Marilyn was spirited away to her dressing room, a heavy grey blanket wrapped around her and a hot mug of tea pressed into her hands. It was all with the aim of making her feel better, she knew that, but that was difficult to do. Not because she felt terrible but because, well, she didn't feel much of anything at all. It was shock - she knew that, too. But knowing that did nothing to undo it. She could barely feel the blanket about her shoulders, and she didn't even flinch when the tea burned her tongue. It might as well have been water, for all she tasted it.

Adriano was, to her knowledge, where he had dropped - being put through anti-Cursing measures to rid him of the influence he'd been put under. What he chose to say when he was brought around would be his decision. It wouldn't be unreasonable for him to blame Draco. Maybe it was unreasonable of her not to suspect him at all. It didn't matter. Adriano would tell him what he wished to - what he believed. As was his right. She'd need to deal with whatever came from that. As was her lot.

While it wasn't the least of her problems, it also wasn't all that was on her plate. This second attack coming so swiftly after the last was the nail in the coffin as far as her run was concerned. If she didn't have the faculties to realise that herself, the murmurs outside of her door would've tipped her off.

"All of this because of her? When is enough enough? What's next? None of us will be safe."

"What do you expect them to do? Ban Muggleborns from the company? They can't do that."

"Of course not - but she doesn't need to go rubbing it in everybody's faces like she does. If she'd just kept her head down, none of this would be happening."

She didn't know if her sisters who were speaking knew she was in here - if it was being said for her benefit, or if she really did just happen to be overhearing what they would've said anyway.

"It's not all her. Sabrina pushed for it, this whole thing was her masterplan."

"Sabrina's not the one they're trying to get to, though. What does she expect, provoking them like she is? They weren't even out to get her 'til she made the first move. She spent too long around Harry Potter back on that Hogwarts trip - now she fancies herself a hero."

"Maybe it wasn't Harry Potter she spent too long around. When she first started all this, one of the other Beauxbatons girls told me - she had a thing with Draco Malfoy. Then he found out about her blood status and humiliated her in front of the whole school."

"Oh, shit. Is that why she's doing this?"

"A woman scorned…"

Dropping the mug to the dressing table so quickly that half of the tea jumped out of it, she lifted her hands to her ears and leaned forward, closing her eyes and blocking it all out. She didn't want to hear what they had to say next. Faintly, in the back of her mind, she contemplated changing out of her costume, but that idea was out the moment she began to think about all that doing so would entail. The small, simple steps of untying her shoes, removing all of the infrastructure packed about her toes, peeling off her tights, all of it, that she'd gone through countless times before now suddenly seemed intolerable. Impossible, even.

A commotion began to sound outside - one that had her throat seizing up and her hand flying to her wand as she jumped to her feet.

"Wait! You can't go in there yet! Hold on!" somebody was shouting - and they then repeated the plea in French, as if hoping it would make whoever they were shouting at heed them more.

The response they got was neither English nor French, though, but Italian - heated, furious Italian that she could hear clear as day through the door, even if she couldn't understand a whole lot of it.

When the door slammed open and Adriano burst in, it was Adriano. She could see it right away, all of the strangeness that had her hair standing on end nowhere to be seen now. No, his face was anything but blank now - his brows knitted together as he paused only long enough to make sure she wasn't about to freak out at the sight of him, and then he was yanking her into the tightest, most bone-crushing hug of her life. One she returned just as fiercely - rising up until she was almost en pointe just to give herself a better angle to which she could press kisses to his cheek as she clung to him.

"Are you alright?" she asked without letting go.

"Are you?" he countered with a humourless laugh "I was angry with you, but not that angry. If you hadn't realised when you did…"

Over his shoulder, she noticed the door to the room was still open. The girls she'd heard talking were still standing outside - one met her gaze and then quickly looked away again, down at her shoes. Apparently they really hadn't known she'd be able to hear them, then.

"Your dancing gave it away," she mumbled to Adriano, closing her eyes "You were making mistakes."

It spoke to just how much what they did often came down to the most minute detail possible that it made a difference in the end - considering those tiny, infinitesimal mannerisms were the only ways he'd been able to rebel against the influence of the curse.

"Let us be glad it wasn't Fabien you danced with, then," he sniffed shakily "You'd never have noticed in that case."

She couldn't even make a sad attempt at a laugh.

"If they'd decided that they'd be happy enough getting rid of you without trying to get to me…" she said quietly.

"Or if they'd decided to have it done in the dressing room. Or back in the dormitories," he pointed out "There were many opportunities, all before you even suspected…"

They were lucky. Not least because the Death Eaters (whether singularly or as a collective) had decided that since she and Adriano had been making their statement on a stage, they wanted their counter-argument to be just as public. If this had been a case of function over form, she'd have been dead hours ago.

Maybe next time, they'd learn from that mistake. Maybe next time she wouldn't see it coming.

She couldn't say whether it was due to that realisation, or just because Adriano was well, and he was himself, and he was still hugging her, but she was consciously aware of that being the moment where the numb fog of her shock began to wane, and her limbs started to shake. Or maybe vibrate was a more apt word.

"It's a clear case of self defence, with countless witnesses," Adriano said, finally letting go of her and stepping back "You're in no trouble - not as far as underaged magic is concerned."

"But in the case of the people who did this…?" she filled in the blank "Did they catch them? Someone was shouting in the audience - cheering. Could it have been…it must have been, right?"

His lips set into a thin, grim line.

"They did not catch them, stellina. They're still investigating, but how can you follow someone after they Apparate? I suspect what they're doing now is just for show. It's better than coming back and shrugging and asking 'eh, what can you do?', you know?"

"Barely."

"They want to interview us. They wanted to be interviewing me now, but I insisted on coming here first to make sure that…pah - it sounds silly to apologise. It wasn't me. But, if it had succeeded…"

It sounded a whole lot less scary than the big bad they. Using the word "it" made it sound like some sort of freak natural disaster, rather than focused and purposeful hatred.

"It didn't."

Which of the two of them needed to hear that most, she didn't know.

"I need you to tell me now, and tell me honestly, if there's even a slightest possibility in your mind that he was involved in this Marilyn. The most fucking sneaking suspicion. A shred. Is there?"

"No."

Admittedly, she did wonder if the swiftness with which she answered would work against her. But her answer wasn't so stupidly quick as to be defensive - and she was certain. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"And he…was with you for all of that night? Until we saw you again?"

She nodded, and either her face betrayed her or he just knew her so damn well that it didn't matter how closed she tried to keep her features, because she suspected he knew exactly what had happened that night judging by the traces of exasperation in his eyes as he sighed.

"Well. We can discuss that idiocy later."

"You believe me?" she asked quietly, eyes widening in disbelief.

"I do. Because it was a woman who got to me - well, women. Two of them. But I did not see their faces. Were he in on it, he would have brought you to them, no?"

She supposed she was lucky he didn't view it as some sort of ploy - that Draco was sent in as a diversion or something, but such a plan was too convoluted and too tricky to make sense of. If they'd known that she was nearby, they could've cut out the middleman and Imperio'd her - instructing her to get on the broom, glide all the way to the top of the stage space, and promptly Avada Kedavra herself or something equally impressive. No, Draco's presence was purely a coincidence. Even if it was a hell of a coincidence. A terrible one.

The more she thought on it, the more terrible that coincidence really became. Whatever the time frame between Adriano leaving them and getting accosted, it was far too small for comfort. The shorter the time-frame, the slimmer the physical proximity was between she, Draco, and the Death Eaters. For all she knew, there'd only been one street and a couple of wrong turns between she and Draco running smack bang into them herself. And then they'd all be dead.

Shit, who was to say they didn't know? That they hadn't seen anything? However tempting it might've been to think that the retribution would be instant and bloody loud at that, it really hadn't been very long. The shaking in her limbs worsened.

"Sir, we really must insist you talk to us now," there was an Auror in the doorway, insisting to Adriano.

Muttering something in Italian - which, as far as she could gather, revolved around 'fucking idiots' and something to do with their jobs - he turned back to them, and she sank back into her chair. Her hands trembled so badly that she could barely get the blanket over her again.


Draco was woken from a fitful sleep by his Aunt Bella's maniacal shrieking laughter. Knowing instantly that there'd be no getting back to sleep - his sleep came primarily in naps these days, and even those were hard-won - he sat up in his bed and listened.

"Did you see it? Did you see it, Cissy? Ha!"

"Hush, Bella, you'll wake Draco."

Something about his mother's tone piqued his interest. What had happened? While part of him was tempted to close his eyes and pull his pillow over his head so that he could not be troubled by what he did not know, he ignored it. It was a toss-up these days - whether the truth of whatever had happened might be worse than whatever his mind could conjure - but he knew that an awareness of what was going on was one of the few, flimsy ways that he might stay alive these days. So he slid from the bed and walked quietly, shoeless, to the door of his bedroom in their French holiday home.

"Good! That's why you wanted to do it, was it not? For him? The boy should hear it. It was a shame it didn't work as we planned, but Merlin it was funny."

Easing the door open so that it wouldn't click or creak, he slipped into the hallway and moved towards the stairs until he could look down into the entrance hall. Bella's cloak was already gone as she meandered around the space in aimless, bouncy circles as though trying to burn off excess energy. His mother was much more subdued, removing her own cloak and carefully hanging it up by the door. Bella was not content for her sister not to match her energy.

"Look! Cissy! Who am I? Who am I?" she cajoled, rising up to her tip-toes and holding her hands aloft over her head.

The stance was near-enough a universal one - blatantly mimicking a ballerina. Draco's heart doubled in weight where it sat in his chest. Then it quadrupled, when Bella mimicked being hit by some invisible force and went tumbling down to the gleaming hardwood floor with a shriek of gleeful laughter.

"Oh come on, you have to admit it was good," Bella said when his mother still did not so much as smile.

"We did not succeed, Bella," she replied flatly.

It was those words - the ones that filled him with hope as much as they apparently filled his mother with disappointment - that had Draco speaking up from where he stood.

"What's this?" he called down to them.

Both of their heads shot up to look at him, Bella remaining giggling on the floor while his mother sighed.

"It's nothing, Draco. It doesn't matter."

Walking to the top of the stairs, Bella rose to her feet as he began to descend them.

"We went to the ballet," she said with a grin.

"The ballet?" he echoed flatly "I thought it had been taken over by mudbloods and blood traitors."

"That," his mother said quietly "Is why we went."

He stopped once he reached the bottom of the stairs, frowning at the two of them. Belatedly, he realised he had a white-knuckle grip on the bannister and then let go, shoving his hand into his pocket. When it became apparent that he wasn't going to let the matter go, his mother's shoulders slumped and she beckoned for him to follow her. Bella rose clumsily to her feet and began to follow along, giggling and doing what she probably thought looked like ballet moves as she trailed along behind them.

Once they were in the sitting room with the doors shut behind them, he lowered himself into the great overstuffed armchair furthest away from the fireplace, for he was already sweating quite enough, doing his best to ignore the way his heart hammered in his chest like nothing else. It was a wonder they couldn't hear it.

'We did not succeed, Bella' - that was what his mother had said. It had to mean something. It had to mean something good. It had to. The only other possibility was much too terrible.

"Tea?" his mother offered as the fine china on the coffee table began to fill itself with a wave of her wand.

He shook his head, he didn't trust his voice.

"You should have some, Draco. You look terribly pale."

It took everything he had not to scream at her that he didn't want any bloody tea - that the only thing he did want was for her to tell him where in Merlin's name they'd just been, and what it was they were doing there. He cleared his throat and then said lowly.

"I don't want any."

His mother relented at that, picking up her own cup and slowly sitting while Bella took up a biscuit and sat down by the fire while she nibbled at it. Draco turned his attention from her and to his mother instead.

"You know of this Marilyn Baxter, yes?" she asked, and his eyes almost widened before she continued "The one in all of the papers?"

"She was at Hogwarts for the TriWizard Tournament," he said.

It was what he would have said if he hadn't seen her since - and it made it look like he kept no secrets about their having crossed paths. In response, Bella wrinkled her nose and made a disgusted noise; one that had nothing to do with the biscuit in her hand.

"Sounds just like that oaf Dumbledore," she grunted.

The mention of the man's name had that familiar sense of nausea roiling in his stomach.

"Yes, well, she's been making quite a name for herself in all of the wrong circles," his mother replied evenly "And we thought - your auntie Bella and I - that it may…please the Dark Lord if something was done about her. That it would further his cause, and remind others to know their place."

He could read between those lines with a fair amount of ease. Talking about her intentions in front of Bella was like talking about them as if he himself was in the room with them, and so they had to speak carefully. But her intent was clear. She was hoping that if she'd do away with such a vocal rebel, it would earn them at least a shade of favour in his eyes. Enough goodwill to perhaps make life bearable as he sought to carry out his task. It was probably wise thinking. Draco despised it.

"Is that not unwise?" he asked slowly "He has many plans, and no reason to share them all with us. What if he had something in mind for her and you interfered with that?"

"Anybody other than Potter is fair game unless the Dark Lord explicitly states otherwise," Bella gave a shrug, growing bored with the biscuit and throwing the half she had not yet eaten into the fire.

The smell as it burned threatened to knock Draco sick.

"In these small acts of retribution, we further the cause. We remind those who think they can oppose him that we're still here, and that nobody is safe. Not even from one another."

Small acts of retribution. That was how she described the decision to murder the girl he–

Draco spoke before he could finish that thought, interrupting it so that he didn't have to face it.

"What did you do?"

It took every shred of willpower he had to keep his tone devoid of any emotion as he asked.

"Tried to kill the stupid little bint, but it didn't work," Bella muttered sourly.

"We…happened across her dancing partner late last night, and put him under our influence," his mother's answer was far more delicate "He was supposed to do away with her mid-performance tonight, but something tipped her off - she suspected, and she caught him in time."

"Boy must be a half-blood as well as a blood traitor," Bella grumbled "Else he would've managed it."

"So she's not- she didn't…" he paused, collected himself, and then tried a third time "The plan did not succeed?"

His mother seemed to take his agitation as disappointment, pursing her lips and sighing tiredly.

"Not as we intended, no. She survived the attack, but her career will not. The WIB will not endanger all of their dancers for the sake of one mudblood - she'll be cast out, and then dealt with at a later date. It may not be the outcome we sought, Draco, but it's still a favourable one. A message has been delivered."

"If we can do that to somebody on a stage, in front of an audience, what can we do to the ones who cower and hide in their homes?" Bella snickered.

"No doubt we'll soon find out," Draco said.

His mother seemed as warmed by that prospect as he felt when he looked to her, but the glee in Bella's eyes made it clear she hadn't caught onto the general mood of the room - or if she had, she did not care. She was riding on a high from the night she'd had.

"I'm going back to bed," he said - after counting to a hundred in his head, so it didn't look like he was hurrying off in a flurry of emotions "I was sleeping when you arrived."

"That's good," his mother smiled sadly "You need more rest."

"He does," Bella confirmed, earning looks of bemusement from the both of them at her apparent care before she continued "He's got quite the school year ahead of him."

His mother's face all but threatened to collapse at that and she looked away, an expressionless mask fixing itself over her features. Draco knew how she felt. He was wearing an identical one right then, was he not? He paused only to kiss her on the cheek, finding it difficult to even be secretly furious with her over the events of the night when he knew exactly how it was she was feeling, and then he left.

It was tempting, in the hallway, to begin falling apart then and there, but it was too soon - to out in the open, too close to where he might be overheard. So he balled his hands into fists until he was sure his fingers were about to snap, and took the stairs slowly despite the urge he felt to sprint up them two and three at a time. He was struggling to control his lungs as it was.

Stepping into his bedroom was like coming up for air after being submerged underwater. The moment the door was shut and locked behind him, he began gasping for a breath, his chest heaving as he took a handful of steps towards his bed before the will to stand abandoned him altogether and he ended up kneeling on the floor beside it as though he was about to pray. Perhaps he'd be tempted if only he thought it would be any help at all.

It had been too close. Entirely too fucking close. No doubt he'd see just how close when Bella started doing fan dances across the house with the latest editions of the Daily Prophet come morning.

Not only that, but they'd been there, in the same area, on the very same night he'd been with Marilyn. They hadn't seen anything - nor did they know anything - he was confident of that for a fact. Perhaps his mother would have been able to hide it, but Bella never would have. She wouldn't be laughing and dancing and eating biscuits, she'd have had her wand jabbing into his throat the second she saw him after learning of it.

Still, it had been far too close. If they'd stumbled across that bloody Italian at the same time he'd stumbled across him with Marilyn, if they'd decided to interrogate him before they set him upon this terrible task of his. It was a good thing they thought they had no reason to. Under the influence of the curse, he'd have told them everything, no torture necessary…despite the fact that Bella would've likely thrown it in anyway for a bit of fun.

The hint of his white shirt, the one he'd worn while…the one from that night poked out from beneath his pillow - where he'd stashed it so that the elves wouldn't take it to wash. It still smelled like her; like whatever perfume it was she wore - pomegranate, and something vaguely floral, with an odd fleck here and there of the glitter she hadn't fully managed to shed from the stage.

Too close. It had been much too close. He told himself that even as he pulled the shirt towards him and fell back onto his arse, holding it up to his nose and feeling like the world's most pathetic prat as he found himself relieved that the perfume still lingered. The way he had to clench his jaw against the tears that threatened to spill didn't help. He never used to be a sodding crier. He'd never been that pitiful. How many near-misses would they have before something actually hit? And when that day came, they'd sit back and wish they'd heeded all of these multiple warnings.

Worse still, why did that not stop him from loathing the idea of cutting ties entirely?

It mattered little - whether he loathed it or not. He couldn't write. Not now. It simply wasn't an option. It was too dangerous for everybody involved, and the only reason he could think to do it would be if he wanted to get the both of them killed.

He just had to hope she would not take his silence for involvement - but surely they'd come too far for that now.


A/N: Tumblr - esta-elavaris

IG - miotasach