- 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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𝕴reland was magnificent.
A definition of magnificent Draco had never thought to comprehend before. They'd been adventuring that morning, hiking across the fields of green until they reached the small local town.
Oonagh was bursting with excitement, patting at his arm to show him the row of rainbow houses on a cobbled street she often passes. They were shabby, cramped and fading, but she loved them, loved showing him. Draco thought that while they wanted to make him scratch his eyeballs out, that it was quite nice. Everything in his life had been black, white and green. No vivid colours, the rainbow houses were a pleasant change.
Majority of the town people they passed were extremely friendly too, each greeting with their own version of 'Top of the morning to you', to which Oonagh replied with 'And the rest of the day to you'. Draco didn't entirely understand the meaning, yet sent a nod of acknowledgment to each one, and if they were fortunate, a faint smile. Some of them did look at him funny, like he was sticking out like a sore thumb, and he was, it was obvious, he was a wealthy, reputable Aristocrat after all.
On the way home, they'd even encountered a field full of sheep, and both spent a fair few minutes brimming with amusement. Oonagh had managed to persuade Draco to take a picture with the farm animals, turning the back on their faces, snapping a few shots to add to her collection. It had taken Draco the first couple to warm up to the idea, jumping out of his comfort zone and craning his neck around and kissing Oonagh's rosy cheek on the last one.
She skipped, and beamed, and hummed happily the rest of the way home, utilising Draco's showering time to stay out a little longer by her cliffs, absorbing the sublime beauty of the blue waves before it was her turn to step underneath the warm water of her shower.
The Slytherin had took it upon himself to heat up some milk on the stove for hot chocolates to be ready when she's out and bundled back up in cosy layers. He's just about to grab the cocoa powder from the cupboard, when an unexpected knock at the door reaches his ears,
Draco's stature stiffens, eyeing his wand on the countertop opposite, beside Oonagh's. The distant sounds of the shower still running crosses out any means she would be there to make the decision on what to do. As far as Draco knows, Oonagh wasn't expecting any visitors nor had she mentioned anyone worthy of paying a visit.
The loud knocking starts again, this time more hurried and louder, and Draco doesn't hesitate to lunge for his wand, approaching the door with a defensive protectiveness building in his chest. His hand curls at the doorknob, gripping tightly as he twists it, creaking the door open ever so slightly,
He expects to spy layered robes in a midnight colour, and silvery masks for disguise with only the tiniest of slits for eyes. A well numbered group, efficient enough to wipe out an entire village in a matter of seconds. Death Eaters. He expects Death Eaters, to have found exactly where he was, to body-bind him and take him to the manor to suffer the Dark Lord's wrath. And Oonagh — he didn't even what to think what they'd do to her.
