Something about my mattress was not quite as comfortable tonight. It was either lumpy, or too hot, or the sheets were too wrinkled, or there was one part that sank down deeper than all the others. Or, maybe, it was just the fact that I kept tossing and turning on it to the point that it was about to explode.
Okay, Draco Malfoy. Whatever I think it is. Well, what do I think it is? It's messed up, it's… slightly retarded would be the correct term. I like a guy who's too busy cavorting around campus to give two shits about me. I've done the most humiliating things in front of him, and now I've just learned that he may or may not like me too – he was too busy being a vague idiot to actually answer the question directly. By the way: that guy is you.
This is so messed up. I can't even lie still enough to assess the situation. When I'd returned to the common room that evening, I was expecting to find Draco sitting there, musing over something while staring handsomely into the mid-distance out the window. Instead, I found the fifth-year girl who nearly literally jumped on me, asking if I'd moved on from Blaise Zabini to Theodore Nott. It took all my self restraint to point out that, however alluring the idea of a rebound-jumper was, I was interested in the one guy who she seemed to miss out on the count. Not that I blame her, or anything – the fact that Draco Malfoy is exactly who he is just makes it more plausible that he'll stay a brooding bachelor for the rest of his life, simply because no girl seems to be good enough to measure up to his self-proclaimed perfection.
But I'd really, really like to be the girl that comes pretty close.
Oh, no. This is wrong. This is very, very wrong.
The point was that I still couldn't define whatever relationship, existent or otherwise, there was between us. Friendship? Yeah, could be, especially since we achieved a conversation that didn't revolve around a hit on my intelligence. Romance? Yuck. It sounded so weird. Like, kind of uncomfortable to consider.
Not that it changed the fact that I wanted it.
What? Blake, seriously! Get a grip. You're going to get your period. Yeah. That's it.
I slid out of bed and put on my slippers, aware that the moment my bare shins escaped the quilt, goosebumps appeared on my skin. It wasn't a choice. I didn't have proper pajamas left, so I had to use leggings. Sue me.
I decided I would take a walk, or perhaps play some music in some far area where no one would hear me, just to clear my mind.
From inside my trunk, I carefully extracted my new guitar, watching the moonlight hit the surface. I was cautious not to have it slam into anything that would cause a ruckus, having the snoozing fifth-year girl bolt up and ask me more about my imaginary whorish escapades. Whatever. Tiptoeing out of the dormitory, I sped through the common room and out the portrait hole. Everything was asleep, even the perpetually dozing dragon, so I slipped past the corridors and peered into the darkness to see if there were any tall figures lurking around in the shadows.
Okay, fine. Yes, I did go out partly because I wanted to see if I could catch Draco slinking around the castle. I mean, it's happened so many times before on sheer chance, so, why not? Besides, I had some issues to settle with the boy.
Guitar in one hand and lit wand in the other, I treaded carefully through the passages, taking extra care not to shine light directly on portraits, and not to make loud noises. It worked this time around, maybe because I wasn't aimlessly wandering about like a maniac. I was actually out here for some purpose, as creepy as that might be.
But about fifteen minutes of traipsing around like a lost female Jonas Brother had me wary. Maybe Draco hadn't snuck out tonight? Like he'd really want to talk to me anyway, even if I'd bumped into him. This is stupid. Why am I looking to talk to someone in the dead of night if I can just talk to them the next morning?
I was just about to storm back through the way I came when I heard a soft rustling of movement. Suddenly gripped with fear, I held my wand up higher and spun around looking frantic. What if it was a teacher? Filch or his cat? A tattletale ghost? A killer elf? Oh, no. I'm going to die. I'm really, really going to d-
"Blake?"
I shone the light on a long, pale face standing mere centimeters away from me. Green pupils adjusted blearily to my wand.
"Jesus," I breathed. "What the fuck are you doing here, Harry Potter?"
"Might ask you the same question. D'you mind?" He held my wrist and lowered my wand, rubbing his eyes from underneath his circular spectacles.
"Sorry," I apologized, relaxing my tensed guard. "You scared me. You're out so late."
"As are you," He eyed me suspiciously. "Care to share why?"
"I couldn't sleep." I admitted.
"I see," He nodded, like he understood this perfectly. "Anything on your mind?"
"Nothing, just everything," I let out a small laugh. He smiled weakly. "So what are you doing out here?"
"Just out for a midnight stroll as well," He replied, though there was a twinge of curiosity in his voice. "Blake – I mean, I know this is kind of weird…"
"So was everything else that's happened to me in the past how many weeks," I snorted. "This probably couldn't get any weirder."
"You're right," He chuckled. "But I was wondering – you haven't seen anyone, have you? Walking around here? Besides me, of course."
"No, sorry," I raised a questioning eyebrow. "Any name in particular?"
"Just a certain Draco Malfoy," He admitted. I nearly choked on my own saliva, but saved myself in the last second.
"Draco Malfoy? Are you for real?" I nearly added, Come on; let's go hunt him down together! But then I realized that the purposes might be a little more than slightly diverted.
"Yeah, well," He looked kind of sheepish. "He's been sort of sneaking out a lot-"
"Yeah, I know." Oops. Oh, shit. Ah, I shouldn't have said that.
"What? You know?" Harry Potter looked shocked, at the very least. "How? Do you know where he goes?"
"What? No – I meant – He's a prefect, he always goes out on prefect patrol." Too late. The damage was done. I run my mouth way too much.
"Look, Blake, whatever you know, you have to tell me now." Harry said, his voice dropping into an undertone.
"What? I don't know anything – honest to God, Harry. What happened to having a nice conversation and all that?" I clutched the fretboard of my guitar tightly.
"Blake-"
"Look, all I know is that he goes out and disappears into the shadows and all that emo angst stuff," I said quickly. "I don't know where he goes, or what he does."
"How do you know?"
"I've run into him a couple of times," I shrugged. "More literally than imaginable."
"Blake, whatever you know, you have to tell me. This is important." He pressed, looking like he was about three paces away from blowing himself up.
"Look, Harry Potter, I don't know anything. I told you once before, and I'll tell you again – I know nothing about Draco Malfoy. All my stored information to him is free access to you, and you know double," I said, miffed. But this didn't seem to slow down his momentum at all. Instead, he grabbed my shoulders and stared desperately into my face. Needless to say, I was freaked out.
"At least tell me where you've bumped into him."
"Yeah, really," I shrugged his hold off. "Because your faith in my sense of direction in this goddamn labyrinth is truly astounding."
"Just give it a go, Blake."
"Sixth – no, sorry. Seventh Floor, I think. The place where there are numerous passageways that lead to everywhere," I added unhelpfully. But, really, this was such a waste of time. If Harry Potter wanted to find Draco Malfoy, he should have bolted off without even stopping to have a chat with me. Draco could very well have slipped back into the common room and back to bed while Harry tried to lure the truth out of me. Truth that, well, escaped my knowledge as well.
"Seventh Floor," He grumbled. "What's on the Seventh Floor?"
"Like I said, a lot of passageways that le-"
"This isn't a joke, Blake, seriously," He snapped, then caught himself. "Sorry. I'm sorry, but you have to understand this is a whole lot bigger than me trying to catch him for sneaking out."
"I'm sorry, Harry Potter, but the thing is, I don't understand. I don't know what your problem is, and I don't know what his problem is either. If you'd just kindly explain to me what I'm lacking – which, mind you, is everything – I'd probably be a lot more use to you than just someone who keeps saying 'I don't know'."
Harry Potter snapped his head around, eyes darting back and forth for a moment. Finally, he grabbed my forearm and walked resolutely into an empty classroom – the Charms one, I believe. He allowed me to sit down and balance my guitar on the desk, then leaned back on the wall, sighing.
"Okay, Blake, I'd just really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about what I'm going to say right now."
"Why? Because it's secret or because it's crazy?" I saw the exasperated look on his face, then quickly added, "Sorry."
"You know how you told me you saw something odd about the tattoo on his arm? Can you remind me what it looked like?"
"It looked like," I chewed on the bottom of my lip. I hadn't seen the stupid thing since the first time, and I probably wouldn't see it again. My head was trying to rewire, wondering if it was an anaconda or a shark. "It looked like – there was a face on it."
"Uh huh."
"And there was a snake. It was coming out of the mouth of the face, and it… twined around something. I don't know. Or maybe that was just some horrible nightmare I had after watching Animal Planet's Reptile Special." I admitted.
"As much as it would be nice to say you dreamt that, you didn't. What you saw was the mark of a Death Eater. And Draco Malfoy is one of them."
His ominous expression probably was my cue to go, "Oh my God, no. Draco Malfoy? A Death Eater?" or maybe even say, "Le GASP. Shall we go and slay the demon inside Draco Malfoy?" But since this isn't really much of a medieval movie, I decided to go with something a little more modern-age feel.
"Well, what the fuck is that?"
"Are you mad?" He looked at me as though he couldn't quite believe I'd just said something evidently that drastic. Actually, his expression was reminiscent of how someone would react if I'd just announced I was, in fact, a man. "Death Eaters are the main supporters of Voldemort. They're the ones causing all this chaos in the world. Honestly, Blake."
"Who in their right minds would name their kid something as ridiculous as Voldemort?" I challenged.
"What?" At this point in time, he seemed ready to have a heart attack. "Blake – where do you even come from?"
"Uranus," I said flatly. He fell quiet and stared at me with an expression that began to make me feel as though this were a topic I couldn't be inadequate about when it came to information. "Why don't you just pretend like I'm a first timer on the subject and fill me in on the whole shebang, huh?"
"Except," He said skeptically. "I get the odd feeling we're not pretending."
"Yeah, well, you can skip out on the minor details."
I had listened patiently to Harry Potter's slightly deranged tale without much comment (yeah, believe it. Okay fine, I did put in a few unnecessary quips here and there, but the nature of a person is what it is). In around fifteen minutes (inclusive of the topic straying out of the circle due to my input), I had received a framework of his epic past, the antagonist of the year called Voldemort, who had killed his parents and was now devoting the rest of his pretty long life to blowing my good, bespectacled friend into smithereens.
Yeah, I know you don't get it. But it's the best I can come up with. Especially because this story is the most ludicrous thing I've ever encountered.
Anyway, this dude Voldemort (seriously. Not over the name) has a huge-ass posse, called the death eaters. They don't rap or push people into garbage cans, but it's like this lame cult where their mission is to kill people. Except they don't really sacrifice them on pearl altars, or whatever. I guess everyone's outgrown that stage, so they just shoot bits of light out of a stick of wood and call it a day. You know, and they don't even get paid for it, which is awkward.
Talk about devotion, or whatever.
And so Harry just finished telling me that the Malfoys (guess whose family that is) are a really long line of bad-man supporters, or something to that effect. Draco's dad, Lucius (LOL. What is with these people and their epically awkward names?) was a huge, top of the pack, alpha-dog Death Eater. Well, that was until he was sent to Azkaban, the wizard prison.
Yes, I finally know what the fuck Azkaban is. Finally. Answers.
Harry has this odd theory about how, now, Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater in his father's place, and has been sent by You-Know-Who (Harry warned me that saying Voldemort is sort of forbidden, or whatever. Like Chuck Norris or Charlie Sheen. Even though he doesn't know who either of them are, but I'm getting the concept). Apparently he's on some top secret not-so-spy mission with objective God-knows-what, which is why he's been sneaking out on a midnightly basis.
And I'm like, well, that's all he's doing out here? Thank God he doesn't have a girl on the side. That would have been legitimately disappointing.
I sort of voiced this out to Harry, but he got kind of pissed about how I was totally missing the point. So I let the matter drop.
I did, however, try to defend Draco from Harry's pretty thought-out theory.
"I mean, it could have easily been a henna," I had said.
"What's a henna?" He had wondered blankly.
"Like, a fake tattoo that comes off after like, a week," I had explained. "You know. Like when people go to the beach and stuff and get hennas because they can show skin without being sent to a strip club, or whatever."
"I'm pretty sure Draco Malfoy has never been to the beach," Harry had replied flatly.
"Yeah, but like, maybe it was just some super rad fad at the time," I'd reasoned out. "Or maybe like, a mourning period for his dad. So it was like some fanatic decision, or something."
"Blake," Harry had exhaled tired. So I let that drop too.
Harry had given me time to think it through, though there wasn't much to consider. People are going to get killed. My crush is apparently evil. I still haven't been to a Justin Bieber concert.
Life's like that, you know? Fucked up.
"So with everything that you've told me," I said slowly. "And I totally understand it, no problem – but, um… why?"
"Why what?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Like, why did I have to sit here and listen to that story?" I wondered. "I'm not getting the moral."
"There is no moral, Blake, focus," He rolled his eyes. "There's only a point."
"Uh huh. That being… what you're going to explain to me now," I urged him on.
"The point is that Draco Malfoy is up to no good. I'm trying to figure out what it is he's up to. And I'm hoping you'll help me."
"Help you stalk him?"
"Just help me find out."
"And then what?" I asked. "Will we turn him over to the FBI, or will we get a priest to exorcize him?"
"You're not taking me seriously," He sighed after a moment's pause as to give time to consider whether or not I was actually kidding. Of course I'm kidding. Theoretically, I'm not even completely sure London has an FBI. Or if it's even been invented at this point in time.
"I can't, like, this is so weird. I'm not sure if I should believe you or help you to a mental hospital. I'm sorry, Harry. All we're talking about is one stupid tattoo – which, by the way, could very well be a henna – to base your entire accusation on."
"I'm pretty sure it's not a henna, Blake," He spat. Well, at least he learned something useful today.
"Whatever," I said exasperatedly.
"I'm not asking you to believe me or anything," He replied. "But at least help me find out the truth."
"The truth? The truth is that I don't want to find out the truth," I answered. "Maybe I'm happy knowing nothing. Ignorance is bliss. I don't want to find out what Draco Malfoy's up to."
"Yeah? And what if I find out he is sneaking out with a random girl?"
Damn it. No, no, don't give in to the mean kid with the lightning scar. "Then good for you. I hope he lets you in on a threesome."
"You're in denial," He accused.
"Yeah, well, you're up in my face, so get out of it," I snapped.
"This is unrealistic, Blake. You know he's up to something, and you aren't the least bit curious as to what that is?"
"I was curious, Harry, but that didn't turn out too well, okay? I just want to live what's left of my deprived life in normalcy. No bumps on the road. Skive through it, and die. Know what I'm trying to say?"
"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm pretty sure you gave that up when you fell through the sky. Or whatever that stunt was supposed to be."
"Thanks for the heads up, Charles Darwin. Maybe if I could pool all my tears of misery for being in this shithole, I could make your stupid lake an eighth sea. Are you happy? Yes, I am fully aware that my life is on the edge of a knife, about to plummet into insanity. But if you're going to make a powerpoint presentation about it, go right ahead. I'm listening."
A moment of silence swept about the empty classroom, later punctuated by a heavy sigh falling from Harry Potter's lips.
"I'm going to bed. You should too, Blake."
"Thanks," I replied, my voice tight from uncomfortability.
"Goodnight," With that, he walked out of the classroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. I heard his soles click away, until even the echoes of the sound were silent. Shaking my head, I lifted my guitar from where I had propped it up against an adjacent desk. I slid the pick wedged in between the strings and strummed once, to check if it was still in tune. The notes echoed off the walls of the room, making it sounds as though I were in an empty amphitheater prepping in soundcheck.
Which, I might remind everyone, is actually what I should be doing with my life now. Unfortunately, my dreams of becoming the next big thing from Florida since Hey Monday caught on the mainstream scene (having been featured in Glee episodes has, actually, done them favors, no matter if it is slightly off-setting that two boys achieved the upper register of Cassadee Pope's unbelievably soprano range) had been dashed since I, I don't know, died, probably.
Whatever. The point was, at this rate, I would never become the rockstar I had so aspired to be.
I would, however, probably achieve in stick-waving and hex-casting if I tried hard enough. Either that, or I'd get caught in a sticky situation which would possibly result in the second ending of my life by means of absurd Latin words and empowered miniature tree branches.
"Oh, God," I groaned, shaking my head.
At this particular moment, a swift rapping came upon the door, and I perked up to the point of a near-heart attack. I closed off all respiratory action, because I felt that in the silence of the room my breathing would probably be equivalent to the sound of a speeding train.
"Holding your breath isn't going to help, Asher, I already know you're in there."
I released all the air I'd managed to accumulate in my lungs in one big exhale as Draco Malfoy opened the classroom door and stepped in, shutting it with a nudge of his foot. Facing me with a cool expression on his face, he raised a delicate eyebrow as a form of inquiry.
"What?" I initiated the conversation with a definite tone of defense.
"Well, I should be chastising you about your adamant irresponsibility at this point, but to spice it up a little, I'm giving you a bit of a chance." Pulling up a chair, he sat down and casually crossed his long legs. "Amuse me."
"I couldn't sleep."
"Wrong answer," He shook his head. "Are you planning to come quietly, or shall I drag you out by the ear? Or is there a similar, more American protocol for things like these?"
"Yeah, you go out and get drunk partying at an unknown bar," I let my eyes dart around. "But I'm guessing you don't have any of those around here, so."
"Then we agree we'll stick to the British procedure."
"Out of curiosity before you haul my ass back to the Common Room," I pointed a lamely accusing finger at him. "What were you doing out of bed?"
"Apprehending wanderers like you," leaning forward, he cast me a mysterious look. "Funnily enough, I was under the impression that Potter came out of this very room as well."
"So you decided to have a look-see if this was his midnight harem? Professional, real professional." I sighed. "Is it a job or a total hobby that you're such a narc?"
"A narc?" He scoffed. "Hardly."
"You can't just be out every night for the mere pleasure of catching people strolling around in the nighttime."
"Au contraire, Blake Asher."
"Anyway, you never actually apprehend people," I continued.
"Why?" He threw me a challenging look. "Have you been spying on me again?"
"Do you really always just have to – oh, never mind," I picked up my guitar and stood up. His eyes followed me as I stared down at him. "What are you waiting for? Let's go."
"Where are we going?" He replied coolly.
"Back to the common room so that you can continue – oh what was it – chastising me about my irresponsibility," I said dryly. "Come on."
"What if I decided I was in a generous mood today?"
"Well, in that case," I plopped back down on my seat. "Let's talk."
"Now, why on earth would I choose to do that?" He asked, as though for all the world I'd asked him to skip across the seven seas in a tank top.
"Well, generosity involves sharing," I said slowly.
"I'm aware of the implications of the term, no need to be a lecturer."
"Share something in terms of verbal communication then." I challenged.
"I have no desire to communicate with you." He responded flatly. At this, I cast him an affronted expression. "Oh, sorry. Did I hurt your feelings?"
"Not quite as much as I wish I'd hurt yours," I snapped. "But seeing as you have none…"
"I suspect you've leeched them all out of me since the day you decided to make drunk direct contact."
"Hey, tread carefully," I reddened, embarrassed by the resurfacing of the topic of the kiss.
"I see I've hit a little nerve," He observed. "Sensitively?"
"Have not," I declined.
Unexpectedly, his hand shot out from his side and, more surprisingly, took to holding his palm pressed against my cheek. It was heart-stoppingly shocking that all I could do was blink, wide-eyed, my voice faltering and dying a painful death halfway between my voice box and my esophagus.
He didn't let go only said, "But your face is all warm."
I meant to say something – it was already perfectly formed in my mind, a great response along the lines of, 'yeah, well not everyone can be as cold-blooded as you', but my nerves were probably iced down by his touch, and refused to cooperate. Either way, the response went to waste.
Instead, I said, "Uh, duh".
A smirk crossed his face. "Have you finally learned to shut up now?"
The comment jarred me out of my state, and I scowled. "I guess you'll just never outgrow your attitude."
"Neither will you, so I suppose that's one similarity I'll have to concede for now." Carefully, he took back his hand, nodding to my guitar. "So what sort of noise have you been engaged in this time?"
"If you don't want to hear it, then leave," I sighed.
"Oh, I want to hear it," Crossing his arms across his chest. "Go on, then."
"I'm feeling kind of conscious, maybe you could go back to your dormitory and listen from there."
He considered this quite carefully. "No, thanks."
Sighing, I placed my guitar on my lap, my fingers running against the shiny plastic of my pick. "Well, what am I supposed to do?"
"What I'm assuming you're good at." He said helpfully. "After all, you said it yourself."
"Well, uh," I struggled to remember the songs I had in my mental inventory. "Do you even know any songs?"
"Is that honestly a valid question?" He snorted. "Furthermore, does it matter? I'm asking for a one-time display of your talent, not a three-day music festival."
"Oh, well then," I frowned. "Here goes nothing."
Shifting consciously on my seat, I positioned my fingers upon an E chord, and began to strum. After about the length of a verse, his eyebrows rocketed up his forehead.
"Are you going to start singing any time soon?"
"Well I-" At this point, my fingers slipped on the strings and made an unpleasant sound, and we both cringed. "I don't sing."
"But I thought you said you did well in music?"
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm good at singing, or playing the trumpet, or beat boxing."
"Beat boxing?" He queried with a tone of disdain.
"That's not important." I said dismissively.
"I should hope not." He sighed. "Sing."
Casting him an uncomfortable look, I opened my mouth a tiny degree.
"I am nothing now, and it's been so long
Since I've heard a sound
The sound of my only hope.
This time, I will be listening.
Sing us a song, and we'll sing it back to you.
We could sing our own, but what would it be without you?"
Ending on a slowly strummed A5, I cut the song and cleared my throat, then stood up. "Okay, I'm done. I'm going now."
"You're not half bad, Asher. Not bad at all," He commented reluctantly, standing up as well. His shadow, tall from his evident advantage in height, fell over me. "You do know something, don't you?"
"Maybe."
"But definitely not about kissing."
"Oh, you-" I snapped, incensed. A look of malevolent pleasure passed his face.
"Is your face heating up again?"
"Honestly, that's none of your business."
"Well, then, here's something that's part of my business." He cleared his throat. "Why are you out of bed at this time?"
"I told you," I replied, miffed. "I couldn't sleep."
"Fair enough. Why couldn't you sleep?"
"Because I was thinking about-" I stopped in my tracks, catching myself. A large smirk formed on his lips. My mouth curled down.
"Me?" He suggested.
"No need to be all smug about it," I shrugged, feigning disinterest and coupled nonchalance. "After all, you gave me a riddle."
"Have you figured it out, then?" He asked.
"Well, it's not exactly something I can Google the answers of," I muttered under my breath.
"Oh, well, that's too bad," He sighed. "Good night, Blake Asher."
"Aw, come on!" I said in exasperation as he began to walk away. "Why won't you just tell me?"
"I was hoping you'd figure it out." He turned back around.
"But why?"
"Because I also don't know the answer, to be completely frank." He said with a great amount of disinterest.
"Oh, great," I mumbled in exasperation.
"Blake Asher."
"Uh huh?"
"How would you like a lesson in kissing?"
A/N: OH CRAP.
What happened, I wonder? :")
Leave a review, I love you! :3