When Marilyn turned onto her street, she was met with the sight of one of her oldest Muggle friends, Taylor, sitting on the front wall, kicking her legs as she waited. Marilyn grinned when she saw her, but when the rumble of her suitcases gave her away and the redhead lifted her chin to look at her, the smile faltered. Taylor's eyebrows were upturned in sympathy, and it appeared that whatever reason she had for being here wasn't a particularly good one.
"Is this just lucky timing or…?" Marilyn greeted.
Pushing herself forward off of the wall, Taylor met her halfway and pulled her into a hug.
"I came by last week to check with your mum when you'd be back."
"And she knew?" Marilyn's eyebrows shot upwards.
"No," Taylor admitted with a grimace, looking down at her trainers "And I think she was annoyed with me for asking, really. But then gran said it's always today that you're back, so I took my chances."
That sounded about right.
"Have you been here long?" Marilyn asked.
"No, no, not at all. They built a coffee shop round the corner while you were gone, so I've been nipping back and forth. Drinking my body weight in the strawberry smoothies they just brought out for summer, then coming back and peering into your window like a right creep just in case you got back while I was gone."
"Taylor?"
"Yeah?" she breathed, raking a hand through her curls and only dishevelling them all the more.
She wasn't managing to look at her throughout most of her nervous rambling, and it had Marilyn's chest tightening with worry.
"What's wrong?"
"I…right, well, it's sort of a long story. My parents are divorcing, you see."
And there was the downside of being away so often - being the friend who couldn't be there for other friends. Not the Muggle ones, at least.
"Shit, I'm sorry. Are you alright?"
"What? Oh, yeah, it's fine - they told me back in October. Waited a month for me to get used to the new school year. Truth be told, it's sort of nicer in the house without all of the arguments."
"I'm still sorry. That's rough. Is there anything I can do?"
"Well that's just the thing," she made a face, nervously shifting from one foot to the other "I came here because I wanted to tell you right away. Maybe see if you can make other plans or something."
"Other plans…?"
"Well I'm going to France with my dad for the summer - we leave next week - we're off to go and see my auntie, and mum's going down to Brighton to see her side of the family for a few months…and gran's going with her because she's all up and down at the moment so she wants to support her, and she hasn't seen that lot in ages either, otherwise I'm sure she'd have stayed here so you had somewhere else to crash - she feels awful about it, and so do I, and if I could've rang or something I would have but there's not a number for that school of yours bloody anywhere, and-"
"Taylor," Marilyn interrupted, and she fell silent "It's fine."
"Is it, though?"
"Of course it is. Don't be daft - you've got too much on your plate to worry about me, too. I'll be fine. I'll make other arrangements."
"Will you, though?"
"Of course. It's fine."
"Are you sure? Because I feel so bad about this whole thing, I wish we could bring you, I could try to argue your case with dad again - you speak French, so I don't get why we couldn't just bring you with us, and-"
"You do realise you're trying to make me feel better about your parents splitting up?" Marilyn interrupted with a wry smile.
"I've had ages to adjust to it. Honestly, it's kind of better. No tense atmospheres in the house anymore - and they still get on really well, so it's fine. None of this 'Taylor, tell your dad he's useless, Taylor tell your mum she's a slag' nonsense that you see in all the films."
"That puts you shit out of luck if you ever wanted an excuse to say that to either of them, though."
"There is that. Maybe if things get a bit stale I can stir up some drama by pretending it was a message I was told to pass on. But honestly, they'd probably just laugh and call it a fair observation. Dad would, anyway."
"Damn. You'll just all have to get along, then."
"I am sorry."
"Taylor, don't be. Genuinely. It was only ever a favour, it wasn't meant to be a permanent thing. What could I expect them to do? Adopt me? It's fine. I'd be a right selfish cow if I was annoyed about it, wouldn't I? I made friends with an, uh, exchange student during the year - he wants me to come and visit at some point, he lives down south. I'll get by 'til then."
The frown on Taylor's face suggested she did not particularly believe that.
"Well we don't leave for a week. I could always ask if you could come until then…it could get a bit complicated moving between mum and dad's, I just go between the two depending on who's working when, but we could…"
"Don't worry about it," Marilyn said, for what felt like the billionth time - although she was touched by the extent of her friend's concern "Seems like a whole lot of hassle for everybody. I'll just crash here. It probably won't be for long anyway, it's fine. I'll make use of that new coffee shop, yeah?"
Plus staying elsewhere for a week would make returning here all the more jarring. Especially after a hell of a lot of time to dread it.
Still, she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince - Taylor or herself. It seemed it didn't work much on either of them, Taylor digging her hands into the pockets of her jeans while she looked like she was searching to come up with another solution. Marilyn hated that. Not her kindness, but the fact that she felt like she had to fix it, or even felt guilty that she couldn't. It was her own shit to deal with - it wasn't Taylor's fault, nor her responsibility, despite how much she looked to be struggling with accepting that fact.
Sighing, Taylor turned and stepped back towards the wall she'd just been sitting on. A blue plastic bag sat on the ground beside it. Marilyn hadn't noticed it in her surprise.
"Gran said to give you this - said she has no use for it, and that it should get you started for the summer," Taylor said as she handed it to her.
Peering into the bag, Marilyn smiled softly. Yarn - tonnes of yarn. Good shit, too, high quality, with some skeins that changed colour as they wound on, or with bits of metallic thread woven throughout. This wasn't the sort of stuff one just had accidentally lying about. It was, however, the sort of stuff that would allow her to charge double for whatever she made from it. Maybe even more, depending.
"She really didn't need to," Marilyn winced "But thank you."
"She'll want to see you before we go - you can thank her yourself. We've still got a week, after all."
"Of course. I'll come round and say hi at some point."
Shifting from one foot to the other, she glanced at her school luggage at her side. There was a very real sense sinking in that all that was left to do was walk up to the house, and that anything between now and then would just be an effort to delay the inevitable.
"Do…you want me to come in with you?" Taylor asked.
She'd admitted to her once, in that two am sleepover darkness that always had a way of dragging secrets out, that her mother was always nicer when others were around - when she had somebody to put on a show for. Was she offering because she remembered that, or was it just out of general kindness?
"Er…yeah. I could use some help with the bags, I suppose."
Accepting one of the suitcases without question, Taylor began marching her way down the street in a manner that was completely all business, turning on her heel up the drive towards the white front door as Marilyn strode after her.
Refusing to be cowed in front of her audience of one, she lifted a hand the moment they were on the doorstep and rang the black and white doorbell. A shrill, monotonous ring from inside was audible to them, stopping after Marilyn dropped her hand back down to her side a couple of seconds later.
Well practised in the art of modifying her body language - and having just spent a year dealing with Draco sodding Malfoy - Marilyn squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and drew herself up to her full height. She was used to doing so in her dance gear, or even her Beauxbatons uniform. Something about it felt weird in Muggle clothing, her brown pinafore dress and white t-shirt combo having it feel much more like an act than it usually did.
They could see a short figure approach the door through the mottled glass, and it swung open to reveal a middle aged woman with chin length brown hair, looking painfully unassuming in blue jeans, a baby blue t-shirt, and bare feet.
"Hi, mum," Marilyn murmured.
Her mum's eyes landed on her, and then on Taylor. And then she smiled.
"Is that it July already? Christ, the time flies doesn't it. I didn't even think…and Taylor! You're looking well! How have you been getting on? Come in, come in."
She stepped aside and the two of them slipped inside, Marilyn leading the way through the white-painted hallway of the bungalow.
"I've been good, thanks - you?"
"Oh, surviving. Big plans for the summer then, girls?"
Her mum's voice followed them as they approached Marilyn's bedroom. She opened the door and paused, but only for a slight second. Nothing was particularly how she'd left it - not save her books. The bed, while neatly made, now had plain white covers on it rather than the dusky pink she recalled from last time. Her little wooden knick-knack boxes were no longer lined in a row across the worn wooden dresser by the door, and were instead stacked one on top of the other on the window sill. The backpacks previously stashed under her bed were now shoved towards the back of the space underneath the desk at the foot of the bed.
Normally that wouldn't be a red flag. She moved things around in her own home, what a cow was hardly a reasonable complaint. But things being moved meant things being rifled through, and things being rifled through meant things no longer being here at all.
Marilyn grimaced "Er, sort of. Taylor's off to France with her dad."
A beat of silence greeted those words.
"Oh. Just you and your dad?"
"Yeah. Mum and gran are off down to Brighton. My parents, er, they split up during the school year."
"I am sorry to hear that, love, but it's often for the best. It was the case with Marilyn's father and I, wasn't it, petal?"
"Yeah, definitely," Marilyn nodded.
She didn't want to start going through her things to take stock of what had gone missing while she'd been away - that would only start an argument, but as they sort of hovered about her bedroom, the suitcases set down beside her bed, she started trying to work out what was gone just through context clues.
"Well, we mustn't keep you - I'm sure Marilyn can manage unpacking her own things. Just about. I do hope we see more of you before you're away, though," her mum said, turning to Taylor.
Never had a clearer dismissal been heard - and considering their age, Taylor could hardly defy it.
"Right. Well. I'll see you tomorrow, Marilyn. I can come by at ten, if that works?"
"Yeah - of course. I'll see you then."
Her mother followed Taylor out of the room, and Marilyn listened carefully to her mother's over the top cheerful farewells as a frame of reference for how far away she was, taking the opportunity to check one or two of her hiding places. The check bore fruit - or a lack thereof. Her walkman was gone. Sold, perhaps.
The front door shut, and that was followed by a heavy sigh, and then the footsteps returned to her room. Trying to look like she hadn't just been doing her checks, Marilyn threw open the nearest suitcase and knelt down on the dark blue carpet beside it.
"She came by a little bit ago, you know. Asked me when you'd be back. How do you think it looked when I couldn't tell her? What must she think? And no doubt she'd have told her uppity mother all about it. You could have warned me."
"I didn't know when she'd be coming round. I just told her you must've forgotten."
She didn't look up as she answered, slowly shuffling her things about her case with what she hoped looked like a vague sense of purpose. The stuff related to school, or even vaguely linked to magic at all, always got left untouched, at least, so she didn't need to worry about her setting her eyes on any of this.
A sigh told her that wasn't good enough "So you're not going to be going to hers for this summer? For any of it at all?"
"I can't."
"They're too bloody cheap to spring for an extra ticket, is more like."
Or maybe it just wasn't their responsibility to take her on like an extra child every summer. Maybe they were entitled to some family time without the local charity case tagging along making dinners awkward. Voicing any of that wouldn't do much good, though.
"There's nothing to be done now."
"Where are you going to go then? I hope you're not planning on being here the whole time."
"I've got a friend from school who invited me over for a bit, but I need to wait to hear back. He needs to check with his mum."
"He?"
"It's not like that. He's got a bunch of siblings," she left out the fact that most were male "They have people stay over all the time. It should be fine, I just need to wait to make arrangements."
"Well don't end up pregnant, whatever you do. That's all we need."
We. Yeah, that was a funny one.
"It's not like that," she repeated, keeping her tone devoid of emotion - they'd avoided an argument thus far, it would be nice if things could be kept that way for at least the first day "I just need a bit of time to work something out. I can pay you dig money while I'm here, though."
It might've been impossible to take her walkman to school, lest the magic that saturated Beauxbatons (and Hogwarts too, for that matter) break it, but she'd been able to bring what Muggle money she did have with her.
Apparently her words struck an unintended chord.
"Money? You think this is about money? I don't need your bloody money, girl! You're a child! What would I need your money for? But Susan, Maggie, and Pam are always over and how can I just send them in a taxi home in the middle of the night? What kind of friend would I be? It costs a bloody fortune."
"What about the bus?"
"If they want to get the last bus they need to leave at eleven, and that's far too early. I'm under so much stress at work, I need a social life, you know! You're never here for three quarters of the year, you can't just expect for my life to revolve around you when you do decide to turn up!"
"The sofa?"
"The sofa? Are you joking? Susan's got a bad back! I can't put her on the sofa - it's tiny, and I can't afford a new one especially now that I'll be buying groceries for two until September!"
Groceries for two here meaning a multipack of crisps for Marilyn every couple of weeks, and maybe the occasional side dish from a takeaway if she was putting on the doting mother act for her friends. That was fine, it was what it was, she could source her own food - she wasn't a toddler - she just didn't like the distortion of the truth. She'd had enough of that during the school year, and some of that had been from herself. Maybe it was genetic, after all.
Marilyn pursed her lips - pretending to turn and check the wheel of her case as she did so, lest her mother catch sight of the annoyance on her face. She really couldn't be arsed with a whole screaming match. She counted to five, and then she lied.
"I meant I'd sleep on the sofa."
"And then that puts the living room out of use all morning until you drag your arse up! It's a communal area!"
"All right. All right. I'll work something out. I'll write to George as soon as I've unpacked. It'll be fine."
Her mother huffed her dissatisfaction, but she didn't press the issue.
"That's all I ask," she said finally "Do you want a cup of tea?"
"No, I'm fine. Thanks, though."
If she accepted, she'd only hear about it for the next week.
Flying in the face of her promise, she waited three days before she wrote to George. Even that felt desperate, but considering she was grilled every day on whether she'd done it yet, there wasn't a whole lot of choice in the matter.
And then she waited a week for a response, long after Taylor had left. The one she got was short - practically a waste of the parchment it had been written on, but the warm tone of it had her smiling.
Don't worry, Baxter, I've not forgotten about you. Trying to work things out on our end, I'll write again when we have! Do try to stay strong in my absence - I know I'm easy to miss, but consider it character building.
George (and Fred - but he didn't contribute anything, did he? Lazy git.)
After that she waited another week, and the mood was growing decidedly dire after that. By that point she'd knitted a surprising amount of fingerless gloves, hats, and scarves - and it spoke to how truly pitiful she probably looked selling them in the most touristy areas of York that people were willing to buy such things during a swiftly oncoming heatwave. The money wasn't going to make her rich, but it was slowly building up, and she kept it well hidden, safe and sound for a rainy day (because her continued presence in the house meant a monsoon would surely hit sooner or later).
When the second letter did arrive - this time a proper letter - she'd almost cried with relief, tearing it from the leg of the owl that brought it and ripping it open, her eyes scanning the page looking for anything that so much as resembled a date, or even just a time frame.
Instead, her eyes were met with words like sorry, unforeseen family emergency, really nothing we can do, so sorry, and a very colourful phrase outlining what a prat he felt like.
Marilyn's eyes fluttered closed and she swore to herself - ignoring the tremor in her voice as she did so. When she opened her eyes, her vision was blurred and teary, and she was furious at herself for that, too.
A/N: So. I do feel like I owe Marilyn an apology here (I mean, for all of these stories in general, let's be real) buuut…this was inevitable, looking at the timeline. This is the summer where the Order of the Phoenix is formed, and Harry's pals start brushing him off and keeping him at arm's length thanks to Dumbledore's orders. I think if they were having to keep Harry, The Boy Who Lived, at a distance for the sake of secrecy (and, y'know, Dumbledore's suspicions about his visions), Marilyn would definitely be shit out of luck, considering her former cavorting with ol' Draco.
I don't think they'd like it, but I don't think they'd be given a choice in whether to risk it or not, considering all that's at stake. I can't find much info on when exactly the Weasleys moved into Grimmauld Place for that summer, but I imagine it would've been pretty swift - and they couldn't have brought Marilyn with them.
Oof. Okay. Final, hesitant, note - because I'm not trying to make a big thing of it, it's sound, but I'm just trying to pre-empt any scepticism as far as Marilyn's mum goes. I do have to admit that Marilyn's home life does echo my own as a teenager (part of why I'm so bad at writing OCs with two happy, living, loving parents lolol), and I've found that people who are lucky enough to have had good parents can tilt a wee bit towards disbelief when it comes to those of us who weren't that lucky.
It's not a carbon copy, Marilyn's not a self-insert, it's just drawing inspiration, but it's for that reason I can promise you there's nothing about this depiction that's over the top. I know people like this can seem almost cartoonish for those who haven't dealt with them, if anything I'm toning things down a bit to save things from getting unnecessarily dark in a way I'm just not particularly willing to really dig deeply into for the plot. Shitty people exist, some shitty people are parents.
