle to think of any ballet that requires twenty pirouettes in a row," he pointed out mildly, coming to a halt at the edge of her little dance floor.
"Odile's Coda - thirty-two. And they're fouettés, not pirouettes," she breathed.
"My apologies, how could I ever be such an idiot?" he replied drily "What's wrong with you?"
She finished massaging her legs - a process Draco did his utmost not to watch too closely at risk of looking like he was leering - and then straightened up, turning her attention to her feet where she began to point and unpoint them in their pink ballet slippers.
"Nothing."
"You're trying to twirl off your anger, Baxter, so something's obviously gotten under your skin."
Finally she stilled, but only once she'd straightened and crossed her arms. The sweat that had gathered across her chest and shoulders glistened as she did so. Draco did his best not to stare at that, too.
"Have you done any more interviews?"
And there went his distraction.
"What?" he frowned.
"With Rita Skeeter or any other bottom feeder. Like the one you gave about Hagrid."
"No. Why?"
"What about Pansy? Did you tell her to do it?"
"With the mood Pansy's in with me these days, I can't tell her to do much of anything - which, I'd point out, is partly your fault."
Baxter offered neither apologies nor condolences for that, but he hadn't really expected her to. Nor, he noted with some discomfort, did he want her to.
"I didn't make you stop your associations with her," she rolled her eyes.
Draco almost snipped back at that - to ask "ah, so I'll go back to kissing her, too, should I?" just to get a rise out of her, but he didn't. Because he knew she'd say yes out of pure principle, and then he'd have to do it so she wouldn't think she'd called his bluff…and he didn't want to do that. Thankfully, he realised what she was getting at with her original question, and that provided a neat little change of topic.
"This is about that comment she gave to Witch Weekly, isn't it? The one about Granger?"
"Have you read it?"
"Of course not, I don't read Witch Weekly."
"Why not?"
"Because my testosterone gets in the way," he scoffed "It's all over the school, though. She must be furious."
"She is."
"Don't tell me that's why you're in a mood. Granger's salacious love life? Who cares?"
"That's not all. She can't work out how Skeeter knew the things she wrote about, or how Pansy knew about it, if she was her only source, and I'd be upset for her either way, but she's blaming me for it when I didn't do a sodding thing."
He'd suspected that something was amiss when he'd noticed that she hadn't sat at Gryffindor table for any of her meals that day - but commenting on such a thing would reveal that he'd been watching, and that had…implications. So he didn't voice that thought. And he'd been hoping that if there had been trouble, it had been with one of those tedious duplicates that she seemed to find so amusing. Maybe that would follow.
"You?" Draco snorted "Yes, because you and Pansy are such close friends. Merlin, she's been spending too long around Weasley, she's becoming just as gormless. How did she get that in her head? I thought the two of you were great chums."
"So did I."
"Well? What brought her to that conclusion?"
Marilyn hesitated, and then she sighed and finally looked at him.
"She thinks that I told you, and that you fed it to Pansy so that she could then bring it to Skeeter."
Draco stared.
"And I told her that you barely even speak to Pansy these days, and that even if you did, I still wouldn't sit around gossiping about whatever it is she and Krum get up to - and even if I did that, she didn't bloody well tell me any of this in the first place, so how could I have known to spread it around? But she didn't want to hear it, and she called me a liar, so she can suck it as far as I'm concerned."
"Why would she think you might tell me in the first place?" he asked "Given that we despise one another and can hardly be in the same room without bursting into flames, as is the story we feed everybody else?"
"Yeah. Well. About that…"
"You didn't."
"Of course I didn't! I'm not mad! She worked it out on her own - which isn't exactly miraculous, considering we always happen to vanish at the same time."
The panic that first threatened to seize Draco's chest when he'd realised what she was getting at was taking over him in full force. He could feel the blood draining from his face, the implications of what she'd just said really sinking in. Granger had known for at least today - which meant Potter and Weasley no doubt did so, too. By extension the twins, and therefore the whole of Gryffindor. Merlin's balls, was he about to walk out to a blood bath? A stack of howlers from his parents?
"You should have brought this to me this morning!" he exclaimed, even more infuriated for her complete lack of urgency "She's known for a full day? There's no chance of us getting on top of this now!"
Their secret was out and she'd been in here dancing - dancing, of all things!
"It's fine."
"How is it possibly fine?"
"Because she's known a lot longer than a day, and she hasn't said anything in all that time."
"What?"
"She…confronted me. A while ago. She'd worked it all out, and showed me that article about Hagrid to try and show me what you're really like."
Several emotions coursed through Draco at that - disbelief, anger, a faint note of relief from the part of him that actually wanted to believe her…and the remaining panic from the part of him that couldn't.
"What did you say?"
"That she doesn't know you."
Draco faltered at that. Mostly because he didn't know whether to be pleased or insulted by that assertion. He knew which one he should be - insulted. Because this…this diversion, this interlude, this thing, this…this lapse was not supposed to be an indication of who he was. That was what made it a lapse - it was a momentary break from who he really was in order to be something he was not. Something he should not be - something he could never be.
In a correct world, Granger would be right and Marilyn wrong. And that really, really wounded him to even think. But while he could continue to tell himself that that was the case, it didn't change the fact that walking into this room always felt very much like exhaling. He hated that, and he relished it. And he felt much the same way about the fact that Baxter seemed to see it. Understand it. So he clung to his outrage, because that was familiar ground.
"Well there's no chance of her keeping her mouth shut now."
"I thought the same, but she still hasn't said anything - and if she was going to say something, it'd have been right after our argument while she was really pissed off."
"How do you know she hasn't?"
"George caught up to me on my way here, asked me what was up."
"Yes, why would anybody not want to sit with him and his wretched clan?"
"Stop it. He'd noticed that I wasn't sitting at Gryffindor table anymore, right around the time Hermione was walking around with a face like a smacked arse - paraphrasing - but that she wouldn't let anybody in on what was up."
"She's more friends with their brother and Potter, not with them."
"If she'd told Harry, he'd have told Ron, and he'd have told them."
"Well how do you know she's not planning on it?"
"I don't for a fact, but I really don't think she will. If she was going to, she'd have done it either before she confronted me, or right after we argued - when she was at her angriest. If she hasn't yet, she won't do. Mostly because she must already be doubting that I actually did it."
"Is that what you think, or what you want to think?"
"I'm not stupid enough to cling to what I want to think instead of what I know to be true."
She looked like she wanted to say more after - her mouth even opened to do so, but then she snapped it shut again. Draco could hazard a guess as to what words were supposed to fill the silence. Except in his case. He didn't call her out on it, and he didn't even really bask in being some strange exception - a special case. Because she was the same for him, wasn't he? He'd hardly behave with Granger how he did with Marilyn…and not just because Granger didn't have her looks. Or her legs. Or her charm. Or- he abruptly ended that mental list when it threatened to grow much too long for comfort.
"You should have told me," he said.
"I should have," she admitted "And I'm sorry. I didn't want to keep it from you, and it was shit of me to do it."
Her admission - and her apology - took more of the gusto from his anger than he'd have liked. That was almost enough to make him angry all over again in turn, but she continued.
"I knew she wouldn't say anything about it when she first confronted me, but I knew you wouldn't believe it if I told you that, so I needed some time to pass with her not saying anything to prove my point before I tried to make it. You'd never believe it without evidence."
He scarcely believed it with evidence. But, and he loathed to admit it - not because it meant Marilyn was right but because it necessitated believing that Granger was actually capable of keeping her mouth shut for once, and that was just slightly more difficult for Draco to wrap his head around.
"If you believe that she'll keep her silence with such certainty, what is it that has you in such a mood? Surely you weren't this worked up over telling me?"
Ordinarily he might've liked that. From Crabbe, Goyle, or any of his other housemates, he definitely would have - he'd have expected it. Demanded it. But he didn't quite like the idea of Marilyn being fearful of him. It was almost impossible to imagine, though.
"I wasn't looking forward to it, but no."
Uncrossing her arms, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and then brought her hands up to rest on her hips, her eyes still downcast. To his abject horror, when she finally looked up - but still not at him - her eyes were filled with tears.
"She was so quick to think the worst of me," she said, her shoulders inching upwards in a tiny shrug "I'd understand the question - if she'd pulled me aside for a chat and asked if I'd discussed her at all with you, I'd get that, but it was never even a question. It was decided. I did it, and I owed her an explanation and an apology. And then when I wouldn't own up to something I'd never bloody done, I was a liar, too. Okay, it's not like we'd been friends for years or anything, but that was what everything she'd seen of me as a person was worth in the end - one suspicion. And then nothing I had to say mattered."
Her voice threatened to wobble and she looked down again, breathing growing heavier as her fingers tightened at her hips so hard that Draco could see them digging into the flesh there through her leotard. The display was one that he took in with a mild sense of horror - to the point where he was relieved when her jaw clenched and she dragged her anger back.
"And it's an absolute joke, right, because it's all because I dare to spend time with you. What does she expect? For me to present her with a list of everybody I intend to befriend, or spend any time with, or kiss-"
"I hope there's not a list."
"-so that she can go through it and give it her stamp of approval? She's got a cheek. It's not like I'm sat here, having never been burned by you, or trying to insist that she should befriend you-"
"Please never do that."
"-but I'm just asking for the same courtesy! And what's most infuriating about it is that it means that you were right! They flounce about touting the importance of friendship and being good and understanding and all that bollocks, but the second you don't live exactly how they want you to, or you forgive the wrong person, or associate with anybody not on the approved list, you're the enemy. I wouldn't believe it, all this time I've been sitting back all impressed that she'd just let me get on and do what I want without anything beyond her first attempt at an…at an intervention, but no! She wasn't! She was sitting back, waiting for the first thing to go wrong so she could foist the fucking blame onto me! It's a joke, Draco, an utter joke, and I didn't do anything!"
Draco wasn't an idiot. He knew that a lot of what she was saying now came from the same anger and upset that had her digging her fingers into her hips to stop her hands from shaking. When the anger faded, a lot of her current opinions might vanish along with it. But - even if only for now - she saw the point he'd been making about Potter and his holier-than-thou friends for all of this time, and he had to stamp down any smugness before it showed on his face and ruined his moment of glory.
What also ruined any joy he was feeling was that he still wasn't completely sure she wasn't going to cry. She didn't seem sure of it either, her chest continuing to rise and fall dramatically, the muscles in her shoulders tensed in a way that seemed like more than just anger.
Sighing, Draco took a few steps closer - like he was approaching a wild animal - and when she didn't back away, he drew nearer still. Marilyn continued to stand rooted to the spot, her lips pursed, looking anywhere but at him. For one usually so confident, it was oddly endearing how embarrassed she was by her own upset. He understood, though, despite the fact that he'd never say it. To be upset was to admit that they had enough sway over you to make you upset, and that was not an option, or so he'd been taught. The girl before him likely learned that lesson from a very different source than what he had, but she was abiding by it all the same.
When he managed to get within arm's reach of her without being scratched or bitten, he lifted a hand and let it rest on her shoulder. He'd half expected to be put off by the sweat she was caked in, and was surprised when he found it didn't bother him at all. He wasn't much good at comforting people - it wasn't something he had a lot of experience in - but she followed the suggestion that his hand on her shoulder made and curled into him, pressing her face into his robes as he wrapped his arms around her. She still, thank Merlin, didn't cry.
But she did sniffle out a "I'm being daft."
"It's fine," he said.
He wasn't going to say that she wasn't, because anybody who teared up over Granger being insufferable was being a bit daft, but it was also fine. Standing here, he didn't mind it - he didn't mind holding her, and nor did her mind being the one she came to for comfort when even Saint George was sitting about Gryffindor Tower scratching his bright orange head wondering what the problem was. While she was betraying here how important Granger's stupid opinions were to her, she was also giving away what she thought of him.
Baxter had a way of laughing at everything - even things he suspected she didn't find funny in the slightest. That was why she got along with the Weasley twerps so well, for they found everything funny. A coping mechanism from having been born into that clan, he suspected. But she wasn't laughing now. And she wasn't trying to laugh now. And she was allowing him to see it.
He'd heard a lot that he didn't like this evening, and yet somehow it was overshadowed by this. This vulnerability. This closeness. This trust. All of which he didn't want to undo by storming out in a huff over Granger's knowledge of his own private business.
Draco tightened his hold on her, and he idly considered the fact that he could get used to this.
