- 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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𝕬utumn reminded Oonagh of Hogwarts.
Summer, Autumn, even Spring could be Ireland, she could naturally picture County Kerry when one of those three seasons are mentioned. Not Autumn. Autumn is the castle. Hogwarts.
Softly sung hymns in the mild breeze, riots of golden and red taking their claim in the once green leaves, sprinkled cinnamon, pumpkin pasties grown from Hagrid's own patch and warm hugs by the crackling fires. Snuggly sweaters all day every day, and socks rolled up high as possible. Every single candle, lantern and torch aglow in the castle.
She couldn't remember the last time she had been at home during the fall, couldn't remember what it was like to see Ireland amber and gold. It was odd. It did make her miss school, miss her youth. She should be there, cherishing the most of her last year there. The thought of never to be there ever again, without having said a proper goodbye was a hard one to stomach.
Sighing softly, she tears her gaze from the window to the boy vulnerably snoozing in her lap. Back and forth he's been, between the cottage and the Malfoy Manor when he had to be, leaving him understandably exhausted. Oonagh had suggested that maybe he would be better staying at the Manor full time, averse to the idea he's tiring himself out just to see her.
Draco had been utterly against the proposal of long distance, insistent that he'd be worse off there full time. Suffocating, he'd said, it was suffocating there, choking on the darkness, the evil, the fear. Being at the cottage, being with her was freeing, somewhere he could relax, be himself, feel safe without constantly being on edge, wary of his surroundings. Oonagh understood, wanted whatever was best for him.
She traces his features with her forefinger delicately, heart heavily swollen in her chest. It's laughable really, how emotional it makes her feel that he's fallen asleep in her lap — couples do it all the time, it's natural. But it feels like an honour, the greatest of them all, because Draco Malfoy isn't one to be open, to let his guard down, to let people in. He's let Oonagh in, he's handed her his heart, his vulnerability to hold and protect, and she'll be damned if she doesn't, profoundly.
The muscles of his eyebrows twitch in his sleep, and then he's frowning, forming crease lines Oonagh doesn't hesitate to smooth away in gentle circles. She frowns herself, gulping thickly. He'd been punished, even though he hadn't told her, it was obvious. His movements were slower, heavier, as though every single bone in his body was weighing him down. He'd never tell her, she'd never tell him she'd cried in the bathroom knowing it was her fault, that she caused him to suffer because she couldn't stand up to her own dad.
Exhaling shakily, she carefully lifts him, moves the red, fluffy pillow to take her place and lowers him back down with a kiss to between his eyebrows. The pots from the morning weren't going to wash themselves.
A smile teases her lips at the aroma that fills the kitchen from the washing up liquid, soon scolding herself for liking it so much. Green apples. It had replaced the original citrusy one that had been on top spot for years on end. Draco's command, of course. He's never far from his green apples.
