A/N: Thank you for your patience and the lovely reviews! I didn't get a chance to reply to them this time around because we've had a crapload of birthdays in the family all in one week (mine included!) so I was busy, drunk, and tired most of the time. My three main states of being. They were appreciated, though!


The steady influx of doom-laden Daily Prophet editions did nothing for Marilyn's nerves. Okay, that wasn't strictly true - they worked steadily to make them worse with every article about new disappearances, disasters, and deaths. She couldn't even be happy when she saw ones about rumoured wins for the side of good, because with each one she feared it would end with a statement that Draco had been killed in some duel that he'd been forced into by his "master". It would be a stressful enough time if she was only worried about people on one side, the right side, but with the added concern over Draco for what he was so clearly being forced into, it was maddening.

By the time she arrived in Diagon Alley in late August to get her school supplies for the upcoming year, she'd developed a twitchy eye thanks to poor sleep. The state Diagon Alley was in didn't help either, most of the shops boarded up or just plain abandoned. There was, however, a very notable exception to that…which was how she found herself standing by the front windows of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, feeling much more nervous than she'd ever admit.

Admittedly, that nervousness felt pretty absurd given how over the top and whimsical the shop itself was, but the nerves spiked every time she caught sight of one of the twins inside, zipping about the shop floor and dealing with customers. What if it was painfully, horribly, cringe-inducingly awkward? What if, after two minutes of stilted conversation, she'd end up feeling like an absolute tit for walking in at all?

But what if she didn't? What if she didn't go in, and harm befell the two very nice men who openly mocked He Who Must Not Be Named for the entire Wizarding world to see? It wasn't unlikely. Hell, standing here in front of the shop, all cheerful and brightly list in contrast to the gloomy, empty ghost town that the rest of Diagon Alley had become, felt oddly dangerous. If she didn't go in now, and then the opportunity to ever do so again was taken from her, she knew she'd regret it forever. So she put on her big girl pants, and she strode into the shop.

Even if she hadn't known who owned the place, even if their name hadn't been emblazoned on the massive sign out front, one glance around the huge multi-level shop would have told Marilyn exactly who owned it. She imagined that this was what the inside of Fred and George's combined minds must look like, all chaos and noise and colour, but with a sense of warmth and whimsy that held it all together and made it delightful rather than just abrasive or overwhelming.

She was busy cooing over a gaggle of Pygmy Puffs, idly wondering if it would be terribly irresponsible to buy one with the hectic year she had ahead of her. The answer was yes, and she knew she couldn't, but that didn't mean she wasn't tempted to name it divine providence when one the exact shade of Beauxbatons' blue snuggled up against the finger she dipped into the enclosure.

"You should consider yourself honoured. That one usually bites," a very familiar voice spoke behind her.

Turning around, she found George smiling down at her. However much she'd grown over the last year or more, he remained a beanpole who loomed over her.

"George Weasley," she greeted with a smile - one that widened when he opened his arms and offered her a hug.

"How d'you know I'm not Fred?" he challenged.

"Fred's better looking," she mumbled into his suit jacket as she hugged him back.

"Yeah," he sighed "She's Marilyn Baxter, all right."

"I'd ask how you're doing," she said when they parted, gesturing about them "But I can see that for myself."

"We are pretty spectacular," he replied "I'd give my lofty and important speech about laughter being the best medicine in dark times such as these, but I seem to remember you being a bit of a master at gallows humour yourself. You keep that up?"

"Here and there. Between reading up on new deaths in the papers," she said.

"Good lass. Come on, step into my office."

It took her a delayed moment to realise that he meant the phrase literally and not as a joke - mainly because he stepped away and then looked back when she didn't start following him.

"We can talk here without dealing with autograph requests from adoring fans."

"I haven't performed yet."

"Not yours, mine. Merlin, Marilyn, keep up - and get the ego under control, yeah?"

She smiled, shaking her head. And she'd been silly enough to think this would be awkward. Despite the lofty tone with which he invited her into it, the office was very much function over form - two desks pushed together so that they faced one another, the room littered with papers, prototypes, and Christ only knew what else. Still, Marilyn was no less impressed - and if there was any sincerity to that lofty tone, George more than deserved it and she hadn't been able to shake off that sense of wonder since she stepped into the shop. Yeah, the twins were a couple of years older than her, but this would've been a feat had they been twenty years older.

Given how the two desks were pushed together, sitting in front of one wasn't possible - which was good, because she'd only end up having war flashbacks of being sent to the head teacher's office back in her Muggle primary school. Instead, George waved his wand and a chair zipped from the outskirts of the room to the side of the desk, and then he pulled out the other from beneath the desk and manoeuvred it to face hers. Marilyn sat down.

"So…long time no speak," George was the one to break the silence before it could become awkward "That was probably my fault."

"It doesn't matter," she said.

And she meant it. If it did matter to her, if she'd come here toting some sort of grudge with her, she wouldn't have come at all. It had hurt at the time, but that was then and this was now. Moving out had distanced her from the whole sorry ordeal, any sort of disappointment she felt over the distance that had been put between her and the Gryffindor crew included. Not least because there was a war on now. You said I could sleep over and then changed your mind seemed like a petty grudge to keep lugging on when people were literally out there dying.

"Doesn't it?" he challenged with a sad sort of smile, leaning forward in his chair until his elbows rested on his knees.

"It doesn't," she confirmed sincerely "There's…more going on now. It's fine, George. We're good. Whatever happened."

"Good," he nodded.

The fact that he didn't offer an explanation, in light of all that had broken out since they'd last seen one another, left her with the suspicion that whatever explanation there was could not be shared. So she didn't ask. It just helped that she didn't want to dredge it all back up again - nor risk his pointing out that there was one specific letter she did not respond to. The one in which he questioned whether or not she still spoke to Draco.

"How are you doing?" he asked "Now that we've covered my glorious success quite enough."

"Oh, I'm sure we could wring a bit more out of it."

"Definitely, but I want to draw it out a bit - really savour it, you know?"

"That's fair. I'm good," she nodded.

"You look good."

"Always," she offered a wry smile "I'm currently living out of an inn up in York 'til I go back to school - and I got scouted by WIB last year."

"That sounds painful," he smiled.

"The Wizarding International Ballet, you fool," she said fondly "Signed a shiny contract with them and everything. I start dancing for them properly during this upcoming school year, between NEWTs."

Well, the NEWTs would be between dancing, if she was really going to set out her priorities, but he knew her well enough to know that.

"...And the constant travelling to perform might be a good thing, in times like these," she added.

"What, standing out on a stage in full view of everybody night after night?" he asked drily.

"There'll be an invisible protective barrier in place. Standard procedure during the last…" she trailed off, and then made herself say the word - because denial never got anybody anywhere "During the last war. I wrote to the company and asked about it, got a very nice, very long letter back going above and beyond to ease my concerns, so I must be worth something decent to them."

"Clever," he nodded with a sigh - and she didn't ask whether he was talking about her or the company "A right old shame that you even had to ask, though."

"Yeah, well…we can't all be brave enough to put signs up mocking him for all to see."

"No we cannot - but somebody has to bear the weight of all this glory. Might as well fall upon my very successful, manly shoulders."

"It's a burden you're enduring with impressive amounts of grace."

"And without even a single ballet lesson," he smirked.

"I still like to think my influence had something to do with it. Tangentially."

"You do like them rich," he teased - and then regretted it the moment he said it, wincing.

Marilyn smiled a tight-lipped, self deprecating sort of smile - mostly because freaking out every time Draco was so much as vaguely referenced was one way for her to really land herself in shit.

"Yeah, I suppose I did once. I'm afraid I've been put off of the bourgeoisie for life now, though."

"What about self-made entrepreneurs?"

"Is Fred available?"

That earned her a grin "I'll put in a good word for you."

The way the smile slipped from his face as he sat up and then leaned back, regarding her carefully, was her first hint not to get too comfortable. Those instincts turned out to have served her well when he spoke again.

"Look, I've really got no right to ask, and I heard that fact loud and clear when you didn't reply to my letter - which was fair, like I said, it was cheeky of me, but…are you and dear ol' Draco still in touch?"

Marilyn sighed. But the upside of her upbringing was the extent to which it necessitated lying - and therefore made her good at it. People liked to think they were good at spotting liars, it brought a certain level of comfort she supposed, but if everybody was so good at it, nobody would ever lie half as much as they did.

So she sighed heavily and shrugged slightly before hunching her shoulders in embarrassment, her gaze drifting down to her knees.

"No. Well, not really. Not since…Ugh. Look, it was a really rough summer, George. I had a moment of weakness and I wrote to him. I just needed somebody. Which he probably loved, but I wouldn't know because he didn't deign to write back - thank Merlin, that's probably the single kindest thing the prick ever did for me."

George watched her for a few moments as she explained, but as he listened his features smoothed over and then he grimaced before finally sighing. Relief washed over Marilyn, because she knew he believed her. What surprised her more than that was her complete lack of guilt - maybe because there was too much at stake here for her to cling to honesty above all else where this was concerned. Plus if George believed her, that meant others might if they asked similar questions. Although if others suspected enough to ask, too, she'd still be in a significant amount of trouble.

"Why? Let me guess, he decided to do a dramatic reading of it to the whole Great Hall during the start of year feast once you got back to Hogwarts?"

"Not quite," George made a face "He just said something odd to me in passing. Made me wonder."

Whatever higher power existed out there must have actually liked her - or at least decided to take pity on her today specifically - because the door to the office opened before much more could come of the topic, revealing someone who shared a remarkable resemblance with George.

"When Verity told me you'd snuck off to the office with a pretty blonde, I pictured something a bit more illicit," Fred said in greeting.

"Which is why you stormed in without knocking? Risky," Marilyn replied.

"What can I say? A man has to get his kicks somehow," Fred grinned "Hullo, Marilyn. What are you locked away in here whispering about?"

"The fact that you're more handsome than George."

"I see time hasn't dulled your excellent eyesight. I only came in because you're not our only visitor today - how do you feel about a few more reunions?"

She didn't see that she had much of a choice in the matter - but the idea didn't fill her with half as much trepidation as it might have a few months ago. Standing, she brushed off her forest green day dress and followed George and Fred from the office, once again pretending not to feel the nerves that threatened to tangle up her insides, her paranoid brain whispering that if anybody would be able to look at her and immediately discern the truth, that it would have been Hermione.

The Gryffindors stood fairly spaced out on the ground floor of the shop, noticing her one by one - first Harry, then Hermione, then Ron. Marilyn smiled at them, and was satisfied to find the smile didn't even feel wholly nervous. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she got a hug from Hermione, an only slightly awkward smile and wave from Harry, and Ron simply blinked at her as his face threatened to turn crimson. Apparently their time apart had brought back all of the shyness he'd once felt around her with a vengeance.

Harry, she noted, looked weary, slightly pale with the beginnings of dark circles clouding the skin beneath his eyes, despite the fact that he smiled and put on a good show of behaving normally. They'd all changed much in the same way Draco had - slightly different, but still them, a little bit older and less young looking. That in itself was kind of funny, because Marilyn could remember fourth year so clearly and how certain they'd all been that they were basically already adults who just hadn't yet earned the privilege of being treated as such. The knowledge that Cedric Diggory hadn't been much older than they were now when it had all happened just felt all the more scary now.

"I can't believe you're here!" Hermione exclaimed while Harry and Ron broke off to talk to the twins, leading her out onto the steps outside the shop so they could talk without obstructing the twins' business.

It also helped to not have mini fireworks exploding all about them, too.

"Yeah, well, if I wait 'til I get to Beauxbatons to buy my school books, they're all in French. Funny, that. It's not even a major problem, but then-"

"Then you have to translate it in your mind before you even start to take in what it's telling you," Hermione finished for her "I know what you mean, it's the tricky part of Ancient Runes."

"I'm surprised you don't view that as being the fun part," Marilyn smiled.

"Well it is, but that's just for Ancient Runes so it still has novelty – if it were that for every subject, I'd be doing just the same as you are," she said "It's just basic efficiency, really."

Marilyn breathed a laugh "I've missed you. God, it feels like we only saw each other last week."

"It's…certainly been a year," Hermione sighed "I saw in the Prophet about you, by the way. It was nice to see something in there that wasn't either bad news or propaganda."

"Well, you're welcome," she said with a tired smile, smoothing a hand over her hair "Glad I could be of some small amount of service. I really wish they wouldn't write anything about me though, I don't know how safe it-"

She stopped dead. At first, when she glimpsed a head of platinum blond hair out of the corner of her eye, she'd ignored it. Draco was on her mind more than ever as of late, keeping her from sleeping as she worried about him - it was no surprise that she'd keep thinking she'd glimpsed him in Diagon Alley. Compared to how she'd be spending most of the next year in France, it was more likely that she'd see him here, and her brain latched onto it.

But then the second head of equally bright hair came into sight, and she glanced over mid-sentence, and as a result forgot that she'd been speaking in the first place. Because it was Draco - standing by his mother, looking distinctly twitchy. He looked twitchier still when his eyes met hers. They widened for a fraction of a fraction of a second, and he seemed to go through the same process of disbelief and then denial that he was truly looking at her, blinking owlishly as she could do little but stare in response.

"Marilyn? What's wrong? Are you- oh, god," Hermione groaned when she turned and followed her gaze "One reunion you'd not been hoping for today, I'd wager."

Draco's cool grey gaze slid from Marilyn, to Hermione, and then somewhere behind her - and with each movement that cool shade of grey grew colder and colder still, until he was sneering at them so believably that she almost idly wondered if he actually meant it in her case. When she finally forced her eyes away from him and onto his mother - who, even if she didn't recognise her from the papers, was unmistakeably Draco Malfoy's mother - and found that she was watching her, too.

Years of performance was the only thing that stood between Marilyn's panic and her face, and by some miracle she kept her features impassive as Narcissa's eyes swept over her, then Hermione, and then - as Draco's had - somewhere behind her.

"Is it just me, or are Draco and mummy looking like two people who don't want to be followed?" Ron asked somewhere behind them.

He and Harry had moved to join them - likely upon spotting Draco - and were no doubt what the Malfoys had found so distasteful. As if to illustrate Ron's point, the two took one last look around them, and then slunk off in the direction of Knockturn Alley. Moving on what was probably instinct after years of distrust, the three Gryffindors were already stepping forward as if to follow - and then in an act of spooky unison, they halted at once and regarded her warily, as though suspecting she might want to join but hoping she would not.

"I'm…going inside," she said.

While she couldn't try and talk them out of following without looking suspicious herself - and therefore bringing only more danger to her and Draco - she had no intention of joining. That was the very opposite of laying low. The three looked just as pleased to hear that as she was to say it, but as she stepped inside she could only pray Draco wasn't up to anything as suspect as his demeanour suggested.