entanglements | d.m.

54.truce

January '99 | H E R

It's a slow day at work this Saturday and there is a reason for it. The big Quidditch match is today. Hogwarts Hots against Ravenclaw.

Devyn bites her lip as she watches the nasty snow storm brewing beyond the rattling windows, fingers tapping the counter. It only picked up in the last hour and shows no signs of stopping any time soon.

As the last customer walks out the front door, it snaps. Her fingers stop. She's been debating ever since she got here—

"Travers?"

"What now, Wood?"

She looks over her shoulder at the empty doorframe that leads to the backroom, mouth gaping in part confusion, part outrage. "It's the first time I'm speaking to you today."

"One is already enough."

"I'll report your rudeness, Sir."

"I'm the one paying you."

She slides through the frame, holding onto the rough wood. "Only for half a day. I have to go. I don't think many more people will come so you'll be fine."

"You don't have to tell me the state of my shop, little Devy," he says, not giving the honor of looking up from performing a complicated looking spell.

Her arms cross. "You don't have to be such a pain in the arse."

"Where would be the fun in that?"

Devyn simply stares at him for a moment, stunned. "Now I don't feel so sorry for leaving you alone."

"I thought you wanted to go," he drones.

Damn, he's extra moody today. But he's right. Devyn quickly snags her jacket, throws it on without taking off the apron and then grabs her bag. Before she can flit through the back door, she hears a reluctant, "Be careful."

She casts a quick look over her shoulder, smiling mischievously as she meets his eyes. He likes to bicker and play tough, but he cares. "Where would be the fun in that?"

On her brisk walk down High Street, Devyn wraps her blue and silver scarf as tightly as it allows tugs it up to cover her nose, keeping a hand on her hat incase it might take off.

Maybe she can still make it. No way do they allow a game under these conditions. She's proven wrong the moment she has that thought when a loud cheer carries with the wind, a cheer only so powerful by a stadium full of people.

Her heart leaps.

Now she thinks the cheer was a cry of surprise instead because someone fell. Draco fell and he lies now a broken mess on the ground, limbs twisted, ribs cracked, nose, mouth, ears bleeding.

She quickens her steps, already feeling half frozen, and if her body would allow it, she would run as the gates to Hogwarts come into view but it's uphill and her boots need a renewal on the waterproof charm.

She doesn't want to be this person. To hold a grudge and make things difficult over the simplest things. Draco made allusions to wanting her in the stands and even without them, she knew he'd want her there. This, or any other Quidditch match is not about her and it felt wrong to leave for work instead of supporting him. She could bash her own head in the wall for it.

She walks and walks over the bridge, sweating on the innermost layer and jittering on the outer  when a figure is coming her way, dark and tall against all the furious white. She dismisses it first, ready to walk past, but it doesn't take long to realise who that is.

Draco is walking towards her in only the Quidditch uniform. Straight from the field, in direction to Hogsmeade. Hair lashing around. Legs working. Arms attached. The closer she gets, the unhappier he looks.