Things after that were…iffy. The problem was, she'd made her statement by not sitting at Gryffindor table for the duration of the week that followed her spat with Hermione, but that meant that returning would now be a whole ass thing in itself. The longer she stayed away, the more of a thing returning became, which made her stay longer, which renewed the entire vicious cycle. And then George lived up to his snarky nickname from Draco - Saint George - when she made the mistake of mentioning such worries to him when he finally had enough and pulled her up over her abandonment of Gryffindor table.
"You do realise that we're not a big hive mind, right? Some of us might be purebloods, but we're not Slytherins. Red is rosy, remember?"
He'd chosen to confront her almost in the exact spot where they'd first met, out on the grounds by the lake. There were no Slytherins to harass her this time, the lustre of the powder blue robes having well and truly worn off. Thank Merlin. She'd been left to sit quite alone until he fell down into the grass beside her.
"I just don't want an atmosphere," she groaned in response to his very valid question "I can't be arsed with it."
"As if me n' Fred would even notice that - we pride ourselves in our lack of ability to read a room. We'd just go on as normal, on my honour," George said, and when he caught her begrudging smile he pressed on "Just because you fell out with Hermione doesn't mean you fell out with all of us."
"I know, and I'm not trying to take it out on you, but now returning is just a big awkward thing, and I always tell myself that today is the day and then it's just easier to not do it."
"You can dance in front of all three schools but you can't walk over to a table?"
"That's different."
"Then dance over to the table."
"Ah, the perfect way to avoid a scene, thank you."
"Oh, come on. You're made of sterner stuff than this, don't be such a wimp. I don't even think Hermione's that miffed at you anymore, she's just stubborn. She's hardly going to approach you through a sea of all of your frères et sœurs to extend a gold-trimmed invitation requesting that you come back to the table, is she?"
"Maybe that's what it'll take," she lifted her nose in mock-condescension.
"Sometimes I can really see how you managed to get on with Malfoy way back when, you know that?"
Marilyn hoped her responding laugh didn't sound too nervous "Thanks."
"It wasn't a compliment. Look, it's already March. There's not all that long left of the school year."
"And you're going to miss me badly when I'm gone and want to make the most of these last few months?"
"What? Don't be ridiculous. No, if you go back to Beauxbatons having wasted all of this good quality George time-"
"Oh, god."
"-you'll never be able to live with yourself, you'll plunge into a deep and dark depression, forcing you to squander your future as a ballerina because you'll be much too busy shaking your fist at the sky and asking why you didn't just make the most of it while you could."
"You're a sick and twisted individual."
"Yes, you'll try and tell yourself that in the beginning, denial is the first stage of grief, but it won't last forever, and it'll hit you eventually. I'm being a good, charitable soul and trying to stop that from happening."
Marilyn groaned - but only so that she wouldn't smile. Because she had missed him. He made it pretty easy to do.
"All right. Fine. Tomorrow, breakfast, I'll drop by."
"Nonsense, dinner."
"Breakfast."
"Well, that too, we're going to have to keep a close eye to make sure you don't defect again, but dinner first."
"George. Tomorrow, breakfast. It gives me time to mentally work up to it."
"You're sitting at Gryffindor table, not robbing Gringotts."
"With you and your brother around, they feel like the same thing."
"Good. That's exactly the effect we aim to have. We'll see you at dinner."
"Breakfast, George."
"I'm not having this conversation with you again, Marilyn, it's getting quite tiresome. Is this need you have to have everything explained twice what you and Hermione argued about? If it was, I'm on her side."
And then he was gone, headed back up the hill towards the castle and leaving Marilyn to sigh at the lake as if that might solve her problem. It wasn't even big enough to be considered a problem, not now that her initial anger had faded. It was just stupid awkwardness.
But she meant it - when she told him that she'd join them for breakfast, anyway. Enough was enough, and he was right. If she stayed away for the rest of the school year, she'd regret it when all was done. George didn't deserve that. Nor did Fred, even if she wasn't as close to him. Hermione usually had a library book or ten to return first thing in the morning. If Marilyn got up early and moved quickly, she could get to the table first, and then she wouldn't feel as awkward if she might were she the one making the approach.
It was a very good plan. And it all went down in flames when dinner came. No sooner had she began to tuck into her food at Ravenclaw table than she felt two sets of hands seize her, each pair grabbing one arm each.
"Alright, Baxter, come on, you were warned," Fred sighed, sounding remarkably like a weary police officer with thirty years of bullshit under his belt.
"What are you doing?!"
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," George responded brusquely.
Used to their, well, them-ness, Esme cast a glance towards them and then reached under the table to offer George Marilyn's school bag. He loosened the grip of one of his hands to accept it, but between his remaining one and Fred still holding fast, there was no chance of her wiggling her way out. Whatever god out there threw their hands up and declared that Fred and George should be twins was a malevolent deity indeed.
"You've got to be cruel to be kind," Fred replied.
"Actions speak louder than words," George nodded seriously.
That must've been the point where they ran out of clichés to spout, because Fred faltered for a moment before saying solemnly.
"Don't count your dragons before they hatch."
"Slow and steady wins the race," George countered.
Thanks to their superior height and the strength that their role as Beaters for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, they had her pulled up and away from the bench with ease, Marilyn's legs dangling uselessy beneath her. For a moment she considered really abandoning dignity and trying to level a kick at one of them, but that seemed a bit too far. She didn't want to look daft now, did she?
Sensing her surrender in what seemed to be a simultaneous manner, they slowly lowered her so that her toes touched the ground. When she didn't try to use that opportunity to scramble away like an animal being released to the wild, they lowered her further until she was finally standing on her own two feet. But they still didn't let go of her arms. A glance towards the teachers' table told her all she needed to know about how they'd gotten away with all of this so far - only Dumbledore, Madame Garnier, Sprout, and Trelawney had yet arrived. Hogwarts' Headmaster and her ballet mistress both seemed amused by the whole display, and the latter two didn't much care at all. Had McGonagall been here, it would've been a very different story.
Marilyn pretended to be unaware of the eyes that were fixed on all three of them as the twins frogmarched her across the hall to Gryffindor table. At least she wasn't caked in fake blood this time. They only let go of her when they finally reached the table and ushered her to sit down, wedged between the two of them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all already there - the two boys watching the whole fiasco with bewilderment (in Ron's case) and amusement (in Harry's). Hermione didn't look up from her dinner at all, but Marilyn supposed that was better than calling her an evil backstabbing cow.
"Have you two gone mad?" Ron stared at his brothers in disbelief.
Fred winked in response, taking a bit of mashed potato that was much too big for his mouth.
"Now, now, let's just welcome back Miss Baxter, shall we?" George said.
"Welcome back, Marilyn," Harry said with a somewhat bemused smile.
It seemed too genuine for him to know exactly why she and Hermione had bickered. Marilyn murmured her thanks, and the side door to the hall opened and McGonagall swept into the room.
"Right on time," George commented happily, confirming her suspicions that it had all been well planned.
They might've been rebels, but they weren't idiots.
"So," said Fred "How was everybody's day? Any stories to tell? Any lessons learned? Any memories made?"
"I was kidnapped from Ravenclaw table with a level of speed and efficiency that would've impressed the KGB," Marilyn replied.
"Who did that to you? When?" Fred frowned "They sound very intelligent. Athletic, too. Skilled."
"Don't forget handsome," George added.
"Do you even know who the KGB were?" Hermione asked drily.
"That's beside the point," the twins said in unison.
Well, at least Hermione's chiming in showed that it wouldn't all be tense angry silences. Awkward, sure, but not angry. Awkward was fine - they were British, they mastered the art of the awkward silence at birth. After a bit of crying. She'd already done that, and Draco hadn't even responded by running for the hills. That was a major victory in itself.
It was just difficult to read. Was she speaking up merely to pretend that everything was normal? Was she still miffed, but wanted to avoid an atmosphere? Or did she now truly doubt all of the thing she'd accused her of, but just didn't know how to go about smoothing things out? Sitting and pondering it wouldn't offer any answers, and it seemed just a bit more pointless thanks to the fact that Marilyn didn't even know how she felt, either, so what hope did she have in successfully working out how anybody else did?
Yes, her temper had cooled. If she could sustain that level of upset for all of this time, she'd be at a level of hysteria previously only seen in a period drama - the kind where the mums died of shock after moving to the north for a week. But she was still annoyed. She'd remain annoyed until she got an apology. If by some miracle she did get one, while she'd probably put it to bed and move on, it would always linger in the back of her mind. That she was one wrong move away from being blamed for failing crops and droughts. Forget 'I saw Goody Proctor with the Devil!', it'd be 'I saw Marilyn Baxter with Draco Malfoy!'.
But the condemnation hadn't yet been shouted for the whole hall to hear, nobody was coming at her with pitchforks and torches, and there was no scaffold being constructed in the courtyard outside. And, best of all, she was back at Gryffindor table. It was good for now.
Little gestures were made here and there from then throughout the rest of the week. Gestures that weren't so little when one took into account who they were coming from. Hermione was just as stubborn as she was (George's words, although Marilyn was self aware enough to see the truth in them), so little gestures from her meant just about the same as a little gesture from Draco would. Although telling the girl that would only make everything worse.
But still, they cropped up. If she asked for the toast, or the salt, or the pumpkin juice to be passed at meal times, Hermione was the one to do it. If she asked when a certain piece of homework was due, Hermione was the one who answered. Hell, sometimes she even coaxed a snicker from the girl with one of her dumbass jokes. It was all very tentative - she didn't really look at her when she did any of this. Then again, Marilyn only ever looked at her to check whether she was looking at her, so for all she knew the girl was doing the same thing and they just never looked at the same time.
Yeah, it was all also very stupid.
It was clear the girl didn't hate her, but how far that lack of hatred spanned was still unclear. Marilyn was fairly confident that it boded well, though, because she'd hardly randomly stop hating her if she still thought her accusations had been founded in anything that even vaguely resembled fact. But Marilyn wouldn't go on as normal without an apology, and she was beginning to sense that Hermione wouldn't apologise (or even just try to make amends) without some sort of gesture to indicate that it would be welcome.
Somebody would have to bite the bullet, and on the morning of the latest Hogsmeade trip, Marilyn decided it might as well be her.
"Hermione," she said, seizing an opportunity before many others had arrived.
Only Harry sat with them, and he appeared half asleep, his head lolling, even propped up atop his hand on the table. It was pretty early. Blinking in surprise, Hermione looked up from one of the countless books she often had nestled in her lap at mealtimes.
"Do you want to grab a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks today? Have a chat? Just a quick one - I know it's short notice."
Harry woke up at that, turning his head and staring at Hermione in a way that had Marilyn wondering if she'd been mistaken in her assumption that the girl had been silent on exactly what their tiff had been about in the first place.
"Oh," Hermione's eyebrows upturned as her brow furrowed "Marilyn - er, I can't. I'm sorry, really, I would, but…I…I promised Viktor I'd spend it with him. We're really trying to make the most of it all, with the school year being over soon…"
"Ah. All right, then," she gave a little shrug and returned her attention to her own breakfast.
"I am sorry," Hermione added.
"Don't worry about it, yeah? It's fine."
Mostly because the girl was lying to her - Krum had been ordered to spend the whole day going through Quidditch drills down at the pitch so that his skills wouldn't get rusty throughout the school year. She'd overheard a handful of third year girls excitedly making plans to go down and bear witness to the full thing rather than going to Hogsmeade. Harry seemed a bit more awake now, his crunching of his cereal being the only thing to interrupt the awkward silence that took hold.
Well, she'd tried. At least there was that, and it was fine, because now she knew where they stood. Not enemies, but not good friends, either. But hey, it was better than foes.
Unfortunately, her morning didn't get much better after that. Oh, it looked like it was going to look up at first. Once everybody else turned up for breakfast she managed to act normal and walk off any injuries her pride had sustained through her usual nonsensical chit-chat with George. She'd never tell him, there'd be no living with him afterwards, but it really was a balm. She already found herself hoping he'd really make good on his promise to invite her to the Burrow for a bit over summer. It would be interesting to see the place that had produced the force of nature that was the Weasley twins.
Her ego was almost mended entirely (her power of quick healing would no doubt come in useful as far as her dancing went) when she slipped out into the courtyard…and ran smack bang into Draco and Pansy.
Pansy stood at the bottom of the stone steps with her back to her, gesturing wildly with open arms at Draco who stood a few feet away. His face was a picture of annoyed boredom - which was sort of his default expression, but the slight curl of his lip gave away the fact that this time it was deliberate.
"What do you mean no?" Pansy demanded.
"It's rather a self explanatory word," he drawled.
Marilyn paused awkwardly in the doorway. What should she do? Turn on her heel and walk in the other direction? Continue on down the stairs and add a good gallon of petrol to these flames?
"But I don't understand it, Draco! This…this could be a good thing - we can take today and use it as a chance to reconnect, to start fresh, and to really get to know one another in a way that could even be deeper than it was, now that we've gone through this."
She was regurgitating a whole lot of stuff that must've come from any and every girly chat she'd had about Draco since the beginning of the New Year. Marilyn had been involved in more than enough of those sorts of chats to know them when she heard them. Unfortunately for Pansy, she also knew Draco was absolutely not the sort of person to start spewing that at. And she wasn't even being sarcastic there - all right, she didn't want Pansy to succeed, but it was difficult not to feel somewhat sorry for the girl as she tried and failed to understand why Draco wasn't having any of it.
Had he even properly ended things, Marilyn wondered? Or had Pansy just woken up one day and been forced to contend with their new standing out of nowhere? Marilyn had a sneaking suspicion as to what the answer to that question was.
"And you don't think you should have clued me in on these enthralling plans before you made them and decided they were going to happen?" he asked, still sounding very much bored.
It was difficult to reconcile the lad who stood here wrinkling his nose at Pansy with the one who'd hugged her as she cried after her spat with Hermione. Then again, it was also difficult to reconcile the one who'd bought her the bracelet still dangling around her wrist - and the broom that was signified on that very bracelet - with the one who'd humiliated her in front of the whole hall. He was a guy of many faces, was Draco. The question was which one was the real one. Was he good with a streak of bad? Or bad with a few moments of doubt? Moments of weakness, no doubt his lot would call it.
And most days she was certain it was the former. That the hatefulness in him had been a product of his environment, and what she saw behind closed doors was the real him. But moments like this - moments standing here, witnessing how cruel he could be, and how utterly unbothered by that cruelty he was, did spark fears that she was making a fool of herself.
"I don't understand it, Draco. You at least owe me an explanation," there were tears in Pansy's voice now - and while Marilyn, horrifically, found herself feeling bad for the girl, Draco was sighing like it was the most tiresome thing in the world.
Her mind had been mostly made up to turn on her heel and slink away, right when Draco's eyes flickered upwards and he noticed her standing there. Well. Shit. Pursing her lips, Marilyn descended the steps with a slow, measured calmness that absolutely wasn't genuine. She gave Pansy a wide berth as she walked past her, but that didn't pacify the girl much.
"Is it because of her? That stupid little mudblood?"
Aaaand there went her sympathy. Oh well. At least it wouldn't keep her up at night now.
"Of course it's not," Draco scoffed "Why would I care about her?"
"Well it's the only thing that changed! You shouldn't give her the satisfaction - this is exactly what she wants."
Christ, if she didn't respond it would only look suspicious.
"As far as I'm concerned, Pans, you can both sit on it and swivel," Marilyn called over her shoulder, punctuating her statement with a middle finger directed behind her.
And her short-lived sympathy even allowed her to feel kind of good about it.
A/N: In the books, the Hogsmeade trip in question is used by Hermione and co. to sneak off to meet Sirius. But Marilyn wouldn't know that. Dredging up every petty teenage drama I remember being embroiled in for inspiration with this chapter, I stg.
Every morning I wake up and pray to the gods for the strength to not start a Fred-or-George fic. In addition to my (almost finished) Norrington fic…and my Eddie Munson fic…and my semi-sequel to the non-AU version of this fic…and my modern AU Cullen Rutherford fic…and my blog. Oh, yeah, and the actual novel. When I list them off like that it actually seems like a lot lolol. We won't talk about the ones that get updated as sporadically as possible just to keep people on their toes. It's fine. It gives me a fighting chance of succeeding at Milwordy with my terrible attention span. When I fuck up and mix up OC names, that's when I'll acknowledge I have a deathly fanfic writing addiction.
