- 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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𝕲ryffindor red didn't touch their tree.
It completely dominated their tree.
Draco should've known it was fruitless from the very beginning, he's a sappy sucker for doe blue eyes, bright smiles and the whole sunny existence that is Oonagh O'Connor. And she ran a good bargain, irresistible, really. Not only had she promised he could choose their Christmas colour scheme the next year, she had also added a little something that made it awfully hard to keep his cool in front of their company. Because it's safe to say he got very hot, very quickly.
He'd had to excuse himself, pay a visit to the rocky cliffs and thrashing seas, hoping that the crisp, cold December air would be a semi-permanent fix. That had been hours ago now, night had fell over them and Draco was still very much frustrated. Not entirely just in that way, in another way. One that had been bugging him for days now, once the misty blue wolf had projected in front of their very eyes.
It was just him left, Oonagh and co had long retired to bed yawning after their long day of reading, researching and planning next moves, future plans for the next couple of months. He'd told Oonagh he wouldn't be long, five minutes tops. Five minutes turned into ten, ten turned into thirty and now he was bordering an hour. He'd presumed she was snuggled up all toasty warm underneath their blankets, dreaming away.
He presumed wrong, Draco soon learns, hearing a familiar padding of feet that strangely manages flutters his stomach. Flutters it madly, when then what he's hearing is even familiar Irish dulcet tones,
"Alright, i've let you brood for an hour. Whatever's on your mind is ours now"
For the first time in what feels like forever, Draco glances up from the open book set out in front of him, studying Oonagh dressed head to toe in green. Not any green, Slytherin green, Draco's green. His jersey, his plaid pants that have had to be rolled over at both the waist and the legs, yet still managing to skim against the floor. Her sock cladded feet were hidden, but if Draco had to guess, they'd probably belong to him too. Cute.
The clattering noise of a single glass tumbler being set on the work top snaps him back to the present. He clears his throat, briefly glancing down to the text as he insists,
"I'm not brooding, just reading. Of which I am now finished"
Oonagh doesn't speak, doesn't address the little white lies he's just told. Instead, she carries on, pouring a healthy amount of Bailey's liquor into their iced glass and joins him at the wooden table fading in colour. Draco uncrosses his legs and takes the alcoholic drink from her whilst she settles herself freely on his lap, eyeing the chosen topic of which is deemed worthy of him mulling over. Deemed worthy of them mulling over.
The Patronus Charm.
She's silent, far too silent for who she is, and what she's like, knocking Draco into a heavy stream of embarrassment. It's silly and stupid, to be chewed up over something so insignificant and minor as a simple charm, especially considering the overriding, possibly life-changing happenings in the world as they know it, outside the cottage walls. They had number one and number two undesirable just up a flight of stairs, he was serving unarguably the darkest wizard of all time, Oonagh could barely live without the danger of losing her life, and Draco couldn't sleep because of a fucking charm. He needed to get a grip.
