- 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 moves through the corridors, biting back hearty laughter.
Rosaleen's weekly updates on the gossip and news around the town always provided that extra entertainment she missed at Hogwarts. Aoife had now kicked Darragh out for what feels like the fiftieth time, and Shannon and Patrick have put their little girl in for Irish dance lessons. Business at Brian's is as grand as ever, and they have a new bartender, young and fit, that Orlaith has keenly batted her eyelashes in the direction of.
A swirl of nostalgia warms in her chest, missing her home, missing her people. As much as she loves Hogwarts, nothing quite does it as well as County Kerry.
She's too busy learning that someone has moved into the yellow house of the fun Rainbow block that her and Draco visited, unaware of the others turning the corner at the same time as her. She bumps into a solid chest, letter flying up into the air and out of her grasp as she tumbles down to the floor.
Instinctively, Oonagh reaches for the hand extended down to her, freezing suddenly at the faint clasp pulling her up. A shriek erupts from her before she can help it, recoiling back with wide eyes. Dusty black, bony and brittle. Hands shouldn't look like that, not at all.
"Ah, forgive me. Sometimes I forget my hand modelling days are over"
If it was at all possible, Oonagh's eyes widened further, practically bulging out of her sockets fixed down to the stone floors as realisation dawned on her. Oh God. And he's not alone either, she realises miserably, next to the pair of eccentric patterned loafers, unmissable shiny, black dress shoes.
At once, in panic, she starts to pat herself down, over her pockets, anywhere that she could be hiding something sweet of use for apology. Her cheeks are certainly bright pink, and she's debating whether to turn and simply sprint away before she dies of embarrassment.
"Stop patting yourself down for sugar, O'Connor. We've had quite the share of yours in the staff room" Snape drawls, compelling Oonagh's head to raise interestedly,
"What did you think of the rosy apples?" She asks, as if she hadn't just screamed in horror at the Headmaster's hand.
Amused, Dumbledore quirks a brow, the same happening to his thin lips, aging blue eyes twinkling as he answers,
"I'm much more of a lemon sherbet fan myself"
"Really?" Oonagh grins, making a mental note of the revealed information for later. That was until she was quite rudely interrupted with a swat to the shoulder, Snape's eyes narrowing down on her, grunting,
"Do not purchase tonnes of lemon sherbet. Have you not learned from the last time?"
She stares plainly at him, swaying on her feet. Originally, Draco hadn't wanted anything to do with her or the rosy apples she accumulated in apology for breaking his nose. Now, it's rather worked out well for her if she does say so herself. And the Headmaster of the schools not necessarily someone you want to have bad blood with, so if lemon sherbet's needed, she'll find it.
