- 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.
✧✧✧✧✧
𝖂hen Draco stirs, it's to swirling patterns tickling the love line of his palm.
It takes him a moment or two to register what's happened, where he is, why there's a dull ache to his bones and an uncomfortable tightness to his skin, before it all comes flooding back to him. Katie Bell. Bathroom. Harry Potter. Unfamiliar dark curse. It's a blurry memory, but clear enough, clear enough to remember bleeding out on the tiled floor slipping out of consciousness, only one thought crossing his mind.
Oonagh.
A deep, groggy groan sounds from the back of his throat, barely audible to any ears, as he slowly rolls his head to the side, discovering the pretty doer of the swirly, ticklish patterns. Her knees are tucked up to her chest, ugg boots resting on the edge of the chair keeping her feet toasty warm, swallowing her whole, a snuggly blanket, sunny yellow, from all the way down the basement.
She's yet to notice he's awake, droopy blue eyes fixed to his open palm, fighting to stay open. His heart swells at the sight of her, mind singing her name over and over like some sort of giddy puppy elated that their owners home. Oonagh, Oonagh, Oonagh. Oons. It's pathetic and ridiculous, something a younger Draco would've scolded himself for, but he couldn't bring himself to care anymore, not with the boundless feelings he has for this girl.
Smiling, lazy and sleepy, he finally finds it in himself to speak, voice as scratchy and hoarse as he imagined it would be with the soreness to his throat,
"Anything nice in my future?"
The Irish witch's head whips up so fast she needs a moment to recover from a dizzy spell. Draco snuffles through his nose in amusement, feeling like the world is putting itself to rights when blue meets grey. She breathes out a sigh of relief, murmuring throatily,
"Draco"
"Oonagh" He croons adoringly, just like the voices in his head, holding on as tight as he possibly could when she grabs his hand with both of hers on either side, dropping her forehead against it almost in silent prayer.
A thankful, soft, watery smile stretches across her lips all at once, holding on to never let go. She'd told herself she wasn't going to cry when he wakes up, but it was futile. Tears sprung to her eyes, on command from the intense feelings brewing around her heart, peeking at him from behind their hands, still able to make out his features in the cloudiness of her vision.
To ensure she's not dreaming this, that it's real, she calls out again, "Grumpy"
"Sunshine" He whispers, in awe of the way she illuminates the entire wing with her irreplaceable glow.
He'd been worried, scared that her brightness would be knocked down, and it would be all of his fault. The one thing he'd horribly beat himself up over and over. It hasn't. If anything, she's impossibly brighter, heart, soul and mind, right by his bedside. And it makes the sores, aches and pains of his body ease massively.
