D.M. Hate.

Ch.3

Flashback

"Would you care for a dance, miss?" I turn to see the face of the tall boy I had seen earlier. I blush, his eyes look like stars in the light of the candles. I am entranced with him. I saw him talking with James earlier, standing a foot taller than him. I am no better.
"Of course, sir, I would love to." I say in mock formality.
He then guides me to the floor with my hand in his, I feel light. I feel fluttery. He smells like champagne and tarts.
His hand on my waist "what is your name then?" I giggle because of course he already knew my name, he's a friend of my brother and we see each other almost everyday.
"Maeve Benton," I answer kindly, "and yours?"
But he does not answer. Why? I do not bother to ask again, afraid of ruining this fun little game. It is not every day that I am noticed by dreamy older boys. We dance slowly and I feel as if I'm drifting into sleep, but fully awake and aware of what I am doing. We sway in sync, his champagne is wafting through my nose and the pretty purple dress I bought a few weeks ago with Gretchen, flowing lightly and—the music stops. It's over too soon, and the boy seems to think so as well.
"Would you care for a walk outside?"
" Yes please." I am sure I must be dreaming. I must be, but my pinches are as painful as ever as I follow him, my hand in his.
The night is cool and moist and the grass is sprinkled with dew. It's cold and misty. He wraps his arm around me "you seem cold." He says. Okay, definitely not a dream! I can feel his warm arm on my back, and now he's facing me. His face is facing mine as it did on the dance floor. His eyes are twinkling by the stars. He is the sky and his eyes are the stars.
His face is coming closer. Wait, is he trying to kiss me? I don't want to do that, I'm not even sure I'm ready for that! I don't even know his name— but I do, don't I? But this can't be the same boy Ive liked since second year, he doesn't see me that way. Does he? Why would I like a boy like him? And he's old, older than me. Suddenly I notice the blemishes in his face, and the grease in his hair, the champagne on his breath, he is not the sky. He is not the stars. He is a boy. A gross, smelly, mean boy I don't want to be near ever again. But he's closer now, his hot breath is on my face, and the stench is more thick than before.
"Excuse me," I say "Um—I would like to go indoors now."
But he holds my arm tight. Pinching my arm as if making me certain it's not a dream. He drags me further from the light of the entrance.
"Stop!" I scream "I said, stop!"
He covers my mouth with his hand, the other on my arm still.
"Be quiet. It's alright, Maeve, it's only me" he says.
It's not alright. My screams are trapped in my throat. My jaw hurts. My arm hurts.
Now I'm laying in the grass, in my new purple dress, in the dew covered grass. The moist grass. The stars are dull now.

End of Flashback

The weekend approached quickly and I had yet to ask a boy to go with me to Hogsmeade. I had exactly 14 hours left if I wanted to have enough time to get ready for the 'date' with whomever I asked, for tomorrow's trip.
So now I was on a mission with 14 hours time, walking around the halls for a spare human being who identified as male. I wasn't sure about what time it was but I knew Id explored parts of the castle which I had never even seen before.
After some more time, I heard laughing around the corner, and it hadn't sounded like adults so I didn't find cause to hide just yet. Once I turned the corner, though, I was faced with Draco Malfoy and his friends.
"Oy, Benton!" He waved me down, strutting in my direction.
"What're you doing out here so late?" He smirked. Something about his demeanor was more closed off than before, and I guessed it was because we were in public around his friends.
"Is it so late? I haven't been keeping track of the time."
His friends caught up to him, standing in sort of a semi-circle behind him. It was almost funny.
"Yes, it is and you had better go on back to your commons or we'll tell," the voice was coming from a girl behind him, Pansy Parkinson. I hadn't heard good things about her from my friends but luckily, until now it seemed, I never had any run ins with her before.
"Oh I'm sorry, but what about you all? I could do the same to you if I really wanted."
Malfoy sneered at my response, "good luck with that, Benton, you aren't the one wearing a prefects' badge."
It took me a second before I noticed he used my name, "How do you know my name?"
He cocked his head, "research."
My blood ran cold and I felt faint— he isn't that cruel. But he is. Every boy is cruel and I am always a fool to believe anything else.
"What kind?" I was worried to ask, especially around other people.
"Family roots." It was like he was trying to put me on edge.
He must have seen my eyes widen in horror because his eyebrows raised for a split second before returning to their usual frown.
I step just a slight bit closer, tilting my head, "What do you mean? Can we talk privately, maybe?"
Parkinson cackled, "there's no way he's going to be left alone with a fucking mudblood! We can't risk you trying to come onto him, you maggot!"
So he did know.
I looked at Malfoy and his expression was calm.
"I am not a maggot, Parkinson, if anything you are. And I don't give a shit that you find my blood status so terrible because there is no way in hell I would ever want to share the same blood with you."
She gasped, then laughed, "Merlin, you are embarrassing. You throw a fit just because you can't get in Draco's pants!"
" That isn't at all what Im asking," I say slowly, almost in disbelief at the hilarity of her accusation, "I just want to know how the fuck you—" I looked directly at Malfoy then, "—know my name."
"I already told you," he stoops his head down, almost at my level, "I did my research."
"Well—then, alright," I look at my hands, realizing I'd cut my palms with my fingernails, "I'll go now." I finish, turning away.
As I was walking away I heard Malfoy snickering. It made me sick.
Memories came flooding in again, pouring over me like salt on a wound and I barely had enough strength to get to the bathroom before I crumbled to the floor crying.
I needed James and I had pushed him away. The single person in this entire world who knew exactly how I was feeling right now, and I had plunged him down the drain with every other person who had ever gotten close enough to almost love me. How must he feel now? He has friends, I know he does because— because I have seen them. But of his friends make me wonder how he could ever find comfort in them. But who was I to judge the relationship when I myself have never been successful in my own? I can't take away that small solace from him just to burden him with more guilt and grief. But was it truly the right thing to do? Wouldn't he rather have my honesty than my dishonest attempt to not disappoint him?
Whatever the right answer, I selfishly wished more than ever that my brother didn't listen to me that night when I told him I didn't need him anymore. I needed him to share my sadness with me, if but to have the slightest consolation that I am not alone. But now it was too late and I was refusing to be near him for a reason he hadn't had a single guilty part in.