- 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 sucks on a banana sweet, skirting through the students in the busy hallways.
Herbology had just finished, next she had DADA class. Never did she imagine the day would come that she would look forward to a lesson, least of all one taught by Professor Snape, the professor that it seemed obligated his life's purposes to torment students — mostly Gryffindors.
It's not Snape teaching that she's looking forward to, it's sitting left to the boy who occupies her mind constantly now. DADA consists of stealing glances, initiating playful games of footsie under the table and doodling on each other's parchment. Oonagh's surprised they've not gotten in trouble by Snape yet, because unless he's fully embracing his bat-like aura, and those beady black eyes are turning blind, he must notice they're rather touchy. Though he is more lenient to those of his house, he's probably pulled Draco aside in private.
When she reaches the dimly-lit corridor leading to the classroom, she's surprised to find that she's early. Not early for those coming up from Herbology, because they're already here, but for the rest of her peers. She leans comfortably against the stone wall, glancing left to unmistakable bushy brown tresses, and unruly ebony locks. Harry and Hermione. In a suspiciously hushed conversation.
Yet, audible enough to reach Oonagh's ears.
"I followed him yesterday, he was sneaking off again like I told you"
Hermione lets out disapproving sigh, stating firmly, "Honestly Harry, you need to let this go. You can't keeping following Malfoy around based off a hunch—"
"I know" Harry interrupts, tone bitter and laced with resentment, "I know he's a Death Eater—"
Oonagh's heart plummeted to her stomach, unable to hear the rest of the conversation due to the loud, deafening ringing in her ears. Her eyes flicker all over the place, darting back and forth, registering Harry's words. The certainty to his claim. He knows. She must've let out a choke up, gasp louder than she thought, because a few students around turned to her, including both Hermione and Harry, faces pale and stricken with horror upon realising what she's just heard.
She has to get out of here, has to leave, because now her throat's unbearably tight, chest too, making it near to impossible to breathe. Hermione calls out to her worriedly, but she ignores it, taking off down the hall, spiralling down to sheer panic. Deep down inside there's a twinge in her gut that knows Harry's right, the pieces finally falling into place. The masses of pain he appeared to be in the first detention, the reluctance to wear anything that his arms show, the sneaking off, the talk with Snape before Christmas. Draco's — her Grumpy's a —
Fuck, it burns, it hurts, and now her hands are frantically tugging, pulling desperately at her Hufflepuff tie that's clearly decided to be an uncooperative little shite today, unwilling to come loose. Her vision is blurred now too, the corridors distorted, stinging tears welling up, making her escape harder. Preventing her from seeing who's ahead.
