Chapter Sixteen: Pointless Empathy

Evelyn

...

   "Three... two," they all counted down, "ONE!" and Theo blew the candle on the green-themed cake. Pansy, grinning ear to ear, placed a soft kiss on Theo's cheek, wishing him happy birthday as it caused Theo's smirk to deepen.

   All the Slytherins seated around the circle, in the dull light of the common room, started yelling happy birthdays to him.

   "Happy birthday, Bro," Mattheo uttered with a grin that still stunned me, sitting up and leaning his elbows on his knees inches next to me on the couch.

   My relationship with him was going fairly well: the door was almost open, but not quite yet. On the other hand, this side of him was still so peculiar to me that it startled me every time. My mind was refusing to get used to the Dark Lord's son laughing and living his life like a normal boy. This person was different now from what I always used to loathe; I had succeeded in opening a window and slipping my half under his guard. He was soft around me now. He was passionate, funny, and even silly; he was being a human.

   The angry, sullen Mattheo would soften around me. Honestly, though, this closeness made my stomach drop into an endless hole.

   As much as I told myself this Mattheo was a good sign, it was still along with no information. Except for a few meetings they had, which got reported to Dumbledore instantly, no one would slip anything else. No matter how much I tried to ask about Malfoy, and what he was up to, or the thing he was trying to mend; Mattheo would casually change the conversation every time, and would get me giving up at last. Theo, too, was doing the same thing, plus that he was also busy with Pansy and his Death Eater things, which did not give us the chance to talk properly.

   All the Teen-Eaters being busy, only except Mattheo, who was sulking around me most of the time, had me suspicious. Because why was his father not giving him these things to do? Was Voldemort being gentle to his son? I did not think so. But was it anything else I could do, except shooting worthless shots to get an answer? No.

   I was not going to stop trying, anyway. I needed to know. I wanted to know, to put all the puzzle pieces in my mind together. Once more, my curiosity was getting the better of me; but this time, it was a good thing.

   "TIME FOR THE PRESENTS!" Pansy yelled, causing the yapping to lull instantly.

   Presents after presents were given to him, from magical tools to expensive accessories. I waited until everyone sat back, and then it was my turn. I pulled the small bottle out of my pocket, wrapped with a black ribbon, and handed to the smirking Theo. "Happy birthday," I told him. "It is a Sleeping Draught. I thought it would be useful."

   He grabbed the tiny bottle, examining it with a grin. "Hell yeah. Very thoughtful of you."

   Daphne Greengrass, who had given him an elegant cologne herself, pulled a smug expression.

   But Mattheo, on the other hand, gave me a weird look, his grin wide in adoration.

...

   One bottle after another they drank, one pocket after another they smoked. Until the mixed-up, bitter smell in the air reached a high level that made me sick in the mouth. Theo did not plan his birthday as a party only so I could go; but still, the drinking and smoking part was still quite unpleasant for me. However, I was already aware of this when I stepped foot in the common room.

   I accepted to come because Theo was my friend, but I stayed because there was an opportunity I could not oversee. Alcohol in this amount would make equal to a drunk Mattheo, and a drunk Mattheo meant his lips would be loose.

   I was going to stay until he was drunk enough, until when everyone was gone, so I could ask him the questions I was anticipating to know the answer to. That was why I patiently stood the wasted, pathetic Slytherins all night through the midnight and past.

   When they all left, finally at three in the morning, the common room was as empty as my eyes were tired. There was no living soul in sight instead of Mattheo and me _ I think I was not considered, though. Because I was so drained that it felt like I had no life in me.

   Lounging back against the couch, Mattheo put a cigarette between his lips, for the hundredth time tonight, and lit it on with his lighter while taking a drag. Then he lay across the couch, laying his head in my lap, his expression suddenly turning into a soft, tired one.

   My body tensed up automatically; I froze like a statue. Then when he exhaled the smoke, my already dehydrated eyes stung unpleasantly, and a cough drawn out from my throat.

   He was laughing crazily just moments ago, talking and being all cheered up, and now he looked all calm; I guess that is what alcohol does to you. At least he was still drunk, and careless, I hoped.

   "Sorry," he mumbled hoarsely, holding the cigarette as far away as he could from me. Now tilting his head away from me, he took another puff.

   My eyebrows curved into a frown.

   So he cares now?

   Apparently, he did. Because he was blowing the smoke away instead of straight into my face. But this was not something I should have cared about. Ask the questions I wanted to, that was why I stayed until now despite how exhausted I was.

   "Why did you stay?" His question blew my thoughts away.

   I pondered, before answering, "You were drunk."

   He giggled oddly, looking up at me, his eyes glowing like they had a layer of unnecessary liquid in them. "Did you __ and you decided to... watch over me?"

   I shrugged wearily, and he grabbed my hand with his free one and put it on his chest, breaking the tired moment into an uncomfortable one. After being stunned for good, I finally decided I had no other choice than to let my hand rest on his muscular chest. So I did that. I let my hand relax on him, but then when his hand landed on top of mine, his huge fingers caressing my skin, it ruined it again.

   Now the only choice I had was to convince my brain that I did not have a hand at all.

   "Draco did not show up tonight," I asked eventually, trying my best to avoid feeling my hand or the way Mattheo was so content about touching it. "Why did he not?"

   The boy laying his head in my lap took a drag of his cigarette, blew it in another direction, his brows pinched. Then he chuckled drunkenly.

   Merlin bless me.

   "I think __ hell __ I think he broke up with Theo," Mattheo mused. Slurring. "Or he's just being the little jerk that he is." His drunk, big glowy eyes looked up at me.

   I was too tired to even roll my eyes. "Funny," I said. "But what is actually up with him?"

   He let out a chuckle, taking a puff. "My father's overworking him. Hmm... I told you, didn't I?"

   "Yes. But you forgot to tell me what he is overworking him with." I pushed my chance.

   "With__" He hesitated, frowning. "Why do you __ wanna know?"

   "I am curious," I told him. And it was not a lie this time.

   He took another drag of the cigarette, blowing it out in the opposite direction. "He's trying to mend something," he slurred. "And it's not succeeding."

   I frowned.

   "My father thinks way too highly of us." He laughed drunkenly as he explained. "Either we die or not, he doesn't care. He wants to win. Even if it means sacrificing his own family."

   He does not care __ Dumbledore. He wants to win. Even if it means sacrificing everything.

   His fingers started playing with my knuckles as if he was fidgeting with a toy, his fingertip patterning my skin as though he was drawing on it. But my mind was too busy to care.

   "And," I drew out dryly instead, "do you still love him?"

   Why would you ask that?

   He consumed the smoke as if it could heal his infected wounds, shaking his head in my lap. "I don't know him. Not as my __ father." Then he burst out laughing. But there was something behind that drunk laugh that left me speechless, with a tingling feeling in my stomach.

   But then I broke the silence despite myself, "Does he love you?"

   None of it was what I was supposed to ask. None of it made sense or was logic. But, perhaps, my heart was secretly seeking the answer to what I never succeeded in finding.

   "Love? He's not capable of love __ Fuck no." He laughed, taking a brutal drag of his cigarette as his other hand flattened on mine. "Even if he cares, he's not fucking doing it right. He's using us as his puppets to reach power __ and we obey without a word."

   I swallowed, my head feeling oddly heavy suddenly. I watched the goosebumps on my arm slowly fade away as I repeated the words I knew more than anything. Even if he cares, he is not doing it right. He is using us as his puppets only to reach power. And we obey without a word.

   I pushed the picture of Dumbledore and Sirius's faces out of my mind, only to think about that I was relating to a boy I could never understand instead. Voldemort and Dumbledore were __ "Can you give me that ashtray please?"

   Mattheo's soft voice cut through my thoughts, and I took a moment being startled before I finally handed the ashtray, which was on the side table, to him. His hand freed mine, leaving it feeling unfamiliar to the air as he placed the ashtray on his stomach, before stifling the tiny piece left of his cigarette into it. The cigarette smoked, then went out.

   I shook my head, attempting to put some sense into it, and sweep my thoughts about my two fathers and his, away. And the tingling feeling in my hand. But with the sleep I was lacking, it took more effort than I expected. Look how pathetic you are.

   But when I looked down at Mattheo, I realized I was not the only one who had blacked out.

   "How did Malfoy get the cursed necklace into Hogsmeade?" I asked him. Which I was supposed to ask. And I crept my hand off his chest finally, rubbing it on my side to make it feel normal again.

   He frowned. "I don't know... He's being secretive. He wants to do everything on his own." He let out a weak chuckle. I wondered if my questions had sobered him up, because he did not sound drunk anymore; but drained. "He says we're tryna steal his goddamn glory."

   He sat up then, leaving my thighs feeling cold where his head was. "It's late. Go to bed," he said.

   "Are you not?" I asked.

   He shook his head. "I'mma stay a little longer."

   I was too tired to show any more reactions. So I just stood up and yawned. "Goodnight." Then I tore my gaze away from him and turned to make my way towards the dormitory.

   "Goodnight Baby." I heard Mattheo's soft voice behind me.

   I stopped myself from thinking about it then, but in the surrounding silence when I passed the dorm doors in the dark corridor, my mind wandered again.

   Voldemort and Dumbledore were the bind connecting us together. Connecting me and my enemy together, and making me empathize with the boy I was supposed to hate.