entanglements | d.m.

58.ily

February '99 | H E R

Devyn is glowering so hard, even Travers knows not to poke the dragon. In all honesty, she is about this close to have an emotional breakdown. It really won't take much.

Hide the scissors.

The moment Tarquin strides into the shop, a weight seems to be lifting from her shoulders, her anxiety-filled bones going lax.

It was a fifty-fifty chance—or eighty-twenty—that Draco would let Tarquin pick her up from work. Would it be Devyn's way, she would be going on her own but seeing how crazy her roommate is about her safety, this was the best compromise.

Like the good friend that he is, Tarq keeps quiet all the way to the castle. Or maybe because he can feel the fragility of her state and she wouldn't blame him if he's not in the mood to deal with it. When he offers a pick-me-up puff, she declines, stewing in her misery.

And guilt.

Gosh, she hates acting like this. Hates the look on his face when she rejects him, over and over again because roles reversed, she would hate it. She would hate him, eventually. How Draco can still look at her, still want her, is a question that keeps her mind occupied the most.

How he said it... Humor her. With that undertone of suffering. She shivers just thinking about it.

It had been clear to her that they won't last from possibly the first day they met, but maybe for the smallest moments, she pictured it, wondered if maybe they could have a forever, because he's saying these wonderful, encouraging things sometimes. She sees how wonderful he is. She sees, damnit! He's a mother-in-law's dream.

He's her dream.

But then came the sudden shift in him, the flip to wanting to have the conversation over when it became really real really fast, like he couldn't wait to shoot off the chair and disappear forever.

Maybe he finally remembered why he walked away in the first place.

Maybe their time has been up since then and this is a painful sequel nobody asked for.

"Fair warning," Tarquin starts once they begin ascending the stairs to the seventh floor, "he has been cranky all day. Walked in on him hugging the bowl when I gave him note of today's arrangements and the only reason he agreed is because he was hanging out of his arse. And he's being a pain in everyone else's since."

Right. He drank—which is nothing to blame him for, but not a good sign either. High emotions, he had said. High, negative emotions. He wanted it to shut up, which she understands, most of all.

"Great."

I'll keep an even wider berth, she thinks, doing a mental check-up on what she needs to grab from the dorm before she can drown herself in school work the same way she did last night. However—and she should have seen it coming—she is being intercepted as soon as she walks into the common room, a wide chest and towering figure keeping her from walking any further.

"Malfoy," Tarq greets airily. "Feeling any better?"

He doesn't respond. Waits for Devyn to let her eyes climb a painful journey up his neck and set jaw before finally, reluctantly, meeting his eyes.

He is not feeling any better.

"Are you going out of my way again?"

"Maybe."

When she tries to slip past him, his hand smips into the crook of her elbow, spinning her around and pulling her almost flush to him. Steel silver weighs down on her, relentless and positively fed up.