entanglements | d.m.

49.hurt&conflicted

February '97 | H E R

Devyn stares at the half-written page full of repeated lines, sighs, and dips her quill into the ink pot.

She has never found herself in this position. Never once has she been given detention.

She shouldn't be here. It was a split in the moment decision. The homework had been shoved into her bag seconds before McGonagall rounded the table, and only because Devyn heard the witch order more detention to Draco. Again.

Because he missed his homework. Again.

She has no excuse for the choice she made that led her here other than pure desperation. For what, she doesn't know.

Desperate to be alone with him? She isn't.

Desperate to help him? Didn't think that one through.

Desperate to be acknowledged by him? Good luck next time, babe.

A handful of weeks of being treated like she never existed to him is all she needed to have a brain malfunction. Paying live witness to see him get skinnier and more disconnected from anything happening around him is enough to get her an evening alone in a classroom with McGonagall and Draco, wasting time on writing stupid lines when she could very well use on her studies she's thrown herself ever since Draco and her called things off.

Not broke up, because never ever were they girlfriend-boyfriend.

Tarq had only silent, scolding looks for her this afternoon, clearly disapproving of her stupidity. They had spent the night before perfecting the homework.

Devyn ignored them, just like she ignored Draco's glare the moment McGonagall announced her detention, though she felt it as a shiver down her spine.

But that was the only time he allowed her the time of day. Any furtive looks she casts his way are disregarded. His head rests on his palm, blocking her out as he robotically dips quill and writes.

Idiot.

Just when Devyn has accepted her own foolishness, pondering wether he really has moved on and just needed the yes word to brush her out of his life, a younger student comes knocking at the door, informing McGonagall that Dumbledore is asking for her.

Rather unwillingly, the professor leaves her stack of tests to grade behind, telling Devyn and Draco, "I shouldn't be long. You keep doing your work."

Devyn's heart is pounding beyond belief.

The moment the door shuts behind the witch, Devyn wastes no time getting up—

"Go away, Wood," he drawls.

She knows how weak this is of her, but she won't let herself overthink this. With the last streds of respect for herself, she puts both hands on the desk he's sitting at and demands, "How do you do it?"

She tries to be reasonable, knows what is on his plate and tries to understand.

His head stays down, tone bored. "You remember what we agreed on."

"But you have to be an asshole about it?" she clips, indignation biting through her voice. "I can't even get a hello?"

When he finally lifts his head, she looks into eyes that never asked her to the Yule Ball or a date and invited himself to study with her. The sneer on his face is one Potter or Weasley receives. "And what good will that do?"

Biting back an insult makes her breathe heavy, because of course he is right. It is smarter to avoid any sort of contact; he took walking opposite directions literally. He just doesn't have to be so arrogant about it.