The Art of Dancing in the Rain (r.a.black)

Chapter Three.

Blood drips under Marlene's nose, runs past her lips, and pools off her chin in slow, rhythmic drops. Her teeth are bloody when she sneers, and there's something particularly animalistic about it that sends goosebumps down my arms.

Maybe McGonagall was right about the anger issues thing.

I'm not particularly certain how I ended up in this predicament. Only that Dionysus and his band of idiots picked a fight with Severus Snape that resulted in McKinnon's nose hexed broken.

There was a complete Gryffindor V. Slytherin showdown in the hall— I was just wondering how a professor hadn't stumbled along it yet. Or Filch at least.

"There's no place for you at this school! Filthy mud-bloods, blood-traitors, half-breeds!" Mulciber was surely opinionated.

Marlene didn't take to kindly to this— nor did Sirius Black, who decided, even though it wasn't his own brother who said the words, that Regulus Black standing with the Slytherin's was enough cause for a fight.

Dionysus and his big-headed, hero complex, started yelling out things too. He was particularly partial to the half-breed comment.

"Why don't you get lost! Stop sticking that big ass, mountain of a nose, into everyone's business," my brother is an idiot.

Mulciber gets up from where Dionysus sent his ass sprawling on the ground next to one of the columns. His laughter rings through the air. It sets my teeth on edge. "Why don't you get lost?" He sneers back. "Just like your bitch of a mother offed herself! I would too if I were a nymph—"

That sound—that damn laughter—fills me with rage that bubbles up inside and burns me like acid. I wish more than anything that this anger was enough to kill Mulciber. I want to bust my knuckles against the ugly mug he calls a face. I want to feel painted skin split open until there's nothing left but bone fragments and a river of crimson.

I'm not a good person. Ask anyone who knows me. I'm mean and bitter and a failure at everything I say I believe.

I keep storing up all that anger and grief. Eventually it spills over. Or I drown in it. I can't decide. Pull it out, or leave it in? Bleed to death, or live with it?

I chose to live with the anger. I sent the nastiest stinging hex I could at Mulciber. I grinned at the way he screamed in discomfort.

I'm not too gone to be healed, am I?

Unfortunately, this situation made for a bit of an awkward day. Dumbledore insisted a Slytherin/Gryffindor detention, of course with the exception of a certain Ravenclaw. Big surprise it was me. Stupid rage.

But the most idiotic thing he could have done was make Slughorn head the punishment. He locked himself in his office after ten minutes. Merlin knows he might never recover from this.

The way the argument continued seemed we would be here well into the night. James Potter and Sirius Black not knowing when to stop. Avery yelling insults back. Remus Lupin red in the face. Mulciber recovered from the hex and now staring daggers at me. Dionysus staring daggers back. Peter Pettigrew looking around frantically.

In this moment, I'd like to disappear. Even in a room full of people. It is a talent, as it is a curse.

This works for a while; at least until desks are pushed aside and everyone looks like they are about to start brawling. At least Slughorn had the sense to take our wands.

Marlene McKinnon is what I can only describe as shaking. She is so furious that her whole body can't even contain it. I'm worried she'll start seizing.

It wasn't until the twenty minute mark when I wondered who was gonna nut up and shut this thing down. It clearly wasn't Slughorn.

"This is a mess," Dionysus tells me, and I instantly nod in agreement.

"How could Dumbledore possibly think this was a good idea? More importantly, why did he torture me by sending me with you fools?"

"Someone is gonna die."

"Good, maybe that can be my excuse skip out on Ancient Ruins tomorrow."

"Can you take anything seriously?" My brother asks.

"How could I possibly take this seriously? I'm basically choking on all the testosterone in the room right now."

"Last I checked, you were the one to hex Mulciber."

"Last I checked, so did you."

That was enough to shut him up for a while. And luckily, it looked like everyone tired themselves out. Now all the Slytherins sat on one side of the room, Gryffindors on the other. Save for me who sat with the lions. Safer that way.

Everyone looked a mess. Ties loosened, shirts unbuttoned, disheveled hair. And Merlin, I wanted to take an air freshener to clear out the teenage perspiration. I felt like I was living in Dionysus' quidditch bag.

"Stupid, dirty, no good," Marlene muttered under her breath. Seems she was the only one not tired.

"McGonagall wasn't kidding," I tell her, and when she looks at me, I continue. "You really do have anger issues."

"What? I swear to—"

"It's not a bad thing."

"What?"

"I'm just saying. You get angry. You get combative. And I appreciate a woman who can tell a man what's what."

"Thank you?" She says it as more of a question than the gratitude requires. But I take it nonetheless.

"You're welcome."

"What's your deal?" She's blunt. I like that.

"Right now? Sitting on a desk in a useless detention."

"That's not what I meant."

"Am I supposed to be a mind reader?"

She's getting annoyed with my attitude. She clearly doesn't know me. And if I cared that much I might have pulled back. But I don't. "I see now. You're like antisocial."

"You say antisocial, I say that no one here is worth my friendship. Tomato, to-mah-to."

"Why do you go to Sprout's stupid meetings?"

"Because I clearly have nothing better to do and I enjoy torturing myself."

She laughs at this. "Right... are you not gonna tell me?"

"It's on a need to know basis."

"Right."

I might like Marlene, but I'm not about to dump all my emotional baggage on the potions table for her to sort through. Plus, she might go clinically insane attempting it.

I tell her she should get her nose looked at, she tells me to mind my own business— she's my kind of crazy.

Maybe I was wrong. There might be one person here worth my friendship.