dragonfly || d.m. [✔]

curse of chatte,

I was cursed and you were blessed; I was war and you were peace -- that's why we never fit together in the first place.
—

a r i a  s t u n n i n g s

It's the day of the Yule Ball and I cannot say that I am looking forward to it. Balls aren't really my thing -- people, aren't really my thing. 

Draco is in the washroom, changing. The dare has been hanging onto the fringes of my hair, dangling in front of my eyes since our conversation a few days ago.

But everytime I try to ask him, I seem to lose my voice. Sometimes, I'm so mad at me for being me.

An owl flies in, a beige one dappled with white -- Aunt Coulding's. 

"Hello, Dapple," I say as she drops a letter upon the desk and pecks my ear affectionately before flying away.

I grab the letter from the desk, slowly cutting the top open. My aunt hardly writes to me unless it's bad news.

Dear Libs,
How're you? You haven't written to me in the longest time, but then again, neither have I. Fitting into Hogwarts, alright, I hope? I believe that you must have bought a dress for the Yule Ball? Can I have a picture of my niece in that dress? I don't know why, but I still miss a brat like you.
Love,
Aunt Cow.

I smile. I used to call my aunt 'Cow' when I was smaller and couldn't quite pronounce the word. And did she just say she misses me? She never says that -- not even about her own sister.

Well, seems like the fates have decided that I should go to this dratted Yule Ball.

Draco walks out of the bathroom and I turn to look at him. And immediately regret it. He looked . . . fine. Black suit, white shirt, silver rings and tie, ruffled moonlight colored hair -- why wouldn't he look fine?

"Enjoying the sight before you?" he teased.

"Yeah," I said casually, getting up and walking towards his confused face.

"You're going to the Ball?" he asked me.

"Totally," I say, perhaps a little to enthusiastically.

"So . . . exactly who forced you to?"

I groan, "How did you know?"

"Darling," he says, pulling up my chin to face him with his index finger. "I knew you since we were four. Sure, a few years have gone by, but internally you're still my Libelle."

I'm trying to concentrate on breathing anything than the mint and dark chocolate scent that surrounds him. His 'my' is all my brain is responding to. 

He leaned in still closer. "And you don't even deny it," his breath upon my cheek. Slowly, his thumb moves over my lips as he breathes out, "Dragonfly."

I feel an urge to pull his angelic face closer with its devilish smirks closer and kiss him. But I don't. Instead, I push him away.

"I need to change," I say, not looking at him.

He clears his throat. "See you at the Ball," he says, walking out.

I sigh. Why does he always have to do this -- butterflies, breathlessness, timelessness -- to me?

I feel like we're the only ones upon this world when I'm with him. 

What the hell, Libelle? You sound like you're in love!

And I cannot be in love, least of all, with a Death Eater. 

Someone who is destined to hunt me down. Forever. Someone who is destined to hunt the Chatte down forever.

The Curse of Chatte is most valuable for Voldemort, and I am the only Chatte who exists upon the planet in this era and age. Really, I would have been nothing but another idiot upon the planet if it weren't for my ancestors and Rowena Revenclaw.

It is said that the Lixan Rowena interrupted Rowena Ravenclaw in the Hogwarts library while she was meditating in search of some knowledge about stars and fates. So angry was she at being interrupted, that she cursed him, "The fates have decided the destiny of you and all of your descendants, you shall be cursed with the curse of the panther! THE CURSE OF CHATTE!"
Nothing happened for a few days and Lixan started to believe that it was all a fraud. Until, one night. A full moon night it was, clear and twinkling. But it was the beginning of the Curse of Chatte too, a dark age for the Rowenas. He was wandering about the Astronomy Tower, feeling listless and absent-minded. Then the magic happened. Four paws, sparkling green eyes, white fangs -- he's a panther. That's the Curse of Chatte. You become a panther on a full moon night, ready to harm anyone near you.