entanglements | d.m.

02.decatastrophizing

September '98 | H E R

"Incredible that they can pull off stuff like that every time," Anthony shakes his head.

"And get away with it," Michael adds, stuffing nuts into his mouth as he lies on the floor.

The new common room is filled with the group of soon-to-be-married, groups strewn around as they wind down from the minor thrill.

Or avoid going up to their rooms...

Here, it is open and familiar and safe from confrontation of initmicy.

Also, it doesn't to stay in the new space. It reminds a lot about the Ravenclaw common room with it's airy room and arched windows, but stars on the ceiling are missing and the view won't be as breathtaking, surely. Plus, to be inclusive, every color of the four houses is represented in rugs, pillows and tapestries, which is fine. Not too much in the face.

But Ravenclaw is simply superior.

The way up to the seventh bloody floor is killer, though. But on the contrary, by the end of the year, she'll have killer legs.

"Who in their bloody right mind would think it'd be a clever idea to make teenagers marry one another?" Tarquin pipes, his fingers pinching around Devyn's knee since her legs are strewn over his lap.

"Adults barely figure it out," Mandy remarks, stretching over the floor to steal nuts from Michael's bowl.

"My parents married when they were in their thirties after being together over a decade," Tarquin brings to the table, "then divorced two years in and don't speak to this day."

"So even when we think we're sure, we're not," she concludes, sighing before plastering on a half-hearted smile. "This is gonna be a great year."

"Statistically," Sue says, nose deep in a book, "half of us won't work out."

Devyn smiles at Spider—Michael's black cat—knowing which category she belongs in. His paws stretch out over her chest as she pets him behind the ear.

"I never saw myself ever marrying someone," Tarq admits. "I'm kind of annoyed they took that choice from me."

"Don't get too mad," Devyn mumbles, earning herself a rougher squeeze to her knee.

It's still unreal. Devyn is half convinced that this is a dream—nightmare. She'll wake up in the morning to her dog licking her face and the smell of her mothers waffles making it alright.

Marry him?

I have to MARRY him?

She fights the urge to look over there.

Even in their good times, she hasn't thought this far ahead, because also she never really cared to take that step. It's all formalities, really. To each their own, of course, and Devyn really likes to have her own stuff.

"What do you reckon repercussions would be?" Tarquin wonders, verbally ignoring her teasing. "If we don't follow through?"

"Azkaban," Anthony chuckles, tracing the edge of the paper

"The reasoning is just absurd," Padma points out. " 'Loss of magical blood'—I'm sure we're doing just fine."

"But it's an experiment," Devyn tells the cat who is getting his back stroked by her. "McGonagall encourages us."

"I encourage to see it through," Anthony mimics. "I encourage to throw any near future plans out the window and dedicate half a decade to a person who might or might not be your soulmate."