- ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏ ᴍᴀʟғᴏʏ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
Draco lifts his head up, shooting a glance towards his left to the witch staring shamelessly at him, his pale eyes settling on her, grunting irritably,
"Do you ever mind your own business?"
Oonagh pondered silently, tuc...
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𝕾he did catch a cold.
The type that has you snuffling every other second, and keeping a handkerchief up your sleeve just in case a sneeze tingles in your nose. The type that has your chest unbelievably warm, and your throat sore to swallow but able to manage chocolate and all the good treats. Oonagh didn't really mind having a cold now, it's better now than at Christmas.
Apparently, there was a fair few who did mind,
"For Helga's sake, O'Connor! Go and see Madame Pomfrey!" Insists Sprout, after she sniffled for what could have possibly been the four hundredth time that lesson.
Numerous heads in the Herbology class turned to the sick Hufflepuff, wearing either sympathetic looks or disgusted ones as though she made it her destiny to infect them — there was no in between. The Professor was more concerned than annoyed, though she could've done without the constant sniffing.
Oonagh shook her head, plastering on a keen smile she knows could sway Sprout depending on her mood, returning, "I'm grand, really, couldn't be more healthy"
Harry and Ron snort across the classroom, earning a warning nudging from Hermione. They weren't the only ones, most of the class sniggered in turn from her blatant lie, which didn't help her feel any less guilty for lying in the first place. Sprout was clearly unconvinced, gesturing to her plant pot,
"You're snotting on your Knotgrass"
Oonagh went to defend herself, pausing from the tickling sensation in the back of her nose or throat, driving her to curse something very Irish, very indecent. Only moments later, she was sneezing loudly into her cupped hands, proving herself wrong.
"May as well call it Snotgrass now. How revolting. I'd be so embarrassed" muttered a blonde Ravenclaw girl — Morag Macdougal — not so quietly to her largely agreeing friend, Su Li.
Besides her, Neville frowned, also hearing the mean comments from the pair of Ravenclaw girls, sending them disapproving looks. He burrowed into his robe pocket, fishing around his many safe belongings he carries around daily, then passing Oonagh a clean pack of tissue,
"Here. I had a cold last month, always the same week every year, Gran always sends too many tissues"
Oonagh smiles appreciatively, pocketing the pack of tissues once sorting herself out, still able to be cheery despite her throaty voice as she says, "Go raibh maith agat, Neville"
Neville nods, the corners of his lips upturning lopsided, deciphering she means thanks. Hermione leans over from working on her plant pot, hands just dirty and muddy as anyone else's,
"Professor Sprout's right, you know? Madame Pomfrey can help you in seconds" She encourages, knowing herself how terrible colds can be. It's a wonder being in the Wizarding World and able to have relief from just a sip of a potion. The side effects were worth it.
