A/N: I'm sorry I didn't reply to reviews this time around - and that this chapter is late. Had some hiccups with real life (ew) and burn out followed suit. Back to business as usual now, though! Jumping a couple of months forward in time here - I've been trying to avoid it, but honestly the story is going to start seriously dragging if I don't, we've still got another three books to get through after this one (although the next couple won't follow the source material quite so closely, given Marilyn won't be at Hogwarts), and I think Draco and Marilyn deserve a couple of months of fairly uneventful sneaking around anyway.
A bit of a filler/transitional chapter all in all - things are really going to pick up plot wise soon, though, because the third task will happen in the next couple of chapters, and we all know what happens then!
A couple of months went by after that without incident. Well, without horrendous incident. Hermione did pull her aside when she was on her way back to the carriage for the night, pink-cheeked and anxious but otherwise looking very much like a woman on a mission.
"You didn't tell Rita Skeeter."
Marilyn blinked. The Hogsmeade trip had gone by a couple of weeks ago, and Hermione had continued on being perfectly pleasant to her, even if there was still an awkward atmosphere lingering. Honestly, she'd just expected the rest of the school year to go like that, and she was fine with it. There wasn't any outright drama, so it was what it was. So this? This caught her completely off-guard. So much so that a couple of seconds of silence passed while she waited for her brain to catch up with what was going on, her brain previously occupied with whatever homework was due next and how many hours of sleep she reasonably miss if she got up early to practise.
Then the words finally did sink in and she had no idea what to even say. If it had been phrased as a question, she'd have been a right moody cow back - she already knew that. Even now she was biting back a sarcastic 'if only I'd said that at some point', partially to save drama but mostly because she was ready to praise the heavens that her point was finally believed.
"No," she agreed finally, hugging her arms to herself "I didn't."
"I'm sorry I didn't believe you," Hermione said.
A guilty frown had furrowed its way into her brow, and Marilyn once again found herself hiding her shock that the apology wasn't immediately followed up by justifications, excuses, or accusations, Maybe she really had been spending too long around Draco that she'd now come to expect such things.
Sighing, she shrugged her shoulders up until they practically brushed her ears, and then dropped them, her arms following suit until her hands hung at her sides.
"It's fine."
It hadn't been fine at the time, but 'I accept your apology' sounded grand and frankly cringe-worthy as hell, so it was the best she had.
"Is it?" Hermione raised her eyebrows.
"It is now. We are. We're good. Everything as it was."
After all, what would it say about her if she could forgive Draco for all he'd done but not Hermione for a few misplaced suspicions? Ones she hadn't even voiced, for that matter.
"Good. Great. I'll see you at breakfast, then."
Hermione smiled, squeezed Marilyn's forearm in parting, and headed back to the castle.
And that had been that. Mercifully. They had indeed seen one another at breakfast the next morning, and proceeded to go on like nothing had ever happened. Or they would have done, had Fred and George not twigged on and gone out of their way to comment on it, but that was just Fred and George, wasn't it?
The only other thing was Draco. Draco was always a thing. The end of the school year was drawing nearer and nearer, and while she found the whole thing bittersweet and looked forward to returning to her friends at Beauxbatons the following September, she really would miss everybody she would soon leave behind. It was simpler with the Gryffindors than it was with Draco (again, always the way), because it was accepted that they'd write, that she'd visit the Burrow, that they'd all very much be staying in touch. But with Draco that wasn't so.
They'd begun this whole little thing with the explicit agreement that once the school year ended, they would go on as if it hadn't happened at all. When she'd made that agreement, she'd expected to find it freeing come the end of June, but now that was only a couple of months away and she found herself dreading it. Realistically, she knew it would be fine. She'd get home and other matters would take over as far as what demanded her attention. There'd be catching up with her Muggle friends, staying with Taylor, organising a trip to the Burrow when she could not stay with Taylor. All right, she'd probably think of Draco every now and then and wonder what he was up to, but that would be it. And eventually those instances would grow fewer and further between, until suddenly years from now she'd remember him out of the blue and laugh about the whole thing.
It was just all of the bits between now and then that made it complicated. For instance, the goodbyes. God, the goodbyes would be painful. Not in the overwrought emotional sense, but because of how awkward they'd be. If she was being painstakingly honest - only with herself when it came to this, though, because she'd die of embarrassment before she said it aloud - she didn't completely trust herself not to get emotional when it came to the goodbyes. She teared up when she left her Muggle friends behind for a new school year, so what chance did she have saying a permanent goodbye to the only lad she'd ever been involved with for a timespan like this?
His predecessors were randoms she'd drunkenly kissed at parties, it wasn't like she was well versed in this sort of thing. The intimacy, even in the absence of taking things further. The closeness. Knowing him, his idea of their goodbye would be finger guns, a wink, a pat on the ass, and then they'd part ways. Okay, maybe not quite that casual…although the mental image of Draco Malfoy shooting anybody finger guns was one that would be permanently etched into her psyche until the day she died. Still, he wouldn't want to make a big song and dance about it. She half suspected she'd simply walk into their little hideout one day in the run-up to summer break to find all of his things gone and that would be that. Maybe that would be for the best. But she'd still be left feeling like a tit for ever having imagined more.
Draco was conflicted. He'd been conflicted ever since Baxter had set foot in this bloody castle. Eventually it became the new normal, sometimes rising in waves and demanding his attention again, but it would pass eventually and he'd be able to go on as he was without thinking too much about what it was that he was doing. Until the next wave came. And they were growing more and more frequent.
The end of the school year was looming. Oftentimes by this point, he was looking forward to it - to returning home and living in true comfort, not having to deal with idiots every day. Or if he did, it was on his terms. At the start of the year, when it became clear that everybody would spent the year gaping at Potter even more than usual, he'd assumed the end of this year in particular couldn't come quickly enough. And now he found himself dreading it. All because of her.
He would have resented her, if he thought himself capable of hating her at this point. Life would be easier if he could. And, he often found himself lamenting lately, life would be easiest if she'd been a pureblood. Had Marilyn Baxter been pure-blooded and Slytherin, they'd rule this damn school together. He'd even settle for Ravenclaw. But she was not. He was being mocked. Or tested. And soon she'd be gone. That was for the best - he kept telling himself so. The only way this could have been worse would be if she'd attended Hogwarts full time.
After a bit of observation - longer than he'd ever admit to - he'd profess that she'd been honest when she said there was nothing between herself and either of the Weasley duplicates. Yes, they were annoyingly close, but not romantically so. But it was only a matter of time before that happened - before some lucky imbecile who could associate with her openly came along, and Draco would've been stuck watching it, clinging to his self control so that he didn't curse the sorry bastard's limbs off. Although he'd likely settle for a little hex here and there, if the opportunity arose.
No, the sad truth of the matter was that he knew he was going to miss her. There were times he already missed her now, and they shared a bloody place of residence for the time being. Ever since it had come to light that Granger had worked things out, they'd resolved to make sure there were times when only one of them was making use of their hideaway - to resolve the matter of them both constantly disappearing at the same time. Have one of them be present while the other slipped off would abate any further burgeoning suspicions that might've risen from those less apt to be vocal than Granger. Which just about constituted the entirety of Hogwarts.
In those instances, though, he found that the room felt much too empty. Lifeless, without Baxter in the corner running through the same three or four moves over and over, or sitting on the floor with her homework spread about her in a circle like some sort of absurd ritual. Oftentimes he found himself hoping she'd throw caution to the wind and turn up anyway, seeking his company above that of the Gryffindors. He faced a different version of the same temptation when it was his turn to stick around and be seen, and he was stuck listening to the tedious ramblings of people he did not particularly even like, finding himself committing particularly idiotic things they said to memory so that he might laugh about it with Marilyn later. When fifth year came, he knew he'd experience all of this tenfold, for there'd be no reprieve from it then.
He would simply go on missing her, until he forgot about her entirely. Neither of those eventualities made him happy to consider. And when that unhappiness rose up, so did the words Baxter had levelled at him at the end of last year, her voice filled with malice.
'You found a mudblood like me to be better company than your pureblood girlfriend. And what does that say about your values?'
It was a good thing she no longer expected him to counter her words, for he still came up short whenever he tried to, even mentally. Because what did it say about his values? She was the best the mud- the Muggle-borns (he had to get in the habit of thinking that word so he did not say mudblood in her presence and get himself a right old bollocking) had to offer, of that he was certain. She'd have hardly turned his head otherwise. The problem was, there was supposed to be no overlap between the best they had to offer, and the worst of his kind. And instead, she was showing that overlap to be painfully considerable.
Even at her most insufferable - and she took great joy in being as annoying as humanly possible at times, that much was certain - she was nowhere near as boring and tiresome as some of his fellow purebloods managed to be by accident.
So what did it mean? Either she was the exception, an anomaly, or his lot was wrong. And given that his lot insisted that there were no exceptions, that there would never be any overlap, it meant that they were wrong either way. So what else were they wrong about?
That was a path of thought he steadfastly refused to venture down. Ever. But it was there, newly paved and beckoning. He only hoped that he maintained the will not to go near it - and the fact that entertaining those thoughts worried him spoke volumes in itself.
It was on the night following Barty Crouch's strange disappearance that Baxter first betrayed that she'd been thinking of the future, too. Ordinarily they didn't discuss it at all. There were a lot of things they didn't discuss at all - Crouch's disappearance being one of them. Anybody with half a brain knew what events such as these might hint at - namely trouble on the horizon. And there was only one potential source for real trouble on the horizon that any of them might truly fear. What good would discussing that bring?
It appeared in avoiding the biggest and baddest topic of them all, the ones that were merely uncomfortable became fair game. Fresh perspective and all that.
"What are you going to do? At the end of the school year? Over summer?" she asked quietly.
The later the school year pressed on, the later they lingered in this room before retiring. More often than not, they snuck out so late that if they were caught in the halls at such an hour it would be an instant detention. Draco had even floated the idea of their staying there one night - with sleep being the sole thing on his mind - but she'd brushed off the idea, citing the morning roll call in the carriage that could really raise a stink if missed. The last thing they needed was for the teachers to start dragging the lake in search of her.
As if was, they had an hour at most before they really had to leave, and they were spending it well - entwined on the sofa, nudging each other into wakefulness when the other began to doze.
"Sit on it and swivel, if I follow your advice," he replied drily.
It was impossible to see her face from how they were positioned, her curled up against him, her legs folded across his where they were splayed down one side of the giant sofa. All that was in his line of sight was a great mass of gold-blonde hair.
She offered a tired chuckle in response "You won't let that bit of improvisation go, will you?"
"I'm taking a leaf from your book and being difficult for the sake of it," he murmured.
"Is she still suspicious?"
"She's not happy, but not suspicious. Even if she was, what would it matter?"
"What?" he could hear her frown.
"The truth is unfathomable to anybody who knows me, but should she work it out by some mad happenstance, who would believe her? My mother would be last on that list, and my father? Would you have the balls to approach Lucius Malfoy and call his son a blood-traitor?"
"You make him sound scary."
"He can be," Draco said - proudly "Often for that matter."
"That's kind've sad."
"What are you talking about?"
"People shouldn't be scared of their parents," she murmured "Ruling by fear. It's not…healthy."
"Of course it is," he rolled his eyes "It's how we do things. What, are your parents the sort where you're all the best of friends and they never teach you anything about how you should be living?"
Marilyn sighed, and then she dodged his question entirely - steering the conversation back to calmer waters.
"Your approach to Pansy is pretty Machiavellian. Tell me about your evil plan for world domination next."
"That's my plan for this summer," he replied drily, accepting her peace-keeping "Yours?"
She shifted slightly, fingers tracing across the lines of his knuckles while she stretched her legs out, tight-clad feet smoothing across the shins of his trousers as she did so. Draco did his best not to react - although he winced and marvelled all in one at how such a minor gesture could elicit a shiver from him.
"This and that," she murmured.
"Ballet, no doubt."
"Mm. Madame Garnier doesn't like me doing too much with different teachers over summer - different methods, you know? Not that I could afford Muggle classes anyway. But I have a deal with a local studio. I clean the place for free, and I get access to their practise rooms in payment."
Draco bristled at that, not overly fond of the idea of drudgery, but she snorted in response, continuing "Mopping is a good warm-up. It's not the end of the world."
"It'd be the end of mine."
"Fragile world, that. If it can be brought down by a mop."
He huffed a laugh, and then hesitated.
"We could always write."
The only reason he'd been able to muster the willingness to say it was because he couldn't see her face. Although the moment he did, he regretted it. It was the tiredness, he told himself. That was why. And the quiet, and the dimness of the room. All conspired to make him say things he ordinarily would not. To put stock in ideas that were utterly foolish.
"With a mop? Have you ever seen one?"
"Don't be an arse," he grumbled.
"I'm very good at it, though," she replied.
That was when she shifted, raising her chin so that she could see him, and then her eyes widened.
"You're being serious?"
"Forget about it," he murmured, moving to untangle his fingers from hers.
Marilyn held fast, though "Draco, I thought you were joking."
"Oh yes, hysterical," he said flatly "Almost as funny as the Weasleys."
He shouldn't have asked. He shouldn't have broached the topic at all. That had been their agreement, had it not? If Baxter desired otherwise, she'd have said so - she certainly had no trouble voicing every other thought that flitted through her mind, so this would not have been an exception.
"Draco," she said, firmly "The thought crossed my mind a couple of times, but I didn't bring it up because I never thought you'd want to."
"Yes, well, that speaks to the wisdom of the idea," he grumbled.
Although he did stop trying to pull away.
"Yeah," she admitted with a grimace "There is that. But it's not like we'll be penning each other sonnets or anything. Just…check-ins. Keeping in touch. Christmas cards and the like."
"We could use fake names," he offered in agreement "And of course, they'd taper off eventually."
"Exactly," she agreed "We're not kids. We're not five year olds promising to be best friends forever before we change schools or something. We know the reality of it. Life will take over, this is just…"
"The mature way to go about things," he supplied.
"Exactly. Yeah," she nodded "The mature way. It's fine. Look at what we've gotten away with all year."
"A few letters will hardly hurt," he replied.
It didn't matter how denial-filled they were being, the one logical part of Draco's brain that yet remained pointed out - because there was no third party in the room to tell them so. And, as Marilyn lifted up her free hand to ghost her fingernails across his jaw, Draco tilted his head down to kiss her and couldn't much find it in himself to care for logic.
