entanglements | d.m.

16.scratches

October '98 | H I M

"Alright class. I have a special assignment for all of you," Oakes announces. "You and your partner will be assigned a dark creature and together with another pair with another creature, you'll be working on a project, diving deep into those creatures, what threat they pose to us, what benefit, how they are best handled. Maybe even tricked or played against each other..."

From the corner of his eye, Draco can see Wood sink further in her chair the longer their professor goes on.

It's Wednesday and Wood hasn't talked to him since their Sunday incident. The chill that officially arrived at Hogwarts is ten times colder for Draco. That witch is damn good at icing someone out if she really wants to.

Took you only a month.

My, she was right. But how do you breach a topic so sensitive without bringing the whole thing back up and making a fool of yourself. Besides, considering that she had been so passive and dismissive, he thought maybe it didn't affect her as much. Maybe by some chance, he didn't hurt her as much as she seemed to have been that day.

At the battle.

It's all excuses, though. All excuses.

He was—still is—sorry for how things turned out. He is even sorry about the apology, because it was lacking at best and came off as piss poor. Infact, he cringes just thinking about those measly six or so words, not at all conveying what he truly feels.

But what he is not sorry for is that they turned out how they did to begin with. It was a conscious decision. Thought out. Based on obvious and some surprising factors.

Execution lacked, again. No sign of that chivalry he had been taught by his mother, as Wood likes to say.

He knew she was affected at least a little bit when he was damn close to kissing her in their dorm. He knew then that she wasn't entirely closed off emotionally.

She's hateful. Rightfully so. If the boot were in the other foot, he couldn't imagine carrying himself with as much patience, threats of being hexed into a chicken aside.

She watched him leave. Saw him make the decision and watched him prance back into her life and she keeps her chin up. Swear to Salazar, when the goblet picked him, he saw the devastation in her eyes. Draco is not dumb by any means and that they have been thrust back together by means out of their control is fucked beyond belief.

She made clear on more than one occasion that she is not interested in revisiting them. He is not, either.

At least that is what he is telling himself.

But to Devyn, he has always been defenseless. Almost four years ago she strutted into his life and has been wreaking havoc on his mind, his heart, his patience ever since.

Not a day passed where Devyn Wood didn't cross his mind. Someway or another, she sneaks inside. Fighting it is a losing game.

So he came to terms with her existing. He shook hands with her being in his head and let her keep a corner, painted in the best, most beautiful and most pained versions that have only been meant for him.

A mess in the sheets with the first rays of sun streaming in, smiling at him lazily. Her face so serious, so full of concern with a line between her brows whenever he messed up and she came to piece him back together—attempted to at least. Her cheeks flushed pink from embarrassment, apologizing profusely for her mother's big personality. A mess of a spirit when he couldn't give her what she silently demanded, what she deserved.

Memories of her live in rotation in his mind. Draco shuffles them at an alarming pace.

You'd think it gets easier. That being around her counteracts the thoughts of her. She can only take up so much room.