- 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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𝕿heo and Blaise left mid afternoon after at least five big hugs each from Oonagh.
It would have been a much higher total, if after each one Draco's grumbles hadn't grown louder and louder to the point they couldn't be ignored any longer. They'd have happily stayed for longer to piss off Draco in other ways, but it was too risky, too suspicious for the three youngest Death Eaters to be off the grid all at once. Whereabouts unknown. If anyone raised the concern, Oonagh could very well end up joining the rest of the prisoners in the manor cellar. Or much, much worse.
Draco didn't necessarily mind, Oonagh all to himself was a dream, something they hadn't had much lately with the unexpected stay of Potter and Granger. He knows Oonagh didn't mind either, not when they no longer have to worry about PDA or better rephrased, Theodore Nott making it his life's purpose to be of terrible timing. And then make crude jokes about stuff that leave Oonagh and Draco a rosy pink.
Rosaleen had popped by, overjoyed to see that this year's snuggly sweater coincidentally matched one of the new pairs of Ugg boots she'd been gifted from Draco. Great minds think alike, she'd told, nudging him with a wink as Oonagh tried them on at the same time looking like spring chicken. It had been the waffle yellow edition. She'd worn them through town, past the rainbow houses they'd visited for the very first time a year ago, and all the way back, with their dinner.
Pizza.
Greasy, sloppy, wonderfully cheap pizza. There'd been no other option once Oonagh had learned that Draco had never once in his life had pizza before, that he'd somehow missed that worldwide experience of awfully full pizza belly and licking the excess grease from fingers afterwards. The delicious plan for thick bacon, buttery cabbage and potatoes, boiled and fried that was arranged would have to wait until tomorrow.
It had only been right to go the whole way, make a picnic of sorts out of it. Large, fluffy blankets had been grabbed by Oonagh from the wicker basket inside, taken outside to where Draco was lighting a few candles and opening a bottle of wine to share in a single glass. No cutlery, no plates, no table manners. Just the night sky, the calm sea and two teenagers that happen to be out of their mind in love. A date. It sort of, kind of what Oonagh would describe a date to be. All romantic, intimate and darling.
They talk about the past, their early days at Hogwarts, where they'd been under the same enchanted roof, in the same magical walls, yet were only background characters in each other's story, if that. Draco had told her about his very first detention, having snitched on Potter for being out after hours, and how clearly whoever scheduled the detention had no brains because splitting up defenceless eleven year olds where dark creatures roam at night was a disaster waiting to happen.
In turn, Oonagh told him how in their second year, she'd spent the majority glued to iron-willed Sprout's hip because the Professor had been adamant that her free wanderings would land her on the list of Muggleborn's petrified. She'd laughed mirthfully at the patent jealousy that cloaked him upon learning after her great tumble down the stairs the day of the Yule Ball, Fred Weasley had been her Lord and Saviour, carrying her multiple flights of stairs and across the castle to the Hospital Wing.
