entanglements | d.m.

56.compromise

February '99 | H I M

Draco would have rather bet he was going to fail the final exams—which he is in no way close to failing—than expect Devyn to sit down next to him at the Slytherin table, but life has a way of proving him wrong every now and then just to keep things interesting.

With his back to her, as he makes sure for a week or so by now, Draco didn't see her coming, but there's no doubt who it is with the hint of coconut that plants itself beside him like a whisper of seduction that calls for his attention mid-laugh about something Theo said.

Someone complains behind her but her focus is solely on Draco. He raises a brow, registering the severeness in her eyes, and his throat goes dry despite having finished a whole cup of tea already.

"Your mother wrote to me."

Oh.

He'll correct his previous statement. He'd rather bet Devyn was going to sit next to him at the Slytherin table than witness his mother writing to her.

What in the hell...?

The surprise on his face quickly turns into panic, fearing what she could have said. Meanwhile, his friends have turned awfully quiet, quite obviously listening in.

"She wants to see me. Saturday afternoon," Devyn reads from the letter in her hand before he can sink too deep into wild suspicions. "In the Three Broomsticks."

"Great," he says brightly, turning his head to see what he wants to eat next. "Give her my love."

She shoves his shoulder, expression stern.

That brings a smile to his face. "Don't tell me you're scared of her."

"I'm not." Amber eyes bore into his as she squirms on the bench. "I'm painfully uncomfortable."

Draco takes a long moment to look at her. Really look at her, and that is when he sees something new. He would have noticed earlier had he not spent his energy in avoiding to look at her since their last kiss. As if that would help his case.

His hand shoots out before he knows it, touching the hair that frames her face. It's shorter, as are the two braids that sit over her shoulders. Not by much, but noticable, at least to him. "You got a haircut?"

Devyn blinks, struggles to find the obvious answer, which is yes. She didn't expect him to notice it.

"Yeah," she replies once she finds her voice, "it looked a little weird."

"You couldn't look weird if you tried to."

Swallowing, she slips into sarcasm, "Not everyone thinks the world of me, so I had to get it cleaned up a little."

"Yesterday?" Meaning Sunday where she wore a hat when he picked her up from work. She nods. He did notice that she went to Hogsmeade earlier than usual, to visit the hairdresser as it turns out. "It looks good."

He doesn't deny or banter her comment. Sees no reason to. He lets it settle between them and the realisation or the compliment brings a blush to her cheeks.

There's no way he can stop himself from looking at her now. It's almost like she felt he tried to get control over himself so she went ahead and made herself look even lovelier. Even more irresistible.

Gosh, how can someone be so damn pretty and be oblivious to it? Draco can't even blame the younger Slytherin—what was it, Malcolm?—for crushing on her, although confessing his love on the spot was a step too far.

"Not too short?"

His brows jump up, fingers ghosting over her cheek. "You care what I think of it?"