Chapter Fourteen: Break It All Down

Evelyn...

   Mend the what?... Kill the men?... Kill Dumbledore?... So, it was an accident?... His actual target was not the girl?...

   My mind was exploding, completely in another world, far away from Hogwarts; even my five senses were not working properly.

   "Eve. Eve! Are you listening?!" Pansy grumbled, pulling me back to my senses.

   "No __ What?" I frowned.

   Pansy pouted. "I've been talking the entire time since we entered the common room!" I got reminded of Hermione suddenly.

   "And I didn't hear," I said haughtily.

   After we left Draco, Theo, and Mattheo went gone for smoking, we headed to the common room. And seemingly, my mind had floated away since then. And when the next thought clicked into my head, I jumped to my feet.

   "Where are you going?!" Pansy barked.

   "The library," I lied.

   I was not going to the library this time: I was going to Dumbledore's study.

   If he was going to get killed by Draco, after all, he would probably want to know. And besides that, this time, I wanted him to give me more information, because a lot of empty holes about this Katie thing were in my mind that needed to be filled. A bunch of dots needed to be drawn together: How was Katie cursed, what had she been cursed with, what did she accidentally touch, and how did Draco do any of this?

...

   I knocked the knocker on the great door of Dumbledore's study. And when I got told to enter, I pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.

   "Oh, Evelyn. Good evening." Dumbledore smiled weakly.

   "Good evening." I closed the door behind me and froze there.

   "I assume it would be about Katie's accident?" he guessed.

   "Yes," I confirmed.

   "Well?" Dumbledore said patiently.

   "The actual target was not Katie Bell. It went wrong," I started. "Malfoy said she was not meant to touch it. It was supposed to be __ you, if I am not mistaken."

   His eyebrows increased, but he was not surprised. "And, may I ask, how did you hear, or see, such information? In more details, if you may."

   "They had a fight. Mattheo and Draco," I explained. "Mattheo was furious that it went wrong. He was yelling at Draco about it, while I was there, and he slipped some words."

Dumbledore gestured for me to continue.

   "It was mostly insults, but __ Mattheo tried to say your name, and even though Theodore stopped him, he had already slipped half of it."

   "Very well..." Dumbledore said, his uninjured hand brushing his silver beard thoughtfully.

   "Malfoy is alone in all of this. Voldemort is overusing him, because of the issues he has with the Malfoys." "And, he was also talking about mending something," I added.

   Dumbledore seemed drowned in his thoughts.

   "What did Katie Bell touch that cursed her?" I asked.

   "A cursed necklace. A very powerful one. I am afraid, would she touch it more directly, she would not stay alive."

   I frowned. "But how did Malfoy bring the necklace into Hogsmeade? Are students not being checked?"

   Dumbledore shook his head. "I have not any idea. But if we were going to speak about guessing, I would say he had help from outside of the school."

   My frown deepened.

   "One more thing," I went on. "Was Mattheo raised with the Malfoys when Voldemort was gone?"

   "I thought you said your relationship with him was going well," he said, like I owed him something. "Is it not?"

   I pressed my teeth together, my jaw flexing. "It is," I stated.

   Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. He was raised with the Malfoys."

   I took a breath. "Voldemort is living there too. At the Malfoy Manor."

   "Yes. I am aware." He nodded once again. "Thank you very much, Evelyn. I cannot thank you enough, but I can tell you, you are helping so very much." His old face opened into a sweet smile.

   This time, I nodded.

   "Is there anything else you need to say, or ask?" he said impatiently.

   I shook my head. "No."

   "Very well, then. You may leave." His words were not unkindly. "Have a good day."

...

   Mattheo did not talk to me for the rest of the day. We did not even see each other, for he skipped all of his classes, too. I was relieved, however. Because if he would show up at classes in that mood, it would not be in a pleasant form. The teachers would not want a murderous wizard in their classroom, anyway.

   I spent the afternoon in the peace of not having the Dark Lord's son beside me, but then when I stepped foot out of Professor Binns' classroom, it all got taken away. Mattheo was leaning against the stony wall, staring right into me with an intensity in his eyes I did not want to face.

   Twisting his jaw, he pushed off the wall. "Come on. Let's go," he demanded rather harshly. He manically turned, his intent eyes pierced upon me to make sure I was following.

   I was startled, my eyes taking a moment to absorb his actions. His eyes were darkened, squinting dangerously as he shoved his massive hands into his pockets. He looked like the peace before the storm, but beneath the menacing mask, there was something in his eyes I could not recognize.

   "Where to?" I asked.

   "Black Lake." He gave me a shallow smile then. A bitter, empty one.

   I did not want to go. Because, certainly, furious Mattheo was not something you would want to be around. He was a menacing bomb when he was pissed; a bad omen. But, waiting for the moment he would slip something useful to me, I was trying my best to be around him as much as I could. In his best and worst moments, I needed to be there.

   That is what puppets do. Puppets who have no choice or will of themselves. Pathetic puppets who want to be worshipped.

   So when he forged out of the corridor, I followed. And the silence between us gave me enough time to admire the weather; my skin shuddered through goosebumps in the breeze, my eyes squinching under the cold brightness of the sun. Coldness never bothered me like the warmth did, but this chilly weather could ever bother no one.

   When we reached near the Lake, Mattheo sank down onto the grass, gazing the shuddering lake with a knee bent to his chest.

   I sat down next to him, keeping my attention busy on the Lake before I would think about Mattheo's conflicts any further. But after the silence of the breeze embraced us, I unconsciously tilted my head in time to meet his dark eyes.

   The look of hesitation drowned his features, his twisting jaw to his pinched brows, but then it was gone. And when he lay back upon the grass and his warm head landed on my lap, only did I realize why.

   I stiffened, frozen in place. I did not know what to do. I did not like the tiniest bit of this situation. It was pathetic, and he was pathetic.

   But then when he closed his eyes like a child, his muscles relaxing slowly, my muscles tensed instead. I was feeling opposite the comfort he had, but then suddenly, something in me snapped.

   I had known the wrong person this whole time.

   At the start of the year, I had been surprised by him being warmed up, thinking he was losing his sanity. But this Mattheo, was something beyond my imagination: he was vulnerable; he was allowing himself to be. And I could not understand anything about it. But then something else clicked suddenly: this was him actually, not the infamous son of the Voldemort everyone knew.

   And it all made sense.

   The sullen, dangerous Mattheo was only a wall. A wall I needed to break.

   And my curiosity was in charge suddenly: I needed to know who was behind that wall. Break it all down, if I had to. In the end, if I wanted to be successful in my mission, the only person with the ability to slip anything was hidden behind that monster.

   Pathetically, I wanted it, too.

   But the only thing I blamed my following actions for was this pathetic mission.

   Making sure he was not looking, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath; trying to keep my sanity. Then, I cautiously slid my fingers through his curls.

   He furrowed slightly when he felt my touch, his jaw twitching, but then his face quickly returned calm.

   It needed to be done, I told myself as my hands felt the softness of his hair. It had to be done; perhaps to open a small creak into his hidden world. But it was pathetic, nonetheless.

   I shut my eyes tight and swallowed, forcing my mind to accept this unpleasant touch, then my fingers began to move awkwardly to caress his hair. I only stopped when his huge hand found the top of mine, his warm fingers touching my cold knuckles.

   It was stupid. This whole mission and me accepting it was stupid; Dumbledore for making his step-child feel this pathetically ridiculous was stupid.

   And this vulnerable Mattheo, laying his head in my lap like a child and his hand on top of mine, even more stupid.

   But all the same, something solid in me wanted to know more; to explore more of this conflicted creature. I wanted to know who he had been hiding inside. The opportunity was in my very hands, and I had the obligation to allow it.

   And I was going to be successful.