dragonfly || d.m. [✔]

wings,

Try as I might, I cannot stop this urge to kiss you.
—

a r i a s t u n n i n g s

An ebony black owl flies in and she perches upon a stand of my bed and pecks at my bare legs and I yelp. 

"What?" I say, nursing the red marks on my legs. "Who are you?"

It hoots loudly at me, glaring at me with amber eyes.

"Well . . . ?" I venture.

The owl holds out a leg. It has a large packet tied to it -- brown paper with silver ribbons. 

Dragonflies need wings to fly, this is yours, it says on the covering in fine, cursive font in longhand. 

The owl takes off into the skies without looking back.

I rummage through the drawers of my desk and look for my Aunt's last letter. Comparing her handwriting to the one on the pack, I realize that Aunt Couldings could hardly hope to touch such finesse as was in each letter inscripted upon the package.

And there was only one other person who called me dragonfly, Draco Malfoy. 

I tore open the package with starved hands, wondering what it was -- was it a jack-in-the-box but in punch style? Could it be a creepy, dead hand? 

Instead, it is something that exceeds all my expectations -- something I never expected from a Malfoy. 

Draco walks out of the bathroom door and stares at me and the package my hands were tearing at, wearing a grey t-shirt and black pants.

"Do you ever wash those clothes of yours?" I asked him.

He ignored her question with one of his own, "Are you going to open that thing?"

She stared at him and replied, "I know you sent it, Malfoy."

He winced at the use of his last name. "No, I didn't. It could be your aunt too."

"I couldn't believe that you would do such a nice thing either. In fact, I'm kind of hoping that it's a horrible thing so I can believe that you actually sent it."

He shook his head and chuckled as he opened the window and leaned out.

I continued tearing at the package like a hungry, wild animal.

Soon enough, the brown paper fell off and I gaped. It was a beautiful, glossy dark black dress which reflected the morning light in the sun due to its smooth downy velvet. The tiniest and most intricate of moons and stars stared back at me, silver edged with gold. 

It was my type of dress -- dark, only able to reflect the light she received, not having any of her own. 

I walk towards Draco, who is standing in the balcony and staring at the Black Lake.

"Draco?" I ask.

"Hmm?"

"I'm not sure if I'll be going," I say.

He spins around to face me sharply. "Why?"

"Balls- They really aren't my thing, you know?"

He smirks, holding out an hand for me to take. I took it, walking closer. And every moment I did, I knew I was just going to hurt more in the end.

But that didn't stop me.

"Have you ever been to one?"

"I don't need to experience torture to know that it's going to hurt!" I point out.

He laughed, "Torture? Balls? The same thing?"

"Totally," I reply, half-smiling.

He laughed once again. "Who are you taking to the ball?"

I had thought of that one time. Two times. Three times. Four times. A million times, but there was no answer to the question. I didn't want to take anyone. "No one."

"So . . . you'll go alone?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, a boy going alone is okay -- it's his choice, he didn't ask anyone -- but a girl going alone? That's pathetic. It means no one asked her," he tells me.

"EXCUSE ME? Malfoy, I don't know which planet you live on, but I think you need to know that these are not the Victorian times. It is my choice if I want to go alone or not. It is every girl's choice if she wants to go alone or not. Do you really think that girls cannot simply reject whoever asked her? And if a boy goes alone, it's just as pathetic because it means that he didn't want to ask anyone. I mean, if it's pathetic for girls to go alone then it should be pathetic for guys to go alone too," I tell him and glare at him.

He stares at me in surprise, as if he never expected me to react. "I- I didn't think of it like that," he replies.

"Well then you should get that rusted pea-sized thing inside your skull to get working," I reply, still angry with the way he made a sweeping statement.

"Look, Rowena, I'm sorry," he tells me, using my last name.

"Whatever," I reply. "I'd just come to tell you that I liked the dress."

"Yeah. Okay. And I'm already going with someone, Astoria Greengrass," he says.

"I never asked you whether you were or not," I say as I feel my heart drop slightly. It shouldn't, but it does.