Rediscovering Reality

Its Not Not A Date

"Your mother and have chosen to have Charles Andrews escort you to the ball." My mother said with a hopeful smile.

I nodded and looked at Blaise who appeared neutral, but his eyes hid something darker.

"Why did you choose him? Was there any particular reason?" He spoke pleasantly.

My father opened his hands while he talked I couldn't help but think he looked rather like a politician explaining something step by step.

"We were worried that Theo shared too many experiences similar to Draco, we wanted your sister to feel ultimately safe and uncomfortable." It seemed reasonable.

"I think you've made a good decision." I said softly, but Blaise had already excused himself quietly.

•••

Later that night I knocked on Blaise's door, and after hearing a soft 'come in' I entered the room.

"Hey...can we talk?" Blaise nodded and closed the book he was reading and tossing it onto his night stand.

"Yea...what's up?" I sat down on his bed next to him.

"I have a feeling that you wanted Theo to escort me. Maybe because you knew him. Maybe because you don't like Charlie. Maybe because you are worried about me- I don't know. But I just wanted you to know I'm sorry Theo didn't get picked. I don't know Charlie, and I know it would be easier with Theo. Because...of things," I couldn't help but think about the crunching of leaves and confusion and tears. Sobbing as someone held me with no strings attached.

"I think that I have to break out of my shell again. I need to- get out there. Make some new friends." I felt like the inspirational best friend in a Romantic Comedy. But I shoved that thought aside in favor of the ones that were busy making lists about what I needed to do before the ball.

"That makes since. I'm-proud of you." Blaise smiled sincerely. A look hidden in his eyes saying he was truly proud of me, despite his emotions.

Leaving Blaise's room I returned to mine where there was an owl waiting politly with a letter tied to it's leg.

I untied it and before I could do anything else is scurried out the window, leaving me to furrow my brow in curiousity and open the letter alone.

Dear Ms.Zabini,

I was just informed, much to my pleasure, that I had been graced the opportunity to escort you at the upcoming Zabini Ball. I understand that this situation may be uncomfortable as we have only met briefly, however I propose a way to relieve some of the unpleasant awkwardness. I was wondering if I could have the pleasure of your company at lunch this Wednesday at Juniper's Garden at 12?
Simply an invitation for us to further make each other's acquaintance, and gain a greater understanding of one another.

I eagerly await your response,

Charles Andrew

The whole thing was stifling formal, but I knew why it had been that way. It was tradition, and what if it had been my parents who had read it first. This world I lived in now. It was formal, guarded.

I quickly wrote an appropriate response and had already sent it off before I questioned if this was considered a date. Or if I even really wanted to go. I knew I had to go- so I guess it didn't really matter if I wanted to or not. Went into my closet and turned the light off. Leaning my head against the closed door I slid to the ground.

Breathing shallowly. The darkness keeping me from seeing anything. All I could focus on was breathing. For some reason this space felt safe. No matter where you went -a closet was a closet. A closet only had one purpose- built to hold clothing.