A/N: I know in the books Harry attended the wedding in disguise, but I'm following the movies on that score.


"She's not at all what I expected, you know. Not a bit. Did George tell you she brought me flowers when she arrived? Then just got right stuck in helping with the preparations thanks to how early she was. Didn't bat an eye. Not what I expected at all."

It seemed, in lieu of approving of her new daughter-in-law, Mrs Weasley was distracting herself by discussing other blondes present. Not that Fleur had noticed at all - no, she only had eyes for her new husband. Even Marilyn wasn't so much of a gloomy sod these days to be unable to crack a smile at the sight of the happy couple, blissfully and hopelessly in love. That was the smile she kept fixed on her face, watching them dance and pretending she couldn't hear the Weasley matriarch's commentary on her existence a few tables away.

"Better watch yourself," George commented wryly at her side "Mum'll be planning another wedding soon if you don't do something to disappoint her sharpish."

"Well we've settled on being underwhelming, Ron is still dancing around a certain genius - how you've tolerated that without them just going for it for all this time I'll never know, by the way-"

The two of them were on the dance floor - with Hermione trying to teach him how to dance, and Ron not looking half as unhappy with the turn of events as he'd probably pretend he was. No amount of blushing and eye rolling (only when Hermione looked him in the eye) could counteract the smile on his face as he followed along with her strict instructions.

"Compared to watching you and Malfoy it's much more wholesome and less prone to induce a sinister brand of nausea. So you can thank yourself for exposing us to a world of greater evils and offering that sort of perspective."

"You're welcome, then," she said, before gallantly pressing on "Fred is my boss - which might add a layer of excitement if we actually had any interest of that sort in each other but alas not, and I'm not Ginny's type as far as I'm aware."

"Not if what I saw in the kitchen this morning is anything to go by, no."

When she raised her eyebrows questioningly at him, he waved a hand to brush off her curiosity, so instead she asked.

"So that leaves…?"

George's brow furrowed in thought.

"I wouldn't inflict Percy on you for the world. Although inflicting you on him would be funny. Charlie, then. How do you like Romania?"

"I'm not a dragon."

"Mm. You have your moments."

"What a shocking thing to say about your future sister-in-law."

"I'll make it up to you with a dance."

"I think that would just make things worse. Adding injury to insult, really."

"Not at all. Now, those very sparkly shoes have steel toes, right?"

Marilyn laughed, always warmed by George's ability and willingness both to join in with her nonsense.

"First things first, though," he said, drumming his fingertips against the table and looking to where Fleur was making the rounds "I have a bet with Fred on whether I'll be able to get a dance out of the new Mrs Weasley - and this whole ear thing has given me a great edge."

Leaving George to his noble calling, Marilyn stood and crawled her way through the people in the crowd that she recognised from her Beauxbatons days. The good news was that if they were happy enough to attend a Weasley wedding, then they were on the right side of her battle to take on bigots via the art of dance. Then again, some part of her was far more comfortable with sneers than it was with sympathetic smiles and vague allusions to all that had happened. Maybe that was why she liked Draco so much.

After a few minutes of responding politely to what questions they asked, and failing to shift the topic of conversation onto more prudent matters like Fleur's dress, Marilyn excused herself and slipped outside of the tent. The last thing she wanted was to be accused of trying to steal the bride's thunder. As if that would even be possible when the bride was part Veela.

The air outside of the tents was even warmer than that within - likely not under the influence of any magical cooling spells to stop the atmosphere from getting too humid in the summer night. But there was a pleasant breeze, everything felt stiller and calmer out here, and the stars were out in full force thanks to how far they were from any Muggle settlements.

So long as she did her best not to break her ankles in the uneven, long grass thanks to her stupid heels, she would be quite happy out here for a bit.

"Happy birthday, Marilyn."

Turning her head, she blinked in surprise to find Harry Potter had come to stand beside her, awkwardly cradling a drink in his hand.

"Thanks," she smiled "Likewise, by the way, although I know I missed it. It was a few days back, right? How'd it go? Eventful?"

The slight grimacing effect that his smile took on spoke for him, and she couldn't help but wonder if it didn't have some link to George's injury. But she didn't ask. This wasn't the place for it - and, regardless of whether it made her a coward, she wasn't sure she actually wanted to know.

"We kept up with what you were doing at Hogwarts, you know," he answered a question she had not asked instead "We were all sorry when we saw what happened."

She'd put money on the Slytherin table being particularly cheery, though, when the schools returned for the first term after her 'resignation'.

"I was sorry, too," she replied "Not for what happened to me - for…Dumbledore. I mean. When I saw. With everything that's gone on over the last few years, Hogwarts was never too far from my mind, and anybody could see how proud he was of you. It's rough."

"Fred and George told you how it happened, didn't they?"

"Yeah," she sighed.

"Do you…" he hesitated "Do you think about Malfoy at all these days?"

Then it was Marilyn's turn to hesitate, shifting from one foot to the other and hoping he'd take it as a sign of her shoes paining her than discomfort. Then again, given the subject matter and his limited information on it alone, she'd be well within her rights to feel a touch awkward.

"It's been a long time," she answered at first - non-committal.

Harry watched her for a few moments, and then she continued.

"But yeah," she admitted finally "More often lately - after I heard what happened."

Not a lie. Just not the full truth. As she spoke, she resisted the urge to let her fingers return to the bracelet at her wrist.

"We all thought you were the world's biggest idiot for all of that with him back then," Harry snorted quietly.

There was no malice in his words, but even if there was it would've been difficult for Marilyn to find a leg on which to stand in order to lead any sort of counter-argument against his point.

"A fair assessment, all things considered," she replied "I thought it myself a time or two."

Her unease grew as they continued to speak with no sign of a change in topic on the horizon. Not just because of the topic itself, but because he didn't know exactly how much Harry knew - for she was keenly aware that there were multiple versions of events floating around, few of them true.

The first was the most widely known by those who'd witnessed their fourth year at Hogwarts. She'd lied to Draco about her blood status (either maliciously or by omission, depending on who was asked), he humiliated her in front of the school in retaliation, and that was that. Well. Unless you knew the second version of events - letting slip that that wasn't entirely that at all. They'd kissed, made up, and then kissed some more right up until Cedric Diggory's memorial, where she'd been horrified by how utterly unfazed Draco had been by the whole thing.

Off of the top of her head, the only people who knew that for certain were Hermione and George. But that alone meant that Fred definitely knew, and it was highly likely that Harry and Ron did, too. Yes, Hermione had vowed secrecy, but letting it slip after the fourth year was done and she appeared to be out of their lives for good would hardly have been a great crime. Truth be told, she had no idea who here knew what on that score - the first version of events, the second, or something very muddled between the two. But she didn't want to ask for clarification, and nor did she want to be caught in a lie.

The only other version was the truth, and only she, Draco, and Adriano knew that. Out of that number, she was the only one of the three who knew how badly she missed Draco - a fact she would not share with Adriano, and could not share with Draco. The heart shaped charm, barely any bigger than her pinky nail, dangling from her wrist assured her that he either knew, or the feeling was mutual, at least.

"Is that why you brought him up?" she asked when Harry said nothing more "To remind me of what an idiot I was?"

"No," he snorted "Sorry. It's just…the twins told you about what happened in the Astronomy Tower?"

"They did, yeah."

"He couldn't do it in the end."

Thank Merlin. Marilyn nodded, lips pressed together tightly, and Harry pressed in response.

"That doesn't surprise you?"

"I knew him a long time ago, Harry," she said doubtfully, and then she sighed "But no. It doesn't."

"It surprised me," Harry admitted, his voice low as he glanced around as though to make sure they weren't being listened in on "Maybe less than it would've if he hadn't been in a right state all year, sure, but…if you'd've asked me two or three years ago whether he'd be willing to do it, I'd have said yes in a heartbeat."

"Of course you would have," Marilyn replied drily "He worked very hard to make sure everybody would think so, didn't he? It's not like he was ever stupid, so he wouldn't have much trouble making us all believe whatever he wanted."

"You didn't believe it."

"Didn't I?"

"You'd never have hung around him for long if you did. I know we've not exactly spoken much one-on-one, but I know you're not Pansy Parkinson."

Marilyn laughed, toying with her wine glass "Well, hearing that's the only birthday present I'll ever need."

"You're avoiding the question."

"I haven't heard a question. Not yet."

"Did you see something that we didn't? Back then?"

"It's easy to see something others don't in a person when you haven't been targeted by all of their bullshit for three solid years," she pointed out "That being said…of course I did."

It was difficult to remind herself to speak of him in the past tense - although not so difficult as it might have been if she'd seen or spoken to him recently. Nor so easy as it might have been two drinks ago. It was even more difficult still, though, to think of what she might say in Draco's defence that he wouldn't view as some sort of betrayal, nor give away their secrets, nor handwave away the mistreatment Harry and his loved ones had endured from him for years.

"He was clever," she sighed finally "And funny. Good company, when he wasn't trying not to be - and with a propensity to be kind…even if only to those he deemed worthy of it. If he'd been born to different parents, he'd easily be just as much of a force for good in this world as Hermione is. Don't look at me like that - it's true."

"You didn't see the things he tried to do last year."

"Plenty of us will do shite things with a gun to our head," she pointed out.

"I wouldn't."

He didn't need to say it as confidently as he did for her to believe him.

"Yeah. Probably not," she shrugged a little before offering him a tired smile "But there was a reason he loved to call you Saint Potter."

Harry smiled begrudgingly at that, but he wasn't done debating her.

"Crap parents is no excuse," he snorted "Lots of us have had rough upbringings. We don't treat people like he did."

"Have you forgotten I never went home for any of the holidays either in fourth year?" she pointed out wryly "I know that. But I think it's tougher if you love the folk bringing you up, while they happen to have shite beliefs. You can't just cut and run the same way that you can if there's nothing at all good there. It's how all these mad cults keep their members, isn't it? Leave us and you'll have nobody. You Know Who just happens to sweeten the deal by adding leave us and we'll torture and murder all of your loved ones into the mix."

"All the more reason not to follow him."

"I have more sympathy for the poor fucks born into it than those who willingly signed up," she said "And none at all for the arseholes who drag their kids into their mess."

Harry didn't respond for a few long moments, and when she next looked at him she worried that she'd said too much, for there was a distinct sort of thoughtfulness in those green eyes of his. Maybe her fright showed on her face, because he finally replied.

"Next time I see old Lucius, should I tell him to watch his back then?"

Marilyn breathed a laugh "Yeah. I've got a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes employee discount and I'm not afraid to use- ah!"

Starting, she lifted her wrist like a shot, staring at it and half-expecting to see a bug that had just bitten her. She wasn't even able to put a finger on what exactly the pain had been. Stinging? Burning? It was sore, but over so quickly she couldn't quite make up her mind about whether she'd imagined it. That wasn't helped by the fact that there was nothing there - nothing other than the bracelet.

"What's wrong?" Harry frowned.

"Nothing," she shook her head "The clasp must've caught the skin or something."

Which it had never done before. At least it served as a conversation ender, though - not that she had anything against Harry. Her issue lay with the subject matter. She wasn't wearing the right shoes for such perilous footing.

"Impassioned sociological rants aside…I better head back in. George wants the notoriety of being seen dancing with me," she said "It's good to see you, Harry. Stay safe, yeah?"

She cringed at the stupidity of the words more or less as soon as she said them. Stay safe to the one person who Voldemort wanted to see dead most of all, out of anybody still living. The only thing, she suspected, that stopped her from sounding like a truly blithering moron was that she'd had her own brushes with assassination attempts over the last year. It had to count for something. And if Harry found her words stupid, he was too decent to laugh in her face.

"You too," he nodded with a sincere smile.


Over the course of the night, she danced with George as promised, then with Fred, then a few others she'd either barely chatted to over the course of the night, or did not know at all. She even danced with Ron, once, just to make the twins leave him alone about his waltz with Hermione. They were both too tipsy, and the atmosphere too merry, for it to even be very awkward at all. And it felt good to dance again, just for the sake of dancing.

By the time she fell back into her chair beside George, her cheeks were ablaze, her feet were in agony, and the grin on her face could not be moved for anything in the world.

"There she is," he said.

It was clear by the smugness radiating off of him that he meant his words in a more profound way than just wondering where in the tent she'd wandered off to.

"You were right," she said - mostly so he couldn't draw it into an excruciating thing.

Apparently he was shocked at how easy she'd made it for him, because he blinked in surprise. Of course, then he frowned and leaned forward, a hand cupping the patch where his ear had once been.

"What was that? I didn't hear you - say it again?"

"You were right," she enunciated the words slowly and clearly, fond grin still on her face as she leaned back in her chair.

"No, the chatter in here really is a nightmare, you're going to have to tell me one more time," he shook his head.

"You were right, George," she announced, voice barely a step below the volume those who had given speeches earlier had used "You were right. You're the wisest soul to ever walk the earth, and I should let you solve all of my problems going forward - particularly the ones rooted in rampant self pity. You were right. You were right, you were right, you were right."

"Oh this really is a glorious night," he snickered, sighing happily.

"And George?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you. Really."

His smile lost a shade of its teasing and he pressed a hand atop hers, squeezing it.

"Any time, Baxter. I'm just glad that-"

Whatever he was going to say was cut short when a streak of silver bolted into the tent, and then around all of the heads of those gathered. A patronus - one in the shape of a cat, no less. Marilyn glanced at George, bewildered. Was this some sort of entertainment? But he looked just as lost for words. Until the cat began to speak in a low, deep voice.

"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

There was a beat of confused silence, everybody looking around at one another, then back at the cat, processing what it had said - and what those words truly meant. Silence. Then pandemonium. All at once, people began screaming and diving about the tent, grabbing onto wands and loved ones and vanishing entirely, while those who had no intention of leaving held their ground. It was sorely needed, too, as that was when the Death Eaters began to appear. The wards previously set in place had been breached.

Marilyn shot to her feet, her insides freezing over, wand in hand while her other took up her cloak, unsure whether to run or stay and fight. Across the tent, she saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione grab onto one another and vanish. George dove in the direction of his little sister, who got it into her head that she could duel two Death Eaters at once. Marilyn faltered. There was no way she could just cut and run and leave them to deal with this. But if they lost…if the Death Eaters won and realised who they had in their grasp.

But she couldn't leave them like this. She just couldn't.

Swallowing against the dread that was seizing at her throat, she fired off a jinx at one of the masked figures, sending him flying back into the table of gifts. There was no time to stop and see whether he'd get back up, nor even find another target, for a hand was clamping itself over her mouth and she was being dragged backwards, out of the tent and into the relative emptiness of the garden.

She barely managed to shoot a hex in the direction of the one who gripped her - a man, if the solid chest she was being yanked back against was anything to go by - but he yanked her hand away and the spell fizzled off into the night sky instead like the world's most underwhelming firework. Blindly trying to whip at him with the cloak still bundled in her hand didn't help much either, her own shrieks beneath the hand at her mouth drowning out whatever vitriol he was spewing into her ear beneath the hooded black robes.

On the verge of passing out, she had to stop shrieking just to get a chance at funnelling air in through her nostrils, and he shook her - hard. It was then that she realised it wasn't gruff accusations of mudblood that he was grunting, muffled by the get-up. It was…her…her name?

"Baxter! Baxter! Listen to me - for fuck's sake, listen!"

She stilled. Only just. The battle continued to rage in the tent behind them - but she recognised that voice. He must have suspected so, for he continued.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Dr-" the beginning of the name was muffled by his hand.

"Don't say it," he said sharply - nor did he loosen his grip on her, despite how she'd ceased fighting.

Only when she shook her head furiously, trying to signal that if he didn't let go of her mouth soon she'd definitely pass out, did he slip his hand down. There was nobody around to witness them, not with the fighting still going on inside the tent, but if anybody did catch a glimpse, they'd hopefully mistake the hand loosely at her throat as being a chokehold. Marilyn sucked in great lungfuls of air, trying desperately to think.

"Do you see that tree?" Draco hissed into her ear.

Her eyes were rapidly adjusting to the dark - but he clearly thought she was still too panicked to make sense of what he was saying, for he asked the question again barely a moment later and she quickly nodded when she could make out the shape of the solitary tree - twenty or thirty feet away, minimum.

"Your broom is in the grass behind it. In a moment, hit me and then run - run, Marilyn, because if they catch you, you will die and there'll be nothing I can do. He wants you dead. They don't know you're here yet, this is your only chance. Grab the broom, and Apparate away. Paris? Remember Paris? Where we last saw one another? I'll meet you there. If something looks off, run anywhere else and I'll find you."

Had she been the slightest bit inclined to doubt his words, the way the hand gripping her wrist shook would have dispelled that.

"Do you understand?" he demanded.

In response, she kicked off her heels. She'd break an ankle trying to run across the grass in them before she got more than five steps away.

"Good," he breathed "Good - nobody's looking. I've got your back. Go. Now. Before the chaos dies down. We haven't much time."

Marilyn released a shuddering breath, forced out a wavering thank you that she wasn't sure he'd even be able to hear, and then drove her fist blindly behind her. Her knuckles were met with unforgiving cold metal rather than flesh, but he went down like he'd been shot all the same - shoving her forward as he did so, as if to give her a head start, or a bit of extra momentum. The move threatened to send her off-balance at first, pitching forward as she took her first few stumbling steps, but a fresh wave of screams from behind her was all the extra motivation she needed, and then she was sprinting through the grass, head ducked low, cloak fluttering in her hand at her side.

If anybody pursued she didn't know it. They didn't catch her, that was for sure, and there was no chance she'd be able to hear them over her own ragged breathing and the thundering of the blood in her skull.

Once she reached the tree she all but dove to the ground behind it - gaining a wealth of scratches to her arms as well as the ones already no doubt littering the soles of her feet. God, she'd never been so pleased that the broom he'd given her all those years ago - the one he still referred to as her broom - was white. It was easy to spot, and the second her fingers had curled around the handle, she was gone.


A/N: There's a reason I've been excited for the Deathly Hallows babyyyy.