- 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 hums to herself as she passes through the town.
Right on top of her to-do list today was popping into town to do some shopping. As much as she usually likes to wait until Draco's with her, take him around the shops for a wonderful sense of normality and a taste of the future, she couldn't wait any longer. Her fridge and cupboards were disastrously bare, and she had an incessant craving for casserole that wasn't going to yield until it got exactly what it wanted. Her heart did a happy leap once she'd left the food shop, hands full.
It was a drizzly, bitterly cold day in County Kerry, the perfect weather for such a delicious, belly-warming dinner. She'd make enough for Draco, just in case he happened to be back home today. The last she heard, You-Know-Who was on the hunt for a thief who stole something from an elderly wand-maker in Europe, she had no idea what that had to do with Draco, nor why he had to be there for that, but they were in no position to fight back. That would just end up in their untimely deaths, their dreams of a future together dying along with them.
A smile stretches across her lips at the thought. Not of their untimely deaths, of their future. Marriage. Babies. Growing old, grey and wrinkly side by side, foot to foot, pinky to pinky. He'd reciprocated her keenly longing ache for it all, if not to a greater extent. If that didn't drown a girl in feelings and butterflies, she didn't know what would. She'd struggled fighting off the crazy flutters and rosy blushes every time he looked at her since.
He'd clocked on too, started smirking, winking or biting his lip every time, knowing exactly what he was doing to her. She was so gone for him it's laughable.
Shaking her head, shaking off the heat that tickles her skin, she waves ahead to the owner of the florists outside his shop, fixing a plant pot that's fallen over in the wind. She carries on, barely hearing the unexpected question come from behind her,
"Oonagh, aren't you coming in?"
Oonagh turns around, feeling just as confused as Mr Bloom sounds. Her head cocks to the side, briefly wondering if she's missing something. That maybe it's her Mammy's birthday or Rosaleen's and she's placed an order she's completely forgotten about. No. The only birthday close is hers, and that's still a couple of weeks away.
Something must've clicked in Mr Bloom's mind, because replacing the puzzled gleam in his brown eyes, is one of knowing. Knowing something that she doesn't. His smile turns warm and amused, crooking a finger to have her follow him inside. Oonagh, being Oonagh, one very nosy fucker, she follows on, too intrigued for her own good.
Despite the cold season they're in, the shop is brimming with plants, herbs and flowers of every kind, every colour. Tulips, lilies, carnations, peonies, they're all there, blooming and beautiful. Oonagh pauses briefly, sniffing up the loveliness of the roses section, thinking of the two main women in her life. Róisín O'Connor and Rosaleen Fleming.
