A/N: I'm sorry for the lengthy absence - I fell into a very melodramatic fit of despair as to whether this story was any good or worth continuing at all, and while abandoning it was never an option, I needed a break to clear my head so I could come back to it with the right mindset. Thank you for your patience, lovely readers x


George - damn him - was right. It turned out that the world had not stopped spinning the moment she stopped doing so from atop a stage. Marilyn's ego wasn't entirely sure how she should feel about that, but the rest of her had to admit that it was nice. To swap ratty old t-shirts, jogging bottoms, and trainers (the back rooms and office of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes hardly called for more) for a glittery gold dress and heels, to apply makeup that wasn't just mascara and chapstick, and do something with her hair that involved more than a hair tie and a mutter of 'good enough'.

By the time she was ready and actually halfway decent looking, she was feeling markedly better already - which was a glowing, phenomenal omen for the night ahead. The finishing touch was the silver charm bracelet that she seldom took off these days. It looked a bit daft - silver, while the rest of her outfit down to her sparkly heels and her eyeshadow, was all gold - but she just couldn't quite bring herself to leave it on her bedside table for the night. Turning the newest addition to it over between two fingers, she sighed quietly to herself and tried not to lose the good mood she'd managed to build up over the course of her getting ready.

Wearing the bracelet wouldn't keep Draco safe. She knew that. Magic may have been real, but miracles were not. And the headlines as of late were worrying. Even for those determined to hand-wave away the papers as being all doom and gloom for the sake of profit, the reality of things was becoming hard to ignore. She was reminded of it herself every time she walked through Diagon Alley to get to work, now all but abandoned. A ghost town.

She was saved from those unhappy thoughts dragging down all of the work she'd done so far to lift her own mood when a knock sounded at her door. Habit more than true fear had her answering with her wand behind her back - although the fear would have been more than present had she not already been expecting George. He was dressed to the nines in a dark suit with a bright purple waistcoat and tie…and a bandage, wrapped tightly around his head, then sloping down to cover his left ear.

Whatever cheeky greeting she'd been prepared to give promptly died on her lips.

"Are you okay?" she gaped at him.

"Saint-like," he beamed.

Marilyn could only continue to gape.

"Fred can explain that one to you properly later, and then you'll realise how funny it was," he sniffed, gesturing as though to ask if he could enter.

It was all she could do to step aside so he could do just that, closing the door afterwards and then turning to him.

"Oh my god - George. What happened? Are you alright?"

"It's fine, Marilyn, really. It was only my second-favourite ear, so really it could have been a lot worse."

"Was? You lost- you lost the ear? Completely? How?!"

Stepping forward, she almost lifted a hand to inspect the gauze where it was packed in against where his ear used to be, but then quickly stopped herself - what was she? A doctor? The only thing such an inspection could ever produce would be a nod and a 'yep, that's definitely a bandage, all right'. She suspected George was perfectly able to come to that sort of conclusion all on his own.

"Would you believe me if I said it was in a terrible dragon attack?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, then. I haven't got any other cover stories lined up. Er…terrible breakfast-making accident?"

"George."

"No, really, you should see mum with that spatula - lethal, she is. Be glad I warned you in time, you'll know to duck for cover when we get to mine."

"You can't tell me how it happened," she said finally.

George danced around subjects as his favourite form of exercise, sod Quidditch, but he now took that to a ridiculous extent - which could only mean he didn't want to answer the question she was asking. Or couldn't.

"I have told you - a terrible freak dragon attack," he replied.

But there was an apologetic sort of note in his words that confirmed her suspicions - about his secrecy, and the fact that it was more of a necessity than a choice.

"Right," she breathed a strained laugh to show there were no hard feelings "And, er…what colour was this dragon, then?"

It was the right move, because George grinned and produced a package clad in red wrapping paper and tied with a gold ribbon. Thanks to her horror at his injury, she hadn't even noticed his holding it behind his back.

"The same colour as your gift. Happy birthday, Baxter," he handed it to her "From me and Fred - but I'm milking this ear thing for all it's worth, so I don't think he'll be too annoyed at my taking all of the credit."

Her flat was a studio apartment - with no sofa to speak of, only a bed or the chair by the desk. Waving her hand in offering to the chair for him to take before perching opposite him on the hastily made bed, the present in her lap. As he sat, he cast a dubious look at the ridiculous amount of makeup strewn across the desk, but refrained from commenting as Marilyn turned her attention to the gift. The parcel was squishy, hinting that whatever was inside was fabric, but Marilyn still had to take great care to hide any trepidation she felt as she undid the bow and tore away the paper. It would be very on brand for the twins to prank her before they produced their actual gift. In fact, she wouldn't put it past them to have an Extendable Ear from the shop tucked away somewhere in here, riddled with fake blood.

Instead, she found only guilt over her suspicions when she pulled the paper away to find nothing but bundles of very fine purple velvet. The wrapping fell to the floor as she pulled it free, and then stood to unfurl it - a cloak, knee-length and lined with dark silk, trimmed with gold embroidery.

"George," she breathed in disbelief "This is way, way too much."

"Not at all. You're actually the only person we can't cheap out on, given that you've seen our books."

"My wages reflect that just fine," she pointed out "And this is…this is gorgeous."

"Georgeous?"

She was far too much in shock to even protest that particularly terrible joke.

"It's from two people, too," he pointed out "So it's not so grand if you look at it like that."

"Oh, well in that case you absolutely cheaped out," she snorted, still in awe of it.

"It's also a gift to myself, really. Now if I ever see you in that blue thing again I'll consider it a personal affront."

George, it had turned out, wasn't much of a fan of the ol' denim jacket. He'd made that known the very first time he'd seen her in it - and every time since. She'd only ever had two other cloaks - her Beauxbatons one, and another which had been a gift from WIB upon her joining them. Neither were ones she particularly wanted to wear now, because all they did was serve to remind her of painful things. The Beauxbatons one, her fourth year, and the other her career. Her former career.

And anyway, neither of them went with the comfy Muggle gear she so often wore to work these days, but she wouldn't let that stop her with this cloak. Hell, she'd wear this cloak to bed if she could. In any case, now that she could do magic wherever she liked, she'd need to start dressing well for work - because she could actually be of use on the shop floor now, where even something as simple as the till required magic to work.

"I thought the colour was a bit bold which made it a risky gift," he admitted "But apparently it's a statement piece - and you're known for liking your grand statements."

"Hopefully this one gets me into less trouble," she teased, pulling the cloak on with a flourish that the Phantom of the Opera would be jealous of "Look, it matches my dress too."

"You're wearing it tonight?"

"I'll be buried in it if I have any say - it's beautiful, George," she fiddled with the golden triangular clasps at the neck "Thank you. Seriously."

To illustrate just how grateful she was, she stepped forward as he rose to his feet and pressed a kiss to his cheek before hugging him tightly.

"If I knew what I'd be getting out of it, I'd have tried my luck and sprung for the matching hat, too," he laughed, hugging her back.

Stepping away, she looked around her and then took up the flowers that sat atop the desk, still neatly gift-wrapped at the stems.

"I'm not sure those are Fleur's sort of thing," George commented mildly.

"These are for your mum. Trying not to go empty-handed…and trying to make a second first-impression that isn't the ballerina with a death wish, judging by what the papers say."

"That wasn't her first impression."

"Oh?"

"No - she knew about your former fetish for blond extremists long before all that ballet business hit the papers."

"So, still a ballerina with a death wish, then," she said sourly "I just need my bag now."

"That one?" he arched an eyebrow at the black backpack that sat by the door.

"No - that one's…er…the emergency escape plan."

She phrased it pointedly, but there was little need. Only Death Eaters and idiots didn't have a bag with that same purpose, ready to go should one need to cut and run at the drop of a hat. Christ, when she went to bed she moved hers so that all she needed to do was reach over the side and grab it before she Apparated, should she be woken by her door being broken down. She'd gotten into the habit of taking it to work with her, given how part of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes mission statement was firmly raising the middle finger to He Who Must Not Be Named.

Given that this wedding, though, would be attended by those who had to be at the heart of the resistance movement (and George's new injury confirmed that suspicion beyond any vague doubt that might have remained), she was sure she could leave it home for tonight. And so, she took up a smaller handbag that matched her dress, slipped her wand and a lip gloss into it, and offered George her arm so that they could Apparate away.


A/N: Tumblr - esta-elavaris