- 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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✧✧✧✧✧
𝕺onagh sighs quietly, floods of relief easing up her tight chest.
The trek all the way up from the Charms classroom to the seventh floor was more strenuous than she imagined. Apparently, Flitwick wasn't all that impressed with her assignment on the bubble head charm. In her defence, it was twelve inches of parchment, like he'd set the whole class, who was she to know he wanted concise, detailed writing instead of a sketch of him using the bubble head charm underwater?
Draco was exactly where he'd told her he would be for when she was dismissed, occupying the extended window ledge, in his hands, a time-honoured book. Dark and cryptic. The hallway was complete empty, no signs of life coming or going, so Oonagh was going to get what exactly she wanted. And needed.
There was no tokens of objection from him, only a low hum vibrating his chest in acknowledgment. He readily lifted his book higher, opening his arms wider to accommodate the delicate frame snuggling up between them. Oonagh sighs again, this time in content, sinking into his chest, eyes closing slowly when he plants a kiss to her head,
"Bonjour, Ma pomme rosée"
She smiles, heart clenching at his French. This feels good, especially because it feels so natural to her, like falling into a dream that she wouldn't mind not waking up from. Today had been hard, remembrance of the moment her whole world tipped upside down, haunting her present, slightly lopsided one. She hadn't told Draco, he'd somehow already known, being extra gentle and soft with her. The drinking stops after tonight, she would be on the other side.
Her arms squeeze around his slender torso, managing to steady her chin against his sternum, looking up at him admiringly. For someone so grey-black in their personality, morals and way of life, he's exceptionally angelic in his looks and proceeds to fill her with fascination every time her eyes are set upon him. Blessed with fair skin that's never experienced a single blemish, eyes of dove feathers when settled, and a colour of hair that makes the moon jealous. Angelic.
He's still reading soundly over her head, yet displaying an awareness of her gaze, lowering his head a little to graze his nose up and down the small inches of her forehead. Draco's the reason her world's becoming the right way up again, she's certain of it, before, she thought this anniversary would be tougher with all the war and uncertainty — she thought she'd spiral out of control. He's keeping her steady.
"You're beautiful" Oonagh murmurs, meaning it for his appearance, his heart, his mind. And his eyes, she adds, earning a glimpse of them when he paused his research to look at her, replying cockily,
"I know"
"And so unbelievably humble" She declares, eyes blissfully closing at the pulsing of his chest, his chuckles ringing in her ears tunefully. She doesn't think she'll ever tire of hearing that sound, that boyish laughter that tingles her from head to toe. And she never wants to, hearing it for the rest of her life still won't be enough.
