- 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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𝕺onagh's cottage was unlike anything Draco's ever seen before.
The odd pair had arrived at the Kerry Cliffs late in the previous night, drowsy from their day-long travels. After chomping on some well-buttered toast, they'd called it a night, surrendering to the sleep drooping their eyelids. Draco hadn't really the chance to establish the story of the cottage then, now in the fresh daylight hours of the morning, he did.
There seemed to be a consistent them of stone, wood and plants throughout the house, particularly the kitchen. Walls of cream, and quirky cabinets of green, a similar shade to the hanging baskets dangling down from the light wooden beams crossing the ceiling. Draco had to be careful not to bang his head, a worry Oonagh didn't need to have.
Above the counter top, a strip of panelled windows, treating kitchen guests to a view of the rocky cliffs, grey and green, to the eternal sea of blue in the far distance. It was nice, peaceful. There wasn't any Christmas decorations yet, Oonagh had said they were to do that later, and he could do the things she usually couldn't reach by herself. Draco failed miserably at trying to conceal a smile at the thought of her jumping on her tippy toes to hang the garlands in previous years.
The Slytherin boy turns, hearing a shuffling of feet just out of the kitchen, heading his way. It only occurred to him then he hadn't seen Oonagh early in the mornings, when she's soft from sleep and there's pink lines on her cheeks from her pillows.
She's not aware he's there yet, too busy yanking her yellow fuzzy socks further up her calves, so there's no strip of skin uncovered and attacked by the cold. Draco leans back against the counter, silently observing as she lights the kitchen fireplace, scratching a matchstick against the stone, then throwing it in.
"I think — maybe just another layer may be needed"
Oonagh yelps, certain her souls leaving her body in result of the sudden startle behind her. A string of Irish curses — incomprehensible to Draco — fly from her lips, spinning on her heels to discover the fair haired boy, a smirk teasing his lips.
Her blue eyes are wider than her groggy state beforehand, appearing far brighter now. He lets his eyes dance over her, to the bundle of warm layers she had on, the navy woolly sweater essentially engulfing her petite frame, ending just above her knees were the red, green and navy tartan of her pants took over.
"You really love to scare the piss out of me, don't you?" Oonagh mutters, recalling all of the times he's managed to have her jumping free of her skin — even if he's not doing it deliberately.
Draco shrugs, crossing one foot over the other, resting his elbow down behind him on the counter, declaring, "You'd make a terrible Auror"
"Lucky for me, that isn't the path i'm going down" She grins, bending down to find one of her pots in the cupboard, pouring enough milk for two full mugs, beginning to warm it up.
