in the end ~ d. malfoy

Chapter Eighteen

tw: racism, use of racial slurs, mild violence (dueling scene), mentions of past discrimination.

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟓

"YOU'RE WASTING A PERFECTLY GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT, MAYA! WHERE'S YOUR SENSE OF ADVENTURE?"

Maya sighs, rolling her eyes at Isabelle's words through the phone. She's staying in tonight; Diana and Hermione have gone to the pitch to watch the Gryffindor team's Quidditch practice, and as much as she's interested in hanging out with the golden trio, Maya feels like she needs a break from people in general. The drama that's currently going on — hate mail and whatnot — is starting to chip away at her patience. Not that she's counting, but over the past few days, owls have delivered her more letters than she's ever recieved in her entire life. She's stopped reading them at this point, just chucking them into the bin, unopened, waiting to be burned at a later date.

Maya tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest at the fact that she hasn't said a single word about this to her mother.

"I don't know" she replies, searching on her shelf for the sparkly blue bottle of nail polish that Isabelle gave her for Christmas, "I just need my alone time, I guess"

"Does your alone time involve painting your nails, a bag of mint milanos, and rewatching 'Jennifer's Body' for the thirteenth time?"

Maya guiltily looks down at herself, wearing a dusty old pair of pastel pink pajama pants covered in white hearts, with a faded camisole to match. She then looks at her bed, where the aforementioned items are cocooned amass her duvet and fluffy pillows.

"First of all, they're raspberry chocolate milanos-"

"By the Angel, " groans Isabelle, from the other end of the phone, "Sweetheart, have you ever considered stepping out of your shell? Going out, getting to know other people except your laptop screen?"

"Hey!" interjects Maya, finally locating the nail polish on her dresser, "I have friends! You've literally met one of them!"

"Where is she, then, currently?"

"She-" sputters Maya, "She's at the quidditch pitch. Watching Harry and the boys practicing."

"Oh yeah..." muses Isabelle, "Remember when we tried to play?"

"Alec fell off of his broom six times" snorts Maya, nostalgia floating in the air at her childhood memories, "Jace broke his within an hour — explains his horrible coordination when driving. I screamed as soon as the broom started to lift. Now that I think about it, you were actually the only one who managed to fly correctly —"

"And still can" interrupts Isabelle, a hint of pride in her voice; Maya can feel her satisfied smirk from the other end of the phone, "But that's not the point. What're you doing alone? It's not like you. . . ."

"I —" tries Maya, her voice becoming exasperated, "I just — I don't know. People are exhausting."

"If you really thought that, you wouldn't be talking to me right now,"

Maya manages a smile from the other end of the phone, sitting cross-legged on her bed as she opens the bag of milano cookies.

"You're not most people, Iz" she says, quietly, "I can tolerate you"

"Yeah, you love me, I know" replies the other girl, joking tone now turning serious, "But seriously, Maya, what's going on? You don't really sound like yourself. . . "