- 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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𝕹obody speaks.
When Draco ducks them through the door a head too short, and carries her straight through the quirky kitchen they've danced, sang and cooked in together countless times, nobody speaks. Not one word. He doesn't tell where they're going and nobody asks. It reminds of Oonagh of before, the days before she knew Draco and the only chatter that animated the cottage were during the brief pop-ins of Rosaleen.
She'd forgotten what it was like, for the cottage to be silent, absent of low grumbles, sarcastic quips and laughter that makes her heart feel like it's golden. She was happy to have forgotten. She doesn't like this, but she doesn't want to speak either, it still hurts to. Instead, she steals a glance at the pairs of feet that line up as they pass. Two formal, men's dress shoes, black and polished squeaky clean. The next is awfully familiar, loafers, the a worn colour of maroon, a pair she's seen far too many times and nudged Draco for naturally insulting. There's a fourth pair. Oonagh had been expecting three pairs, not four. She hadn't expected to see those large, threadbare caramel coloured brogues today.
She stares at them the longest, lips quirking faintly at how they never seem to grow smaller like the rest the more Draco carries her away towards the uneven staircase down the narrow hallway. They do disappear eventually, when they're going up a level to the bigger bathroom, where there's a free standing bath as well as a shower. Draco doesn't put her down, doesn't make her walk the rest of way despite the unquestionable dull aches to his body too.
He carries her the whole way, setting her down gingerly on the little counter space besides the sink after locking the door with a clear click. He never lets go of her though, keeping his pinky finger locked around hers no matter how hard he had to strain to turn on the water taps and fetch the softest towel they have from the cabinet across the room. Oonagh holds on, grip tightening when, one handedly, Draco manages to fold the towel over the radiator, ready to be nice and toasty warm after she's done.
Oonagh's head tilts backwards, closing that gap to rest back against the mirror that holds his brooding reflection. She offers him the slightest of smiles, her own voice sounding foreign to her own ears when she mutters,
"Remus?"
Draco hums quietly, coming to stand in front of her whilst they wait for the tub to fill. The water pressure has never been the best, it had been something that Oonagh found greatly entertaining the first time she and Draco bathed together, watching him watch the slow, weak trickles like it was bane of his existence. She feels lighter at the memory, feels lighter when he explains,
"I sent for him. Grammy was adamant that she was to wait here, I didn't want her to be alone in case they came back. Besides..."
He trails off, briefly glancing away to check the height of the hot water. Oonagh watches the firm bob of his adam's apple, watches how he painstakingly wills himself not to flicker down to hers as he turns back, deciding to initiate eye contact instead. Releasing a heavy breath that fans her mouth beautifully, he finishes his sentence, words brightening up the darkness that invaded Oonagh's insides,
