entanglements | d.m.

29.D.W.

November '98 | H E R

"I'm glad I'm not in your shoes."

"Thanks."

"Like, so glad."

"Thanks."

"You've made things weird between us."

"Thanks."

"He's my cousin, Dev."

Ooookay...

"You know what I really needed," she breaks the cycle, sarcasm wrapping around the words. "For you to rub it in. Like this gaping fleshy wound and you take not one but two handfuls of salt—you know, the less refined kind—and you just rub."

Tarq smiles, amused by her visual given by her hands as they hasten through the castle corridors.

She knows that his accusations have been of the lighthearted kind—his way of approaching life with humor. He doesn't worry that much about how weird things are between him and his cousin now that Devyn has 'quashed Emrys's poor heart'—as Tarq put it—because nothing has changed between the two boys.

It's Devyn who has been at the receiving end of side-eyes from Padma and a load of it-hurts-to-look-at-you looks from Emrys truly.

"I feel horrible enough," she says, pushing back memories of last Thursday when she had the talk with Emrys. "I need you on my team."

"You want me to braid your hair and sympathize with your oh so sad feelings?" He slides her a signature half grin of his, putting his arm around her shoulders. His tone softens a bit, "You know I'm on your team, Devy. Who stood up for you to Pavarti just now?"

That's right. Padma's twin, in standing up for her, whispered something on the way out of their last class of the day. Tarq, as much a brother to Devyn, claped back something equally unseemly.

Now it's become a conflict for the second ring. Soon people are going to pick sides! Trash her again.

Devyn doesn't care. She's above it all.

But she doesn't want to be.

"I don't want any of that," she complains, hating her weepy voice. "I didn't ask for the drama."

"You kind of did, didn't you?"

Devyn stops, glaring at her idiot friend.

His smile slips. "Oh shit. You're gonna cry?"

"No." Hell no. She blinks repeatedly because of the wetness in her eyes, sniffing to get the melancholy shit away. "It's just a lot, okay. I swear I didn't mean to hurt his feelings. Or anyone's. I'm—trying—"

"Hey, you're trying very good." He takes her back under his wing, leading them to walk again. "I meant that I'm glad I'm not in your shoes, because I would have thrown in the sponge a lot—"

Bang. Right before them as they round the corner, clouding them in a violently green, pungent mist.

Dungbomb.

Blindly, Tarq grapples for her before, pulling her back out of it, cursing under his breath. Devyn's eyes are watering, her stomach roiling. She coughs violently, worse than she did that night Malfoy had to physically move her away.

Not again. "This feels like a pointed attack at this point."

Kids laughter along with footsteps echo on the other side of the cloud of the dungbomb they just threw, becoming smaller as they retreat.

"I'd love to know what little fuckers are behind these shenanigans." Devyn looks down at herself, literally smoking with bad fumes, and cries, "I don't have time to shower, goddamnit."