entanglements | d.m.

47.heartbeat

January '99 | H E R

With the luggage of two average bags, and a curiosity from Draco's side, they decided to take the Knight Bus.

Devyn took it once on her belated back to school journey in sixth year, accompanied by her mother. Draco had never been.

The journey has been pleasant. Stan Shunpike, the conductor, gave his slightly flirty welcoming like no time and war has passed. Devyn smiled it off, though finding a strange sense of comfort in Stan's consistency of being a well-meaning oddball. Draco pushes her along rather quickly, not after she mentioned their stop, and they found a cozy spot on the first level.

It has been a pleasant journey save for the prying, contemptuous looks casted at her partner once the fellow passengers recognized him. Some quivered in their seats. Draco rolled his eyes, but by the way he kept shifting around, she could tell it bothered him. Devyn glared icily back at every single witch and wizard.

That is before Draco roped her in a conversation and everything around them faded away. Hottest topic of discussion is his parents reaction when Draco announced their early departure over breakfast, which they both agreed was the appropriate thing to do. Their indignant, flushed faces still swim before Devyn's eyes. Being so prim and proper, they took huge offence to it.

Since the bus hasn't been that full when they entered, they arrive rather swiftly at the gates of Hogwarts.

Quite enough time to squeeze in a few more hours of work. Draco has gone for some extra training, seeing that the next Quidditch match is fastly approaching.

"Go back," her boss barks the moment Devyn sets foot into Dervish and Banges whilst stuffing her latest purchase into her bag. "I wasn't expecting you until next week. I need to mentally prepare myself."

Ah, the sound of being home.

"There's not much mental going on, is there?" Devyn retorts light-heartedly, swapping her coat for an apron. "Why pretend now?"

She might be imagining it, but Travers's lips lift ever so faintly before he dives into the backroom to work in prefered solitude.

Within the first hour of working, Devyn feels something weird. She has spent as good as every second of the past ten days or so with Draco and rather than feeling relieved that she gets to finally sort her thoughts perhaps, she is missing him. More than usual. And she is counting the hours until he is picking her up?

What the hell?

Thankfully, she can busy herself by filling the jars in the front while a few stray customers linger about in the front. Routine is good. Routine is what offers her stability, reliability.

When Travers emerges to tend to an elderly wizard complaining of his enchanted razor not working right, Devyn watches delightfully how a generally annoyed man tries and fails to conceal a snorting laugh.

The customer, bless him, has a squiggly razor-shaped line through his balding, white hair and a hefty chunk has been cut from the left side of his magnum moustache. On his cheek, supposedly where the razor moved along, is a cut dripping with crimson blood. Devyn already offered a handkerchief to which he told her that it is nothing compared to the chunk missing in his leg when fighting Death Eaters in the first war.

Promising that he will have it done by tomorrow morning while taking on the culprit razor, Travers shakes his head at the loop at the back of the man's head when he leaves the shop.

"You had a good holiday?" Devyn makes small talk now that she gets to fully see him. His beard has grown several inches, as did his hair.

"Alright, yours?" It must he noted, the question in return only comes for the bare minimum of societal rules of politeness. And a diversion.