- 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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𝕿he distant waves are just about visible when Draco props himself up, and leans back against the headboard.
He hadn't noticed that the famous Irish cliffs and sea were visible from Oonagh's bedroom. He knew it was possible from the kitchen, but not her bedroom. It had been nighttime when he'd been in here back at Christmas, too dark and focused on lulling her back to sleep to properly take in his surroundings. The colour schemes, the decoration, the whole character of the bedroom that makes it Oonagh's and Oonagh's alone.
The walls are the same neutral cream as the other rooms, safe for the one opposite the bed that's a pretty sage green. There's quite a lot of green. Not the forest or emerald type he's used to, lighter ones, like the numerous plants and vines that adorn the entire cottage. A Hufflepuff through and through. Never far away from greenery.
A half-size square bookcase rests against the green wall, not for reading books, Oonagh wouldn't be caught dead with those books. Her scrapbooks. Overflowing, all annotated and pretty. There's also a few framed on the shelves, one too special to go in the scrapbooks. It's difficult to see clearly, but he thinks he can make the outline of a family of three. A dark haired man, strong arms cloaked around a youthful lady, and then a little girl. Pigtails and a toothless grin.
Oonagh's braver than he is. He couldn't have a photograph with his father up in his room to see everyday. He's not even sure that he has a photograph like that with his parents. Ones were they're all smiling, and the joy is bright and lively in their eyes. Where you can feel love through a snapshot. All of theirs are formal, and solemn and established, that cost thousands of galleons to take. House of Malfoy. Heir to Malfoy fortune. Not simply, family.
He peers down to the snoozing Hufflepuff by him, heart clenching at the warm pink on her cheeks. They'd gone straight to bed the evening before, exhausted from arguing. Draco could argue with the world, pick something out of everything to have a go it easy peasy. It's much the opposite with Oonagh. As much as he thinks it's hot when she's mad, he prefers it like this, when she's snuggly, warm and content. Sleepy too. Sleepy Oonagh's cute.
She's on her front, head turned his direction, an odd position that she somehow makes look ridiculously comfy. Between them, her arm is planted, the short sleeve of her t-shirt loose enough for him to sneak his hand through, and rest on her shoulder blade.
He rubs the soft skin with his thumb, saying no louder than a murmur that washes away with the tide, "Mon dieu. Je suis tellement amoureux de toi"
Oonagh stirs slightly in her sleep, nose twitching once or twice. Draco hurriedly looks away, back to the window, unsure whether he deserves to watch her like this after losing his cool on her last night. Vulnerable and defenceless.
But then he feels a shift under his hand, and there's a gentle weight resting down on his chest, her head, followed by a palm sleepily sprawling down besides it. He lifts the awkward arm between them, going around her shoulders, hand to the back of her head for his fingers to idly stroke through her hair.
