Chapter Eight: A Nightmare Come True

Evelyn

...

   A week and a half passed just like that; another pathetic, worthless week of this mission.

   I got closer to Mattheo, close enough to make me sick whenever I looked at him, and close enough to make Pansy even more childish. I had managed to ignore the gossips in Hogwarts successfully for five full years, now I was trying to do the same when everyone whispered in each other's ears whenever we ___ me and Mattheo ___ passed them.

   Which annoyed me the most, however, was when Pansy would eye me like a strict mother whenever I talked to Mattheo. She, after a week, finally decided she could talk to me; but she was still angry about the whole thing that she was spending most of her time with Theo and Greengrass instead of me, and I was busy with my books, besides the valuable time I was wasting with Mattheo.

   Theo, despite of Pansy, couldn't care less that I was dating Mattheo; I could even tell he was happy that his best friend was dating his best friend. And a good fact about Theo: he would never ask you about something you didn't want to be asked about.

   A week; no summon from Dumbledore. Even though I was doing my best not to hold any eye contact with Mattheo, it was still disturbing that Dumbledore was being indifferent about this. After all, it was his plan to set me as a spy, definitely not mine.

   These days, the duel I was in with myself for years got more revealed to me that I no more knew what to do about it. For instance, the first duel about whether I wanted Dumbledore to see my teary childhood memories or not. And worse: I was starting to doubt why I even accepted to get through this mission, because it definitely had nothing to do with my own desires; perhaps Dumbledore had hypnotized me.

   I wondered a lot about what even the point of this mission was: where was I trying to get?

   And the worst, that I had promised myself to do what is good for me, and now I was stuck in a mission with Mattheo Riddle, wishing I would die before letting him kiss me.

   The only thing that was making me feel the tiniest happy, was that the weather was getting cooler: when I reached the Astronomy tower to meet up with Mattheo __ for our second date so far __ the cool wind left a pleasant shudder in my body when it hit my skin, the smell of fresh rain making me exhale in sheer joy; the cloudy sky from above the high tower, with the savage rain, and the way there was a blood-red colour faded through the clouds looked like an art to every eye, and the splashing sound of the rain was a music to every ear.

   The perfect feeling of being in a perfectly cold weather left me when my eyes caught Mattheo; he was leaning against the railings, his hips rested against on the metal, and he was already smoking a cigarette between his lips. His blank expression turned to a smirk when he saw me.

   I approached the railing as the wind was going through my already-messy hair, and rested my elbows on the cold metal, a foot next to Mattheo, facing the beautiful wet weather. The tiny drops of water started guttering down on my hands, caressing my pale skin.

   "I like your style," Mattheo spoke. "You look like a nerdy raven." He stifled the cigarette on the railing before throwing it into the rain. Then he turned to face the thundery sky too, leaning against the railing on his elbows.

   I glanced down, checking my outfit again: I realized the long sleeves of my black blouse were getting slightly wet under the rain, making the already fitted fabric to stick harder to my skin. The unique shade of the deep blue-green colour of my flared jeans was oddly standing out in the dull sundown, the long end almost hiding my black converses in. But the 'nerdy' part could have something to do with the white spaghetti strap top I was wearing under my blouse.

   After that, I analyzed his own outfit: a casual grey T-shirt and a long-sleeved black blouse he was wearing since the first day to hide his Dark Mark.

   Not looking into his eyes, I said, "You look like a Death Eater."

   His eyes darkened at the confrontation, and I realized Dumbledore had completely chosen the wrong person for this mission.

   His jaw tightened to the point that I could see the muscles moving. "Mine was a compliment, Princess." He gave me a bitter smile. "Yours was confronting me about the pathetic hell I'm forced to go through every day."

   I pressed my lips together, taking a look at his hand that was clutching the railing as his scarred knuckles were turning white. My eyes were examining him as though he was a issue in a clock, and the Dark Mark under his sleeve was the piece I had not set my own eyes on yet.

   The same piece Theo, Draco, Lorenzo, and Blaise were also dealing with.

   "Are you interested in my sleeves?" Mattheo asked teasingly, quite forcing a smirk. I was gawking at his arm, apparently.

   I blinked. "The Dark Mark. Is it there?"

   He was not surprised by my blunt and sudden question. He pushed his weight off his elbows to straighten up, moved his left arm towards me, and carefully pulled his black sleeve up to reveal the ominous mark laid upon his inner arm.

   Now that I'd had set my eyes on it for the first time, it was fairly like it was in the books: a skull with a pretty, curved, angry snake protruding from its mouth. The Mark was dark as jet, and I could not help, I thought it was fascinating.

   When I realized my hand was hovering right above it, Mattheo had already started: "Touch it if you want. I don't mind."

   So my fingers landed on the skin with a soft brush, carefully touching the blackness engraved under his skin, feeling it with the tip of my fingers. "How does it work?" I asked.

   "It's not complicated. We can send signals to the Dark Lord by touching it." A sigh, "And he can do the same to us." He let out a bitter chuckle then. "On the whole, it bounds us to him. Making us his subservience puppets."

   I looked up at him; he wasn't so bothered with the presence of the Mark, but he wasn't pleased either. However, he was plainly bothered by the whole fact of being bound to his creature father.

   I moved my hand off his skin. "So it only works with your own touch."

   "Yeah." He nodded. "Now, may I ask a question, or are you gonna taunt at me until I shred blood instead of tears?"

   My eyebrows snapped. "Ask. But I give you no promise of an answer."

   His mouth curved into an amused smirk. "Do you know anything about your mother?"

   Yes, I froze. This was the least thing I would have thought I would be questioned about when he said he was going to ask me a question. My mother, someone who I did not even know much about. I needed to answer, though. I needed to soften him, but also, he showed me his Dark Mark, in return, I was going to answer his odd question.

   "An ordinary witch, who died giving birth to her nerdy-raven daughter. That is all I know about her."

   Mattheo smirked then. "You're curious about my Dark Mark, but you're not curious to know more than that about your own mother?"

   I raised my eyebrows. The truth was: no one would ever talk about her. Sirius, pathetically, would panic whenever there was a mention of her name, and Dumbledore, even more pathetically, would say he did not know her enough to let himself talk about her. "You got the wrong point."

   "Do you know her name at least?" he asked.

   "Aura Evelyn Black." I looked at him, my eyes narrowed. "Why are you so curious about her?"

   Either I was being paranoid, or he was looking suspicious.

   "I was just curious." He shook his head. "She had a beautiful name, anyway. And I assume she was beautiful too, looking at her daughter." With a flirtatious smirk, he gave me a sideways look I avoided.

   At his pathetic attempt of flirting, my eyes squinted further. Not that it was anything different from what he was doing all these days; so I avoided to bother myself with it any further.

   The sky was getting darker and wetter, I turned to look, leaning against the railing with my elbows; the blood-red colour had disappeared, the sky was completely dark, and the rain was getting harsher instead, hitting the grounds rapidly with a pleasing sound.

   "Have you ever kissed anyone?"

   His sudden question startled me again; but this time, sensing what was about to happen next, my stomach dropped. I swallowed; I needed to let it happen if it was going to. And that was why I turned to face him, unpleasantly. "No."

   "Then... let's give you the damn experience, shall we?"

   I saw him move closer, I saw him smile; my stomach dropped, this time heavier. I never had my first kiss because I was not planning on it; because I did not want it to happen.

   I had no time to think before his lips met mine, and I let it happen so.

   Even though I had never imagined myself ever kissing anyone, it was nothing like what I would expect my first kiss to be; perhaps because he was not a good kisser, or that he was my forced-to-be-friends enemy. But it felt nothing, nothing good at all; it was just a touch. A worthless, pathetic touch.