- 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 always liked the sea storm-tossed the most.
When the waves are so raging and violent she can hear them thrashing savagely against the rocky cliffs snuggled up in her bedroom. Mammy had been the same, and her Dadaí thought they were mad for it. He liked it calm, peaceful. Gentle rippling waters. Oonagh was beginning to wonder whether people were most appealed to the sea when its the opposite of them.
The calm for the wild, and the the wild for the calm.
Because now, charging through the hallways, around her neck, her golden necklace swinging back and forth, displaying a bold and clear, G, she's never longed for gentle ripples as much. Not until waves of outrage crashed through her entire being, strengthening by the minute.
Strengthened with the overwhelming urge to lay Harry Potter at Lord Voldemort's feet.
For one of the first times, her feet have carried her away from her heart. To protect it, cradle it, make sure that nobody hurts it again. Make sure that Harry Potter pays for nearly making the universe one without her Draco. One without her soft, grumpy boy, tetchy all times of the day in his sexy black finery, hiding his private smiles at her and her oddities. A universe that brings tears to Oonagh's eyes to even think about living in.
Arriving at the Great Hall doors, he's an easy spot. Right in the middle of Hermione, Ron and Ginny, all talking in hushed whispers. Him less than the others, ghost faced and fidgeting uneasily as if karma's about to strike at him out of nowhere. And he's right, if karma's a blue-eyed, banana loving Irish witch, heading straight for him.
Oonagh doesn't hear the judging whispers, nor take any notice of the prying eyes glueing to her as she progresses on briskly. Bewildered, amused and intrigued. Because it's not everyday you see the radiant, friendly, chatty Hufflepuff looking murderous. At whom, that's a mystery for now, a fun game for the bystanders to guess.
Harry looks up, just in time, ears pricked upwards upon the growing murmurs across the Great Hall. He doesn't have the chance to think, to breathe. Only a glimpse of the bluest-blue of them all, blinded by red, before a bony fist connects to his face, hard and punishing all at once.
The noise of the Great Hall diminishes to nothing, soundless, except for the crunching noise of Harry's nose underneath Oonagh's curled fist. Everyone sits there, unmoving and frozen in shock, the Gryffindors, the Hufflepuff's, the Ravenclaws, the Slytherins and even the professors. All trying to comprehend what on earth they're witnessing. Nobody expected her to go for Harry. Not at all.
Hermione, Ginny and Ron are the first to react, the girls gasping in horror whilst the copper haired boy shoots up from his seat, foolishly standing there, unknowing of what to do. Retaliating is off limits, and frankly, he has no idea of what Harry's done to Oonagh to have her act this way. He doesn't fancy ending up like him either if he makes the wrong move.
