Marilyn had always considered her pokerface to be, if not decent, then at least passable. A perk of having the mother she'd been blessed with - she was used to greeting vitriol with a blank expression, rarely betraying what it was she was thinking or feeling. Maybe that was some sort of subconscious reason behind her bonding with Draco, who knew? What she did know was that, thanks to recent events, dancing her first few performances back with a serene, simpering smile on her face was more difficult than the actual bloody steps involved. When the curtain fell and it was time to prepare for the actual show, she almost collapsed with relief every time, the adrenaline coursing through her paying no mind to the fact that there was still an entire show to get through.
It was a shame that they couldn't put it at the end of the show - leaving her with little to do afterwards other than decompressing in a dark room while her heart rate returned to normal - but if they did, it would defeat the point. People could always just walk out. Although it could very well be argued that those who would walk out at the end were the ones who now boycotted the company to begin with. Their absence set her mind at ease, at least. Somewhat. But when the first day of the set of dates she'd given Draco arrived, no amount of substances both legal and, ahem, frowned upon could stop her from feeling distinctly edgy.
He hadn't replied to her letter. It was impossible to tell whether that meant he wasn't going to show up at all, or if he just deemed it safer not to respond. Of course, safest would be for them not to meet up, but recents events told her more than anything else that she'd stopped dabbling in safe long ago. Safety was but a speck on the distant horizon, and it only got smaller by the day.
That very cheerful thought was what floated around in her mind as she stood side-by-side with Adriano, scrubbing her face free of makeup and sweat. If she was feeling especially vain, she'd have then reapplied some non-stage makeup - as if a coat of mascara and a bit of lip gloss would dissuade him from scolding her like she was a child - but that would only raise suspicion. More-so than what she intended to say next, even.
"Everybody's going out for dinner tonight, right? At that restaurant by the Louvre?"
"That's the plan. Why - aren't you?"
Marilyn hesitated. If she tried to throw some half-arsed cover story at him - if she insisted that she had a migraine or that she just wasn't up to being a social animal, there was a danger that he'd elect to hang around with her instead. They were already thick as thieves before all of this, but undertaking this…this ridiculous plan had brought them closer still. After all, they were the only two people in the company who knew what it was like being out on that stage with Sinatra blaring out to potentially murderous zealots night after night. It would've been enough to make even the worst enemies pretty insular.
But she couldn't tell him the truth.
"There's something I need to take care of, but I don't want word about it getting around. Would you cover for me? Please?"
Any delusions she had that it would be as simple as that were firmly stamped out when he stilled beside her, and she had to pretend to be very engrossed in brushing her hair out of its bun just to avoid meeting his gaze in the mirror.
"Take care of? What?"
"I'm…I'm meeting a friend. The one from Hogwarts. But it's all very hush-hush, because his parents would have a heart attack if they found out their son was anywhere near WIB's biggest pariah."
"How did you arrange this meeting?"
"Via letter."
He dropped the face cloth he'd been using down to dressing table before them and turned to look at her properly now, rather than just at her reflection.
"And who knows of your friendship with this boy?"
"Nobody," Marilyn busied herself with a particularly stubborn knot in her hair, but knew the longer she kept up the nonchalance, the more false it blatantly was.
"How sure are you?"
"I'm certain."
"How certain?"
"Adriano."
With a sigh, she set down the brush, and finally turned to meet the brunt of his dark, concerned gaze, hugging her arms to herself.
"No, I'm serious - is it possible somebody learned of this friendship and intercepted the letters to get you alone? Maybe- maybe a Slithering, or whatever the hell it is they call themselves?"
"It's definitely him - and it's fine," she insisted.
"And you're certain he's not under the influence?"
"His handwriting doesn't betray him as a drunk, no."
"Of a curse, Marilyn, stop trying to be cute."
Merlin, but they'd get along well. So long as they could bond over their exasperation where she was concerned, at least.
"I'm certain," she said.
"And you'd bet your life on that?"
As if there was any doubt over just how serious he was, he placed his hands on her shoulders, stooping slightly so they were at eye level with one another.
"Yes," she answered immediately.
Because the thought of that risk had already occurred to her - and she knew if she hesitated, he'd never believe a word she said on the matter. Even without that hesitation, he still didn't look convinced, his gaze intense as his eyes flickered back and forth between hers.
"I think you're being foolish," he sighed, his hands slipping from her shoulders.
"We're foolish on that stage every night," she argued - albeit half-heartedly - before sighing and continuing, a tad more sincerely "Look…this…this might be the last chance I get to see him. Times are rough, and they're only going to get rougher. Last time I saw him, I swore up and down that it wouldn't be the last time, but the more this all goes on, the more likely it is that something's going to happen to one of us. Is it a risk? Sure. But it's one I'm willing to take, and it's one I'm being smart about."
Starting with wearing shoes that she knew she'd have no trouble running in, if it came to it. Turning, she bent at the knee to take up her battered trainers that once might've been white, but now were a questionable shade of grey. At first she'd planned on wearing a cloak to disguise herself, but that would only draw attention. If she slipped out in joggers and a hoodie, she'd be just another Muggle in a sea of them - and while that would hardly make any lurking Death Eaters warm to her, it certainly made her less of a specific target.
After one final long, piercingly scrutinous look, Adriano relented with a sigh, shaking his head and muttering incoherencies to himself as he continued to strip the stage off of him.
Marilyn didn't dare tempt fate by thinking that he'd given up far more easily than she'd expected - because when she'd imagined this conversation, there had been a lot more cursing involved. Both literal and spoken. Or shouted - in English and Italian. The pièce de résistance, as she imagined it, would involve rope. Decidedly unkinky rope.
Still, her attention was demanded by the nerves that continued to build within her now that this hurdle had been dealt with. Maybe it wouldn't matter. It was pointless getting all worked up before she knew Draco really was coming - and maybe he wouldn't. Not tonight, or even any other night. This newest development, these latest headlines, could force things to swing in either direction. Maybe he'd turn up through sheer force of anger. Or maybe he'd refuse to ever speak to her again. She knew which one would be the smarter choice for everybody involved, and Draco Malfoy was not stupid.
She supposed there was little left to do other than find out.
The streets were just as Marilyn liked them as she scurried out into the night - chilly, and quiet. Enough people milled around here and there to beat back her paranoia, but none spared her more than a glance and the cold air helped ground her to the present. As did her grip on her wand.
The meeting place she'd supplied Draco with wasn't far - she could count on one hand how many streets she'd need to go down had she not been taking a roundabout way. As it was, she walked in a quick stride and took the most roundabout way she could think of - doubling back at times, going in circles, even dipping into and then sprinting through alleyways until she reached the next well-lit street. She didn't think there was anybody following her (or at least there never was when she turned her head to check), but these precautions costed her little to observe.
It was only when she began to finally turn to her destination that it happened. There was one final alleyway for her to cut across, and she was halfway across it when a hand shot out of what first appeared to be empty darkness, wrapping around her front and pulling her bodily back against them. The other hand quickly found the wrist of her right hand as she reached for her wand. Inhaling sharply, Marilyn drove her left elbow back towards them, and was met with a grunt and a curse.
"Merlin's balls, Baxter, it's me," Draco hissed into her ear.
When she spun and ripped herself from his grasp, he let her - and as her eyes adjusted to the dark she saw him rubbing at his ribs with a moody glare. That was fine, she was moodier.
"Are you mad?" she hissed "What the fu-"
"You're the last person alive who can ask anybody that question right now," he replied sharply "And keep your bloody voice down. You're being followed."
Unlike her, he had not opted for an inconspicuous hoodie and joggers combo, and instead wore a dark cloak with the hood pulled so low across his face that she could barely see his eyes.
"What? I can't be - I've been running about in circles for ages."
"You have been," he confirmed "And I've been watching as some fool follows in your footsteps each and every time. Your path hasn't been making any sense, so why would they be following? For an autograph?"
She'd find it in her heart to forgive him his skepticism at such a prospect.
Despite her denial, she lowered her voice and stepped closer. This was bad. Not just for the obvious reasons, but for the attention it could bring. Maybe she'd be able to get away with an accusation of underage magic - the times being what they were, and the attention she was drawing. As a Brit she fell under the Ministry of Magic's jurisdiction, and they weren't in the habit of turning the whole thing into a big song and dance like they had with Harry Potter a year ago. Not with plebs like her, and not now that they had bigger worries.
But in Draco's case? In Draco's case it would raise questions with his ilk if he got slapped with an underage magic case - and that was a best case scenario, reserved for if whoever was tailing her happened to not be a dear family friend of his. But it was a small world, the world of Death Eaters being smaller still (or so she assumed), and that was unlikely.
"You should go," she murmured "If you're seen with me…"
He took barely half a step away, and then lingered, hesitating.
"We could make this work if it is somebody I know," he said doubtfully "I pretend I spotted you and got to you first…you…oh, I don't know, hit me or something and run. I already have the bruised ribs to support the story."
It was a skit more befitting Looney Tunes than anything she could imagine being pulled off in real life.
"Is it somebody you know?" she pressed.
The cobblestone alleyway was more quaint than sinister - or at least it had been up until this. The great big dumpster that they were now huddled behind was the only really grimy feature of it, and it was lit at either end by warm amber street lights - the glow of neither reaching where they now stood.
"I…don't think so," he admitted grimly "He's dressed as a Muggle. Most of my acquaintances would rather die."
"He?" a slow suspicion began to gnaw at her "What did he look like?"
"Dressed like you are, more or less - tall. Dark hair."
"To around here?" she indicated with her hand at her jaw.
Draco nodded.
"Shit," she made a face "He's a friend."
She knew Adriano had given up arguing with her far too easily.
"A friend?" Draco echoed.
"The one I've been dancing with."
"Oh," his face soured "That friend."
Marilyn laughed. She couldn't help it. All of the very serious discussions she knew were in the works between herself and Draco, and he was seeing fit to start it off with petty jealousy - over a lad who would only ever be a friend. Christ, she was too busy worrying about him most days to even acknowledge the fact that Adriano was, factually speaking, a very handsome guy. And Adriano was too busy marvelling at himself in the mirror to look twice at her. For that she couldn't judge him, because if she wasn't so preoccupied with aforementioned worry over Draco, she'd be doing the same thing. It would be a simpler time. She'd have probably narrowed down the best eyeshadow shade for her skin tone and eye colour by now.
"I told him I was meeting a lad, and asked him to cover for me."
"You told him?!"
"That I was meeting David the Ravenclaw," she returned with an eye roll "It'd be more suspect if I didn't say a word after all of the lett-"
She cut herself short when a new set of footsteps drew near, and Draco's arm snaked around her - but before he could pull her further back into the shadows she was already backing up into him, so much so that she could feel his heart pounding against her back.
Peeking just barely over the top of the dumpster, she looked to the mouth of the alley as a figure that was unmistakably Adriano walked slowly into view. He was dressed pretty similarly to her, in a baggy hoodie and jogging bottoms, but the hood was down - and even if it wasn't, she'd recognise him on sight. It was impossible to dance with somebody as much as they had with one another without recognising their physique (although she didn't share that fact with Draco, considering it appeared to be a touchy subject), and that meant she recognised his tells.
Watching as he slowed down, tension practically rolling from his shoulders, he prowled back and forth, peering into the darkness for any signs of life. Considering she hadn't seen Draco until he was upon her, she knew there was a good chance Adriano wouldn't see them. But it mightn't remain the case if he decided to walk by.
Her hand found Draco's where it grasped at her middle, her palm flattening over his knuckles. His skin was just as cold as hers. Adriano peered into the alley, and then looked around him for any trace of her. The sigh he gave afterwards was more visible than audible, his shoulders slumping and his hair brushing his jaw as he shook his head furiously. And then he walked away.
"Come, it would be foolish to go to the place you suggested in your letter, we'll go elsewhere."
"Next you'll be telling me you won't be front row throwing me a bouquet of roses at my next performance."
"Ugh."
Despite his noise of disgust, and despite the fact that her heart was still racing in her chest, it warmed her to find how easily they slipped back into annoying the shit out of each other. They always did. Maybe it wasn't the dramatic reunion of the movies - they didn't sprint towards one another in front of the Eiffel Tower before sharing a tearful embrace, but that was never going to be them, was it?
Draco's hold loosened on her but didn't fall away completely, and she entwined her fingers with his as she began to lead him towards the opposite end of the alleyway.
"Where are we going?"
"I bought a room at a Muggle hotel."
"How the hell did you get Muggle money?"
"I got a job in a Muggle shop selling telly-hones, the hours are good but the conversation leaves something to be desired."
"Really? That's great, could you get me a deal on a new mobile?"
"Of course not, Baxter, stop being ridiculous - what do you think I did? I stole it."
Despite his griping, he kept holding her hand as they reached the other end of the alleyway…where they ran smack into Adriano, his wand half drawn from his hoodie pocket. The downside of his being a year older was that he could Apparate already - she just never even considered that he might do so in the middle of a Muggle area, quiet as it may have been.
Marilyn halted immediately, Draco's grip tightening on her hand as if he was considering whether he could drag her away in the opposite direction at a full sprint. Then, finally, he let go.
"Are you mad?" she hissed "What on earth are you-"
Adriano's focus was not on her, though, but on the heavy silver snake-emblazoned ring on the ring finger of the hand that had just let go of hers.
"People literally want to kill you, Marilyn, of course I followed you," he said "I thought the symbol of Ravenclaw was a bird?"
She ignored the question "Look, it's not a trap, it's really him, he's fine, we're going."
"Does he not have a voice? Or a face for that matter?" Adriano pressed - because even if she couldn't feel how pale she was growing, she knew he was no idiot.
"Adriano…"
"Show me."
"No," Draco said behind her "Now leave us be."
Adriano was unmoved.
"That's a very fancy cloak. I was looking at one just like it over summer, but it would've cost me half my savings - and that's saying a lot, you know, given that WIB does not pay poorly so long as you have anything resembling skill," his eyes turned to Marilyn next "I can think of only one person who goes around wearing snakes in the way that lot does, who is obscenely wealthy, who you would need to keep your association with a secret."
Throughout his skirting of the point, which was beginning to look more and more like a foregone conclusion, Marilyn remained silent. What could she say? He might not have been present at Hogwarts throughout her fourth year, he might not have personally witnessed everything that had occurred between herself and Draco, but it was the sort of gossip that spread. Even the following year, it might not have been a particularly hot topic of conversation - not the kind that had her dreading class in the aftermath of that spectacle in the Great Hall - but it was still a notable enough story to start making the rounds. She'd had to summarise the whole sorry mess more than once during her fifth year, after folk heard second, third, or fourth hand accounts and came to her seeking the juicy details.
Well, she didn't explain it to all of them. Most were sharply told to piss off. But Adriano? Adriano she told. Sure, it was the CliffsNotes version, but still. And any few who hadn't been totally sure who Draco was sure as hell knew now, even outside of Britain, after his family's escapades had been plastered throughout all of the papers over summer.
When he realised she wasn't going to answer, Adriano pressed her more directly.
"Tell me that's not Draco Malfoy under that hood, Marilyn. For the love of Merlin, tell me that."
"Keep your bloody voice down, you fool," Draco hissed.
And that was all the answer he needed. Shoulders slackening and head lolling back, Adriano closed his eyes in disbelief, shaking his head as he did, before finally sighing deeply.
"You're an idiot," he announced simply - more to himself than to her "You're an idiot, and you're going to get yourself killed."
Rather than wait for a reaction, he spun on his heel and walked away. Behind her, Draco took a step or two forward, and then stopped unsurely. Marilyn only watched his back as he left.
"You can't…you can't just let him go," Draco said behind her.
"What am I supposed to do? Chase him down? Threaten him? He won't tell anybody, Draco. It's more likely to get me killed than you, not that…"
Not that that isn't a foregone conclusion, anyway.
She stopped short - refusing to voice it for her own sake, as well as his. So she asked a question instead.
"Are you going to leave?"
There was a beat of silence as he considered the question, and then murmured a quiet "No. I can't."
He said it like he resented that fact, but his hand found hers once again.
They didn't speak again until they got to the hotel - they hardly dared to. Between constantly checking around them for onlookers or pursuers and, in Marilyn's case, worrying about whether she'd just put an end to one of her closest friendships, there wasn't much room for conversation. It was up to her to work the lift as they stepped inside, and after Draco tried and failed to work the keycard to the room, that was her job too.
Only when they slipped into the room, mostly bare and decorated in thoroughly depressing shades of drab blue, and she switched the overhead light on with the switch by the door did he slowly ease the hood of his cloak down. Marilyn tried to school the shock from her features, but she wasn't sure how successful she was, worries about her own shit, about Adriano, about what awaited her when she next stepped onto the stage, about everything fading from her mind in favour of concern for the lad standing before her.
He looked terrible. Everything about his appearance that had worried her last time she'd seen him was amplified now - the hint of dark circles beneath his eyes that had been there before now so dark that they might as well have been bruises. The paleness that had been difficult to distinguish from his usual pallor was now almost grey, and his already distinct bone structure now threatened to be gaunt as he clearly wasn't eating much these days.
Even worse still was his expression. He looked exhausted - like he'd lived a hundred terrible years since they last saw one another. And when he saw the shock and the sadness on her face, it was worse still because his jaw clenched and he looked away, lips thinning. But rather than spew out some defensive nastiness - as she expected him to do, and as he usually would have done - his hands trembled and then tears filled his eyes.
It took less than no time for her to decide how to act - stepping forward and wrapping her arms tightly around him, rising to stand on her toes so she might hug him properly. The fierceness with which he clung to her in response caught her off guard and compounded her fears all in one, and she could feel his breathing shudder as he buried his face in her hair, pulling her to him so tightly that she barely had to rest any of her weight on her own two feet at all. There was something in the way he held her that threatened to rip the air from her lungs - and she suspected it was reciprocal, because everything she felt emanating from him as he pulled her close was everything she felt too, until she didn't know whether the pounding in her chest was his heart or her own.
"I had a bloody heart attack when I saw the papers," he mumbled into her hair.
She breathed out a laugh utterly bereft of humour - it sounded more like a sob.
"It wasn't much fun for me, either."
Of all of her jokes that he absolutely hadn't found funny, which was most of them, really, this one seemed to be perhaps the absolute least amusing to him. He only held her all the tighter for it, though, and when he finally did relent his hold on her it was only so that he could kiss her. Just as he had with her hug, she returned it with all she had, threading her fingers up through his hair, and then down the back of his neck, sliding around the front towards his collarbones so she could undo the fine silver cloak clasps, and that very expensive black cloak of his fell to the floor.
When she finally stood flat on her feet again, it was to allow him to guide her backwards towards the bed.
A/N: Usually I'll write a few paragraphs of racy stuff and then fade to black - and in my POTC fic I just wrote all out smut - but doing either of those two options about two teenagers isn't something I have any interest in doing, sooo…this is what we've got. We'll give them some privacy, and we'll see them afterwards in the next chapter. This was just a neat place to end before this chapter took me another bloody week to finish.
