A/N: Hey guys! Long time no see - really pushing to get this thing finished now. I have thirteen consecutive 50k word months ahead of me, which should help, but I'm very grateful for your patience. On that topic, this site is quickly becoming unusable for me - it no longer gives me email notifications of reviews, it rarely lets me successfully reply to reviews, and so if you want to get in touch (or read things I write in the future, since I don't post everything on here anymore, and once my ongoing fics on here are finished I'll solely be posting on AO3), you can find me as esta-elavaris on tumblr, or on AO3 as eriathiel :) thank you again for your patience, I know update times have been ridiculous lately, I'm very grateful for those who are still keeping up with this story!

They'd been huddled on the floor, using both of their coats as improvised blankets, for what felt like an age. With her leg not so much aggravated as absolutely pissed about her earlier exertions, Marilyn had little choice but to grit her teeth and breathe through the waves of pain that rolled throughout her body with every heartbeat, every breath, and every draught that brushed up against her. Soon, her head was entirely hidden beneath the coats, her face against Draco's chest, as he held her against him. Evidently she was in sorry enough shape that he even kept his grumbling about the twins' security measures to himself.

Still, there was no denying that they were both painfully aware that every second that went by was another second in which the git from the sewers might regain his senses – and worse still, his mobility. If Fred and George were content to let the alarm go unchecked, having decided the shop was a lost cause in the middle of a war, this would have all been for nothing.

It was that thought that weighed on her when the door to the basement slammed open. They'd moved so silently through the building and down the stairs that they took them entirely by surprise – she and Draco both flinching at once. Though the two new arrivals were impossible to see for a moment, while her eyes adjusted to the glare of their illuminating spells after so long in the dark, there were two of them. And they were the same height, with the same silhouettes, and with almost even the same voices as they cursed when they spotted Draco.

The one on the left raised his want as Draco raised his – empty – hands, but stilled when Marilyn sat up and the coats fell away from her. Her eyes adjusted just in time to see Fred and George gawping at the two of them, their wands faltering…before rising again.

"George…Fred…"

She tried to rise, clinging to the wall to aid her, but it was no good. Draco had to stand and then help her – a process they watched with stony, purposely unreadable expressions.

"How many times have we kissed?" George asked.

"What?" she breathed, staring at him, certain she'd misheard.

"How. Many. Times?" he repeated.

Oh. Oh. Her mind finally caught up and she sighed – only so she wouldn't sob. Not because of the question, it was a valid one. A clever one, really. The sort that would hopefully see him live to the end of this war.

"Once. By the lake in Hogwarts, when I was there in my fourth year. It didn't go well."

"Not my fault your taste in men has always been shocking," he said without bite, demeanour lightening – but he stayed where he was, and both twins turned their attention to Draco.

"How many times have we kissed?" Draco asked Fred blithely.

That was proof of identity enough for them, it seemed, Fred scoffing as he pocketed his wand. "Oh, you're not that lucky, Malfoy."

And then George was on her.

"Watch it! She's injured!" Draco hissed, but she was too busy returning the bone-crushing hug that was bestowed upon her, gritting her teeth through the pain and just using it to squeeze him all the harder.

"They told us you were dead," Fred explained when it appeared his twin wasn't in much of a condition to. "Brought your cloak to the Burrow, left it on the doorstep, covered in blood."

"It wasn't my blood."

"A nice artistic touch, then," Fred sighed tiredly.

"Just to make sure we didn't think you'd just nipped by to lend it," George added, releasing her and stepping back.

When he did, she reached on instinct for Draco, who shouldered her weight without thinking. It was enough to have the twins noticing her knee, landing at the swelling that still showed drastically through her jeans when their eyes scanned her for any sign of injury.

"Auntie Bella's idea, probably," Draco said.

"Auntie Bella?" Fred echoed, decidedly unimpressed, his eyes flickering to Draco, back to her knee, and then back to Draco again. "The two of you are close, then?"

"Not really. Not since I became a filthy blood-traitor and a stain upon the Malfoy name," Draco replied.

He did have a very neat way of summing up the lengthy explanation that was needed if they were going to make any headway. But there was a more pressing issue first.

"We ran into a patroller on the way here, through the sewers. Stunned him, but he won't stay stunned forever," she added. "He recognised me. I'm sorry – I didn't want to bring this to you, but out there...I can't run...I can't even walk without help. It was this or..."

"Becoming a very valuable hostage," Draco muttered.

"I was going to say dead," she said.

She knew Draco knew it, too. For their crimes, they would not be taken alive. But it was cute of him to pretend otherwise, for her sake. Or maybe he didn't want to seem quite so without hope as they truly were, now that they were under the scrutiny of two of his least favourite people in the world.

"It was you or dying," George sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Just what every man longs to hear."

To Draco's credit, he managed to bite back the several artfully nasty responses she just knew his brain was conjuring in response to that.

"I'm sorry," she repeated again. "I wouldn't have ever brought all of this down on you unless-"

With the promise of safety, or at least as close to it as they could hope for in the middle of this ridiculous war, so closely within reach, all of the numbness she'd had to bundle herself in just to get by since she'd last seen the twins was threatening to fall away with alarming speed. Fred, thank Merlin, saved her before her voice began to crack.

"Listen. I've always dreamed of the day where I'd get to see Draco sodding Malfoy looking like a drowned puppy – and reeking of shit, as a bonus. You're alive, you've given us this, and now you tell us one of theirs is wallowing in a pile of actual shit not far away? This is basically Christmas all over again."

"He won't stay stunned forever," Draco interjected impatiently.

That was the dilemma, wasn't it? Did they take the time to try and find Grent again with no guarantee that they'd manage it, just to incapacitate him further and try to buy a bit of extra time before word spread? Or did they seize the time they knew they definitely had now and run with it?

Marilyn knew what she would do, but she also knew that the twins were risk takers at heart.

"Come on, then, Malfoy. Time to sing for your supper. Show us where the nasty man is and we'll see what we can do to trap him."

"Show you?" Draco echoed disbelievingly. "Baxter is hurt, she's in no condition to-"

"I'm not asking her, am I, you git? Where's your sense of chivalry? George will stay here with the lady, and we'll sort this."

"Why not just leave?" Draco pressed.

"Who said you're coming with us when we do?" Fred tilted his head.

"Please, guys," Marilyn cut in, far from too proud to beg. "Please. I don't go if Draco doesn't. If you don't want to take us both, that's fine, but then we'll go back to taking our chances elsewhere."

"Don't be absurd," Draco snapped immediately – arguing with her now. "Whatever happens, you're going with them."

Fred and George exchanged a look. A surprised look. And Draco liked that so little that he continued.

"Come on then. Let's get this over with. I hope you know how to use that wand of yours, Weasley."

Fred stifled a snort...and earned a look of disgust for his efforts.

When they heard the exit to the sewers grind shut once more, George wasted little time in speaking up.

"So. How long's that been going on, then?"

He asked it the moment he helped her hobble over to a pile of dusty crates, before sitting down at her side once she was situated. She was grateful for that, at least. It helped her feel less like a naughty student who'd been sent to the headmistress for an ear-beating.

"The whole time," she admitted. "More or less."

There was little point in lying to him now. It wasn't like there was any secret to keep anymore, and to start conjuring stories now would only be an insult. George sucked his teeth in response.

"That's what I suspected. You really do have shocking taste in men, you know that?"

"Not so shocking. He's saved my life a couple of times now. He got me out of the wedding."

"Did you know it was going to happen?" his tone was devoid of any emotion.

"Of course not," she answered immediately.

"Good. Had to ask," he sighed, though accepted her answer easily.

"He joined them because he knew I'd be there – and that he might be able to get me away. Then he...he'd sneak me supplies. Warnings, if he knew where the snatchers were searching..."

From there, she told him the whole story – of the Death Eaters' plan to catch her, how Draco had come along and switched sides, officially this time, at the last possible moment, and their escape. By the time she'd finished, even George was speechless.

"We're not asking you to take us in. You can't, we know that, there are too many eyes on you for that. But...I need to get my leg healed. Then we'll go back to what we were doing. If I can run, we stand a chance – but if I can't, and I fall behind, he won't leave me there, and we'll both die."

"You really think he wouldn't leave you behind?"

"Do you think he would? After everything I've just told you?"

"...I don't know."

"When did you ever think you'd give him that much, at least?"

"...Yeah," George sighed.

"Do you think you could get us to a healer? There must be somebody, right? Who could know what spell might work?"

"I can't think of any who are accessible who wouldn't just run the risk of making it worse," he admitted quietly. "His lot have been very good about wiping out anybody who might actually be useful."

"...Right," she said weakly.

That was her fucked, then. And Draco by extension. And also probably the Weasleys now, too, because they'd come here needlessly.

"When they get back, we'll go then. We shouldn't have come. If you can get us somewhere we can safely Disapparate, we'll go..."

"Don't be ridiculous," George snorted, knocking her shoulder with his, his eyes lingering on her horrendously swollen knee. "You're not leaving. I didn't say we had no healers to get you to – just that they're not particularly accessible. 'Til we can work out the finer details of that, we've got safe-houses. We'll stash the two of you in one of those."

"Thank you, George. Really."

"Don't thank me – you're the one who'll be stuck with him during that time."

"I know you hate him. I can't even blame you, considering the version of him that you know...but given how I've been these last few months, I think I have the better end of the deal. Even if the real him was like the one you know."

"You're too crippled for me to argue with right now, Marilyn. It's beneath me."

"You know who you sound like when you talk like that?"

"Yeah, well resist the urge to jump my bones," he snorted, shaking his head tiredly. "You know what they'll do to you, don't you? If this goes badly?"

"Same thing they were always going to do."

George sighed heavily, shaking his head as though disappointed in her. But he didn't speak – and she'd never known him to bite his tongue so much before.

"What?" she prompted.

"It would've been bad. Before. But you've just made it incredibly personal. You've gone from being an example, to...well. However bad it was before, it'll be ten times worse now. They'll probably make him watch, then do what they like to him."

"I know."

"Do you? Because although you've always been a bit of an idiot when it comes to him, knowing all of that and still getting involved anyway was levels of idiocy previously unknown to mankind. Or animal-kind, for that matter."

"Things were different back then," she sighed. "A war...it was a distant, vague prospect that Dumbledore would definitely put an end to before it could even begin. It would never actually touch us."

"And Cedric Diggory's death wasn't a hint about how things were actually going to go?"

"It was too late by then. And I wouldn't do anything differently...except maybe executing my turn a little bit better," she snorted, nodding to her knee. "The good outweighs the bad...and I love him, George."

"I suppose he must love you, too. Never thought he was capable of it, but all things considered..."

"He does."

"Right."

Sighing, George straightened, and she watched as the heaviness left his frame. Not all of it, that would be impossible – there were still dark circles beneath his eyes, he was still paler than usual, his clothing emphasising comfort and mobility over the usual flair he and Fred had dressed with back when she'd worked here. But now he appeared more himself.

"I suppose we'll just have to keep the both of you alive, then. Just make sure Malfoy knows how much he owes us when you're off together being a disgrace to his name, yeah?"

"Daily letters, extolling your virtues," she vowed solemnly.

"Fantastic.""

It was that rather timely moment that Draco and Fred made their return. George offered Fred a nod – a signal, she realised, that he was happy enough with her tale to allow Draco to remain. Fred appeared little pleased with that, but the set of Draco's jaw was also grim, and Marilyn knew him well enough to recognise the fear and dread that he hid behind anger on his pale features.

"He's gone," Fred announced. "We need to get moving."