Draco left her, in the end, with a final, long kiss and a warning that she should keep her wand on her at all times. Marilyn didn't see fit to add to his woes by letting him in on the fact that the company had already come to a similar conclusion, and had come up with a solution. A holster, for lack of a less simplistic term - that would strap her wand to her inner thigh (the only part of her body that was long enough and would not cause it to bend and break as she danced, nor would it inhibit her movement), where it would sit concealed by the loose, flowing skirts of her dress. Even if they did catch a glimpse, her wand was lightly coloured enough that it wouldn't be too noticeable to the audience where they sat in their seats. Not in the candlelight that lit Wizarding stages, anyway.

If they were working with real Muggle spotlights and the harsh glare that went with them, it may have proven a problem, but given everything? Nobody would blame her for keeping her wand close. A charge of underage magic seemed a small thing to contend with these days. Sabrina even argued that if they did glimpse her wand and speculate on it, it added to the performance - like it was some statement piece on just what sorry times they'd found themselves in, where ballerinas could not even dance without being suitably armed.

Marilyn had resisted the urge to point out that plenty of folk wanted to bring about that exact world.

In any case, she voiced none of that to Draco. She voiced nothing to him, not really. They stood by the door hugging one another so fiercely that they were practically in danger of merging into one. Somehow that felt more meaningful than the kiss they shared after, even though they drew it out to the point where if they continued, they'd have ended up back on the bed again. There wasn't time for that. And it would only make leaving even harder than it already was.

There hadn't even been any words of reassurance - no insistence that they'd see each other again, soon or otherwise, or even that they'd be fine. This was all becoming far too real, and they knew they couldn't make promises like that anymore. It was difficult to say which was the biggest sign of that - the brand on his arm, or her recent attack.

She rejoined her ballet kin and they returned to the WIB headquarters together afterwards - Adriano was silent the whole time, carefully keeping himself at the opposite end of the group at all times. Marilyn felt bad for how relieved she felt at that fact, truth be told. Too much weighed on her, too many thoughts and emotions all wrapped up into one, for her to begin thinking how she'd even begin explaining herself to him. The fact of the matter was, if anybody else was in her position, swearing up and down that Draco Malfoy was good at heart, she'd think them a fucking idiot. Christ, she'd only just gotten over deeming herself an idiot for thinking so.

In any case, none of the others asked where she'd been - even though it turned out that having sex for the first time left one feeling like they were walking around with a sign over their head announcing that fact in flashing neon lights - and she didn't much have the energy to work out whether Adriano had covered for her after all, or if they just didn't really care. Upon returning "home", she dipped into the healer's office and grabbed a contraceptive potion. Apparently they'd learned as early as the sixties that leaving these resources out in the open to be grabbed, no questions asked, was much easier for everybody involved than ballerinas dropping out left, right, and centre, because of certain consequences.

It was only after all of that, when there was quite literally nothing left to do - after she'd washed, gotten to her dormitory, changed into a cosy pair of pyjamas, brushed her hair out, and finally curled up in her bed, by which point it was well into the early hours of the morning - that she allowed her mind to turn to Draco.

She was still sore. Not unbearably so - not in comparison to the state a day of work often left her in afterwards, which was always somewhere between feeling like her muscles had been replaced by unforgiving steel, and that she'd been hit by a bus. If anything, it was kind of nice. A reminder that she'd seen him, and that it had happened, while everything outwardly had to revolve around furiously pretending that she hadn't, and that it didn't. Soon the soreness would fade, as would the dark love bite he'd left to the right of her ribcage (because she'd forbidden him from leaving any elsewhere, refusing to spend extra time in front of the mirror slathering it with makeup), and she'd be left only with her fears and questions over whether she ever would see him again.

Bringing her knees up to her chest, she closed her eyes and pulled the covers tighter around her. If she squeezed her eyes shut tightly enough, and used the bedding to block out any ambient noise from around the building, she could almost kid herself that she was back in that hotel room again. That he was dozing behind her, well and very much alive. It offered barely a shadow of a shred of comfort, but it was still something.

The whole 'star crossed lovers' thing sounded much more fun on paper - or in ballets, for that matter. In real life it just really, really sucked.


It would be a lie if she pretended she wasn't a bit of a zombie over the course of the next day. Mostly she just went through the motions - stretching, barre exercises, lunch, and then preparing for the show ahead that night. At one point before breakfast she did try to speak with Adriano, but he remained stony-faced and simply told her that he wanted space, barely even looking at her as he did so. That surprised her, because he wasn't really the type to stew in silence, but then again she wasn't the type to sleep with Death Eaters, so she respected his wishes. What else could she do?

If time and distance were the two things he needed to maybe get to a place where he could at least hear her out, she'd be fucking over both of them if she refused him that. It wasn't like it was a conversation she was looking forward to having, anyway, so the time was a bit of a boon to her, too. Even if she just wanted them to be on good terms again. She'd never been on Adriano's shitlist before, and she never wanted to be on it again.

Others were noticing the difference, too, given the odd looks they received once it was clear they were giving one another a wide berth and they no longer wandered around as a pair, thick as thieves. When they asked Marilyn what was going on, she gave them the brush off. If they went to Adriano, he ignored them entirely - which only drew more suspicion in the end, because it was so uncharacteristically frosty. If she hadn't already known damn well how severely she'd pissed him off, she would have after that.

He'd just never been the sort to handle his anger this way. He didn't freeze people out, he ranted and raved and expressed just how angry he truly was…and then made up. Ordinarily. But the more she thought on it, the more she knew just how naïve she'd been to think everybody might be as understanding about her association with Draco as George Weasley had been back in their fourth year. Christ, even George would probably react the same way if he knew it had continued on now - and if anything only deepened since then.

Throughout the day, she set new milestones in her mind - at which point she was sure Adriano would come to her to talk. After their morning rounds of physio, which then became after their barre class, which then became after lunch. The gaps between those milestones became shorter and shorter, too, as the day pressed on and still he showed no desire to speak to her at all, because surely he wouldn't want to get on stage with her that night when they still weren't on speaking terms? She realised how sorely misguided that notion had been by the time they stood in their dressing room again, getting ready in silence. By that point, she had to stop and ask herself if this hadn't strayed from "you've done something to anger me" territory and leapt into "what you did has fundamentally changed my view of who you are as a human, and whether I want you in my life".

Mostly, she bore it as best she could - meeting it head on, refusing to allow herself to put the radio on in order to ease the awkward silence, and not pushing for him to just confront her already as she wished he would. Even as she pulled on her tights, and then her wand holster, and then her dress, she waited for him to say something. Anything. Even if that confrontation began mid-rant, continuing on from whatever internal monologue he had running through his mind, she'd accept it. A firm 'I just can't believe you'd be so stupid', or a question as to how long it had been going on. Anything that wouldn't find them having to dance like they were in love while she was sat wondering if he'd ever actually speak to her again. Hell, up until now she'd been wondering if she'd arrive tonight to find he'd pulled out of their performance entirely, opting only to dance in the actual main show.

Once she was finally ready and had nothing left to occupy herself with, she turned to him and watched as he half-heartedly combed his dark hair back from his face, studiously avoiding her gaze in the mirror.

"Five minutes, guys!" somebody called from the other side of the door.

Even then, he scarcely glanced towards her.

"Okay, thank you," Marilyn called back when he said nothing, before finally addressing him "Are…you ready to go?"

He blinked at her, and then he finally nodded. Opening the door, Marilyn waited, offering her arm to him, like they always did. Adriano brushed past her without accepting it. Whatever heavy, ominous feeling had been plucking absently at the strings in her chest began to seize at them more tightly now. But she followed - half a foot behind him, her eyes fixed forward. They remained that way more or less right up until they took their place at centre stage, Marilyn stepping in front of him as he stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her front, hands pressing over her abdomen. There was an unfamiliar uneasiness in those arms, their familiar stillness nowhere to be found in how she could feel the muscles in his arms tensing and untensing to such an extent that they almost trembled as they wrapped around her.

She felt sweat begin to pool at the small of her back, despite the fact that the curtain hadn't even gone up yet. A whistle somewhere to the left told her that they were waiting for the signal, and she belatedly turned her head and offered the smallest of nods. Then the curtain did go up, and she was forcing a smile onto her lips despite herself.

That feeling of wrongness didn't go away. The first verse began to sound, the wistful nature of the music contrasting sharply to the dread in her chest as she spun on the toes of one foot to face Adriano. It was difficult to gaze at him with longing when he still would not look at her, his gaze downcast rather than at her face. It was wrong, it was very wrong. There was little in this life that she took more seriously than dancing, and few who she felt could match her dedication never mind outdo it, but if there was one who could fit that bill, it would be him. He wouldn't do this - bar perhaps if she'd slaughtered everybody he held dear the night before, and even then it would be an "if".

Her right arm looped around his shoulder while his left came around loosely to her back - too loosely, as he spun her and then dipped her low. The grip was wrong, and she had to cling to him so that she didn't fall, rather than being able to rely on his strength to keep her right. His hold remained inconsistent - painfully tight one second then uselessly loose the next, to the point where he nearly completely dropped her as he dipped her again to the other side, and then righted her. The smile nearly slipped from her face when she was standing straight again - and he didn't even try to return it at all.

Something was very wrong. Sinatra continued to sing.

"I'm wild again, beguiled again, a simpering, whimpering child again…"

As Marilyn lifted one leg to point out straight behind her, he should have moved in a slow, careful circle, supporting her as she in a slow, full circle on the toes of the other foot. But again his movements were off, and the whole thing took much more effort on her part than it ordinarily would have. The smile did leave her face now. Adriano would never mess up a move so simple as walking in a damn circle - no matter how angry he was. On pure principle, he just wouldn't damn well do it. This wasn't him, he wasn't…he wasn't himself.

Something in her seized up, and when she let go of him so she could spin away, trying her damnedest not to let on until she was out of arm's length, she finally used one hand to rip her dress out of the way so that the other could yank her wand from the holster at her thigh. Her haste sent her off balance and she slipped, screeching to a halt to face him, wand in hand as she finally righted herself and dropped to the flats of her feet. Just in time to deflect the Killing Curse that came within a foot of hitting her.

Another followed in short order, Adriano's face blank as he fired curse after curse at her. Marilyn was too busy deflecting them all to even really notice the screaming that was beginning to echo all around - from the audience, from the sides of the stage. Hell, from the stagehands and security officers up in the rafters. The barriers caging them all the way into this little box of stage space didn't mean a damn thing now. All it did was turn this into a cage match.

"Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep, love came and told me I shouldn't sleep…bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I…"

The music still went on, everybody apparently panicking too much to do anything about it.

It was the Imperius Curse. It had to be. His poor dancing had given him away, perhaps evidence that he was trying to fight it underneath, but it would've been worse still if it was some random under the influence of Polyjuice Potion. Unfortunately, that meant she was limited with what she could fire back. He was under no such limitations.

There were folk at either side of the stage working hard to bring the barriers down, but in the time it had retracted barely three feet, she'd deflected just as many more bolts of sickly green light, her heart doing what it could to lurch up out of her throat.

"Stupefy!" she cried.

It was deflected easily, but that deflection stopped him from firing another Unforgivable her way, and the knowledge that if she hadn't had her wand strapped to her she'd be dead flew through her mind with far too much coherency for comfort. As if to emphasise the impact of that thought, the music finally stopped, leaving only screaming to meet her ears as the audience scattered towards the back of the theatre. Was she imagining the odd shout or two of encouragement she heard, though? Was the encouragement meant for her?

The next curse hit uncomfortably close, and it was followed by a single gleeful shriek of joy from the crowd. There was no room for doubt after that - but nor any for her to stop and look, either, the furore of the spells Adriano pelted in her direction over and over contrasted eerily by the complete lack of any expression on his face.

She needed to turn the tables and do it quick - so she took up his own tactic, and flung disarming spells at him over and over and over, even if it meant she had to physically dodge his attacks rather than deflecting them magically. Her reflexes were quick, though, years of athleticism working in her favour, as did the jerky motion of Adriano's arm on more than one count, pulling his aim off-course at the last second. The first Disarming Charm didn't hit, but the second did, and then the third did again anyway, because she was so intent on barraging him with them that she didn't have the room to wait to see if it was working.

His wand flew from his hand, skittering across the stage, and right to the feet of those on the other side. They'd finally managed to bring down the wards.

"Stupefy!" she cried - because there was no way she was waiting for somebody else to do it.

Adriano hit the floor barely ten seconds after his wand had, which was good - because it was at that point that it all caught up with her, and she began to shake too fiercely to even grip her wand properly. Her ability to stand left her next, and she was on her ass on the floor by the time Sabrina was rushing to her side.

Unlike the last incident, Marilyn already knew there'd be no recovering from this.


A/N: Who saw it coming?