- 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 distinctly remembers Dementors from her third year.
Remembers how on the train journey, the compartment full of her fellow Hufflepuffs had gone from giddy, chatty and happy to spiritless, gloomy and bone-chillingly cold in a matter of seconds. Remembers how they'd surround the grounds, floating, day and night, visible from all windows of the castle, all big, cloaked and scary. She remembers how pissed off Sprout had been because they killed greenery right, left and centre, continuously for months.
None of that could've prepared her for this.
Swarming. They're swarming above her head, dressed like Professor Snape, hungrily awaiting their signal to swoop down and suck the sunny soul out of her. A kiss that she wouldn't particularly enjoy. She tries not to look at them, tries to keep control of the crippling fear building inside her chest. They feed of fear, that's another thing she remembers, from completing Draco's essay for him that time.
The Death Eater stood to her left, haughty and austere, didn't seem the slightest bit bothered, in fact, Oonagh swears the unpleasant smile etched on his face almost shone with hope he'd have an entertaining show made out of her today. He was blonde, not the dangerously angelic, fanciable type of blonde her Draco is, more of a yellowish type that cascades down his spine in a neatly weaved braid. To say Oonagh has a thing for blondes, she couldn't find a single thing that could be classed as attractive in any way, shape or form for this man.
This man that was gripping her upper arm so firmly, Oonagh wouldn't be surprised if tomorrow morning, there would be a matching bruise to the one that he keeps smirking at right across her throat. She'd be even less surprised if he decided to make use of the empty hallway, force her harshly against the black tiled wall and had his own go with her whilst they wait. Make the mark a hand print. Swallowing down the panic that lodges in her throat, she quickly looks down to her feet, sucking back the fresh set of tears that'll only make things worse for her.
"Yaxley!"
Oonagh jolts with a start, chin tipping over her left shoulder to spy the culprit whom found it absolutely necessary to give her the fright of her life. Unpleasant Yaxley, Oonagh realises, didn't have a much different reaction either, his punishing claws digging further into Oonagh's soft skin in exasperation. It's another Death Eater, all masked and robed up in the typical dark attire, prying through the snake-like slits for eyes.
Whilst they near closer in brisk strides, Yaxley yanks Oonagh closer, practically gluing their sides together as he turns them around to politely face the intruder now revealing face by a swish of the hand. Looks wise, he was no more approachable than Yaxley, though features the opposite. Eyes as dark as his hair, bordering black, slicked back off his tanned face too perfectly to be any good. He had that daredevil aspect to him, the type that if it weren't for the brand inked into his left forearm, Oonagh knows many girls would jump at the chance for a date.
