A/N: Song featured is Bewitched by Frank Sinatra, for anybody who fancies giving it a listen – it's originally from a broadway show, I believe, and has also been covered by Ella Fitzgerald, but the Sinatra version is the one I have in mind when I write this little routine. Said routine is also massively inspired by The Royal Ballet's performance of the Balcony Pas De Deux from Romeo and Juliet, if you would like a visual :)
Also, spy the Phantom of the Opera reference besties.
The finely polished grand oak dining table at the WIB headquarters was always abuzz with a particular kind of chaos that Marilyn couldn't help but love. Just over thirty actual active dancers called the headquarters home, which spoke volumes as to how highly coveted a spot in their ranks was, but the noise up and down the table would befit sixty or more. All of her fellow dancers would chat animatedly around her in more languages than she could count - and most of which she could not speak. Sure, there was the French, and the English obviously, and snippets of Italian thanks to Adriano (most of it foul or blasphemous) - and then she could piece together bits of languages she didn't technically speak thanks to what she knew from those she did. Mostly, though she just enjoyed it.
Whether they were speaking the same actual language or not, they all spoke the only language that mattered much to her - ballet. They understood it. The commitment, the toil, the life, and how worth it all of it was. If there was ever a place Marilyn felt like she belonged - bar the stage - it was here.
It was those sort of thoughts, the overly sappy and sentimental ones to do with camaraderie, that she was lost in when an owl flew overhead and dropped a gleaming silver envelope into her lap. And then no languages at all were being spoken around the table. The letters she'd been receiving were no secret, not here amongst those who could also be impacted by them, but there seemed to be more to their silence than that.
Frowning, she plucked it up from where it sat innocuously atop her leggings and scanned the writing on the envelope. Draco's. She knew that on sight by now. But the envelope was new - different. And different drew notice, so why had he used it. Adriano noted her confusion from where he sat at her side.
"It's a husher."
"You mean a howler?"
"I know what I mean. A husher - same concept, flipped on its head."
"So it's not going to explode?"
"No, it's not going to explode. It's made for secrets - once opened, it relays a message in the sender's voice, but only the intended recipient can hear it. Useful for something one might not wish to put in writing. And very dangerous, for somebody in your shoes. I would burn it, were I you."
His concern was more than understandable. As somebody who was the ever-ongoing recipient of death threats both terribly unimaginative and worryingly creative, the concept of somebody coming up with something so heinous that they didn't wish to commit their handwriting to it was a dire concept indeed.
"It's - er, it's from my friend at Hogwarts," she murmured.
"Or somebody who can mimic his hand," one of the older girls down the table pointed out.
"Is this friend of yours inclined to boast of his association with ballerinas?" Adriano asked.
"He's inclined to not tell a single soul," Marilyn shook her head.
"Can't be like any boy I've ever met, then," another soloist across the table muttered.
"Nobody else will be able to hear it?" She turned to Adriano for confirmation again.
"I'm a nosy bastard at the best of times, but I wouldn't set you up like this," he vowed.
Grimacing, she cracked the seal on the letter and it sprang from her hands. Much like the howler's she'd witnessed a few of her fellow students at Beauxbatons receive, in an impressive feat of origami the letter folded in on itself until its creases resembled a mouth, and then Draco's voice met her ears. Given that nobody around the table gave any indication that they were aware it had begun speaking, she knew Adriano had spoken truthfully. There was no way at least one of them wouldn't give the game away had they been aware. Instead, they all made no attempt to disguise the fact that they watched her intently for any sort of indication as to what the letter contained.
"Baxter!" His voice hissed - utterly incensed despite the half-shout, half-whisper he was so clearly struggling to limit his voice to, lest he be overheard "Have you lost your mind? Do you want to die? Is that what this is? You're- you're one of these idiotic masochistic artists who hopes to die young in a blaze of glory to add a permanent edge to the mark they leave on history?"
Pressing her lips together until her teeth threatened to break skin, she lowered. her gaze and listened as his tirade continued.
"I don't know what sequence of events might possibly be worse - the idea that you were strong armed into it, and if you were I'll be on more than one warpath this month, or the idea that you had a real hand in this farce yourself. Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you have any idea what he will-"
He cut off then, and Marilyn felt the blood slowly begin to seep from her face. Not because he was saying things she hadn't already thought of, but because she was certain that he'd stopped speaking abruptly to try and mask how his voice had ventured dangerously close to cracking.
A moment of silence went by, and she wondered if that was the message finished, but then she heard him draw in a breath before he continued, his voice steady.
"Undo it, Marilyn. I don't care what it takes, I don't care if it loses you your position, I don't care what it costs. Take it back. Undo it. Do something. And pray that it ends up being enough, because I cannot look at tomorrow's headlines and have them announcing your death. Do you hear me? I'll…Ugh. I imagine you're miffed now after hearing this. I don't care. Evidently you don't have anybody with a brain telling you these things over where you are. Just write back to me, let me know you're still breathing for the time being."
She truly thought it was the end then. The way he'd spoken certainly held a definite note of finality, which suggested that what really did end up being his final words hadn't been entirely planned.
"Mother always likes to spend a day or two of the holidays in Paris. Ordinarily we'd go to the ballet, but I think that's off the table now. She doesn't care what I do while we're there - the paper says you'll still be in town. Perhaps we might meet."
If she didn't already have an absolutely concrete idea of just how much she was playing with fire (a massive, fiery volcanic inferno, not some measly little candle) she would have then - because the only reason he'd push so hard to see her again at a time like this would be because he feared it might be his only chance.
It was a sense she couldn't help but share. Draco was intelligent and, recent decisions aside, so was she. It was one of the very few things they had in common. So, in spite of that, she just had to hope that they were both wrong about this. That it was her fear and her dread speaking. And she was done acting based on those two things.
…Although her next letter to him might require a touch more code.
18th December 1996
Dear Draco,
I was so happy to receive your letter, and I am heartened to hear that you are doing so well. I find no trouble in admitting to you that I share your stress over exams and the step up to NEWT level work - my parents expect me to be a credit to them, and I know you face the same expectations. No doubt the trouble will be worth it in the end, and we shall both do just fine.
As you say, you at least have Paris to look forward to. We cannot make it this year as mummy and daddy much prefer Florence at the moment, but I can definitely make a few recommendations - there is a wonderful bistro not two streets east from the Opera Populaire, if you think you might be able to stomach the crowds going to see the tripe they put on these days. Luckily, the crowds are all gone by around eleven or so, and late suppers are in fashion these days.
As for me, I'm not sure when I'll be leaving for Florence. My parents are in disagreements over whether we should leave on the 27th, the 28th, or the 29th. No doubt they'll manage to agree on a day soon, and I'll be eating spaghetti before the month is out.
Kisses,
Meryl Monroe
The day after sending her letter to Draco, Marilyn was readying herself for yet another performance. Given that they both understood the danger one another faced and therefore found themselves in need of similar amping up routines, she and Adriano shared a dressing room before their little solo performance. There was little modesty between them, anyway, and their work contained so much of one another's bodies that it was borderline impossible to see anything inappropriate or titillating in seeing the other half-dressed now.
"These arrived for you," Adriano nodded in greeting, gesturing towards a massive floral bouquet.
It was a wild arrangement that held flowers of just about every colour flowers could possibly come in, with a bright orange and purple note sticking out of the foliage branded with a gleaming 'W'. Smiling despite herself, she plucked up the note.
Baxter,
Welcome to the rebellion. It's great fun here. Break a leg.
G & F Weasley
"Your Hogwarts boy?"
He was already in his costume, and was busying himself with his stage makeup in the mirror, glancing at her between swipes of eyeliner around those dark eyes of his that captivated audiences so.
"No," she said - and then ignored the fact that she'd walked right into admitting she had a Hogwarts boy "Well. Sort of. Friends, but not that one. The Weasley twins."
"Ah. Well, you'll be pleased to hear I'm also being inundated with love and support for my selfless role in all of this. Not that I was hurting for admiration to begin with, but we all like a nice little compliment every now and then."
"Or every day," she teased as she began to change.
"Every hour, at least. I wake at night like clockwork to hear them called to me from my window."
The process of slipping into her costume was already becoming something resembling muscle memory - although it helped that, as far as ballet costumes went, the one for their little solo piece was very simple.
"Selfless of you, really. Making time for your fans."
"It's the least I can do - looking out for the little people and all that."
"Speaking of," she said slowly - figuring she wouldn't soon get a neat little segue like this again "I really wouldn't blame you if you wanted to duck out of this, you know."
"Of what?" He frowned.
"This," she repeated "It's been in the papers, it's attracting a lot of notice. It's…it's getting dangerous."
"It was always going to be dangerous, stellina."
"In theory, yeah, but now it's real. Now we're in papers as the dancers taking a stand against him. The danger it's…I don't know, it feels like a matter of when rather than if now."
"And what kind of man would that make me if everybody saw me flinch? If I hid away and left you to do it alone?"
"A living one, preferably."
"What if I want to die young? Like all of the best icons."
"Keith Richards would like a word."
"I'm not backing out, Marilyn. That would be the only thing worse than not elbowing my way into this thing in the first place. You're not the only one with skin in this game, you know. It's my name attached to it, too. I will not be the one who backed down and hid in the corner like a good little boy. I will not live like that. This is my world too, god damn it."
"All right," she said "All right. I just had to make sure it wasn't because of me."
At that Adriano cracked a wry smile, halting his beauty regime to put the pencil down and turn to look at her properly rather than just her reflection.
"You really need to get that ego of yours under control, yes? Try to be as humble as me. You might learn a thing or two."
Marilyn grinned and shook her head. Maybe she would.
With that matter settled, and her flowers from the Weasley twins suitably fussed over, she was free to turn her mind to the performance. While she was hardly immune to pre-show jitters, she'd never faced them to such an extreme extent as other dancers did. It was probably that wild, out of control ego of hers again, but her nerves had always been easily interchanged with excitement, and so she'd always just used them as fuel - meanwhile some of the others here, even though everybody here was a damn good dancer, worked themselves up into such a state before hitting the stage that the crew kept sick buckets at hand. Different people had different pre-show rituals, she supposed.
Now, though, she was getting a glimpse into their world. It didn't help that the other dancers - and even some of the crew - looked at them like they were on their way to the chopping block as they moved through the backstage area towards the entrance to the stage. For the whole walk tonight, just as every other night, Marilyn felt a heavy sort of nausea, intermingled with feeling too hot and too cold all at once. Even her hair, left to fall about her shoulders in loose romantic golden waves felt too much, and she could feel it sticking to the back of her neck as she walked with Adriano.
As they had ever since their first walk to do this damn thing, they linked arms. Like that would help. Okay, it did a little, but only because Adriano clung onto her arm as tightly as she did his - the knowledge that both of them were more nervous than they'd ever let on was somehow helpful. More helpful still, though, was her anger. She clung to that even more tightly than she gripped her dance partner, along with her indignance.
Adriano was right. Despite how she'd somewhat hoped that he would agree to duck out, everything he'd said to her in response to the suggestion was something she'd already thought to herself many times over. Why should she shrink back to the shadows, a supplicant hoping the big bad blood-purist bastards might overlook her when they began to wreak havoc upon her and hers for…existing. Like she had something to be ashamed of? She had nothing to be ashamed of. Not one single thing. She refused to act like she did, not when Harry was out there facing this thing, and no doubt Ron and Hermione with him. She refused to hinder herself and her career for the sake of a small chance at an easy life while Draco was out there doing…doing Merlin only sodding knew what, really.
If things were going the way that they felt like they were going, whether she'd done this or not would have done nothing to change the fact that a day would come when He Who Must Not Be Named and his merry band of utter fucking psychopaths put pressure on the company - and every other business and establishment in their world - to sack the Muggleborns from their ranks "or else". If they then refused (which she suspected Sabrina would, considering her involvement in this here and now), they'd become targets anyway. At least this way she was taking charge. She was making a stand.
That had to be worth something, right? Draco might not think so, but she couldn't live her life based on what he would or would not approve of, either.
Striding out onto the stage with Adriano, she looked at the grand red velvet curtain which had yet to be raised, and then the magical protective barrier that sat just an inch before it. It was difficult to spot - entirely invisible to the audience from their vantage point - the only giveaway lay within the way the edges at the far sides and right all the way up at the top glimmered an iridescent silvery-blue.
They took up their position in a way that was very much second nature, Marilyn standing with her feet flat on the floor in front of Adriano, who wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands resting at her abdomen. All it took was a nod to the side of the stage, and the moment they faced forward again the curtain was shifting up.
A distinct downside of the candlelit Wizarding stages was that the candlelight that lit the stage didn't blind those on it in the same way that Muggle stage lighting did. Thanks to that, they were both painstakingly aware of the audience as they fixed them all with matching smiles. Mostly, Marilyn directed her gaze to whatever was not a person - the doors at the back, the elaborate golden carvings of the balconies. Anything. Then, when the smooth deep tones of Frank Sinatra took over, punctuated only by the fluttering of a harp in the beginning, she could finally move up en pointe, look to Adriano and feed off of his energy.
"She's a fool and don't I know it, but a fool can have her charms. I'm in love and don't I show it, like a babe in arms…"
As the first verse rolled out, Marilyn spun on one foot to face him, and they gaze at each other like they were each utterly captivated by the other. Her right arm snaked around his left shoulder, while his left arm supported her at her back as he spun her and then dipped her down low, before slowly righting her again, and then they repeated the process at the other side, her toes remaining pointed and fixed in one spot the whole time as she relied on him wholly for balance.
They then repeated the process again as the next verse rang out, only this time he rolled her even closer to the ground, their noses almost brushing as they stared at each other unflinchingly with soft smiles, as if they were standing perfectly still.
"Love's the same old sad sensation, lately I've not slept a wink…since this half-pint imitation put me on the blink…"
The first verse drew to a slow end, Sinatra's voice trailing off as Adriano righted her again and she wrapped both of her arms around his neck, gazing up at him adoringly.
"I'm wild again, beguiled again, a simpering, whimpering child again…"
Lifting one leg to point out straight behind her, he moved in a slow, careful circle which had her spinning on the toes of one foot, and after they'd gone through one full rotation she unfurled her arms from around him and used the toes of the other to spin away from him, directing a cheeky grin back at him as he watched her like he was captivated.
"Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I…"
He danced closer to her with a few long, graceful strides, but she was dancing away with a few quick, delicate steps - leaving his fingertips to barely catch at the hem of her dress in her wake.
"Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep, love came and told me I shouldn't sleep…bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I…"
A similar process repeated itself again afterwards - with her character turning back to watch him coyly, expecting him to follow once again only to lower herself down to stand flat on the stage and watch forlornly as he did not, before resolving to go after him instead.
It wasn't until the finale when she pulled off her feat, though. The broom (one of a light, warm wood unlike the white one Draco had once gifted her) floated down as if from the heavens as Sinatra's voice picked up in power, truly belting out the final verse and drawing out the words for longer and longer as he sang them, while she hopped up to stand atop it while it was already in mid air. A feat that would impress a seasoned tightrope artist, she liked to think.
"I'll sing to her, bring spring to her, and long for the day when I'll cling to her…"
Adriano remained on the ground, reaching up towards her as the broom floated steadily upwards. Executing a series of very difficult but quick little chaînés in which she spun on both feet, en pointe, towards the handle-end of the broom so she could reach down towards him in turn, she waited until the final line began to really boom out before she made her next move. Sighing forlornly as if realising it was fruitless, she turned away from him, tensed the muscles in her left leg to test her balance, and then slowly lifted her right out behind her into an arabesque, stretching it out further and further still, one arm stretched out behind her and the other reaching out in front of her, channelling as much grace as she physically could into every ounce of her posture.
"Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I."
The final note was the longest - longer than she could have managed to hold any note, filled with power and emotion. It was that note which drowned out the sound of the spell that was flung her way; not from the audience, but from the rafters up above, from which there was no barrier between her and them. The spell did not hit her, but it likely wasn't intended to. Instead, it hit the bristles of the broom, sending it spinning off balance and out from underneath her.
There was no time for anybody to react - least of all Marilyn - and she was hardly aware of the yelp that left her lips before she was tumbling down and hitting the solid stage floor hard with a sickening crack.
A/N: I'm not a ballet dancer, as anybody who is will be able to tell when they read this chapter lolol I do apologise. Anyway, does ending the chapter like this completely negate the fun of an early update? Just wondering uwu
