- 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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𝕯raco's heart feels considerably heavier every time he checks his left.
His left where, safe and sound, burrowed underneath a heap of the softest and warmest blankets, Oonagh sleeps, catching up on the much needed rest that she'd been relentlessly fighting off until exhaustion finally decided enough was enough. The same couldn't be said for him, he'd fight until he was blue in the face and one too many toes over the thin line between life and death. He couldn't sleep, not when every time he closes his eyes, he's installed with this debilitating, paralysing fear that she's not there. That when he opens his eyes again, she'll be gone. And it'll be, yet again, his fault.
He swallows past the enlarging lump in his throat, hurriedly blinking away from her and to what he's been twiddling between his fingers for what feels like hours on end. He'll never grow bored of it, never feel fed up of the beautiful sight, not when dreams of it's future placement break up the soul-destroying miseries of the real world. He slips the ring as far down as it'll go on his pinky finger, very nearly chuckling at how awful the gold looks against his ivory skin. Too warm, too radiant, too precious, overall perfect for his Sunshine. Draco's definitely a silver kind of man.
A tiny jerk accompanied by a pained noise, rushed his focus back to the sleeping Hufflepuff, his heart constricting tightly at the twitching muscles of her brows. A frown. She's starting to frown. A deep set, forehead creasing, headache launching frown. One he knows the feeling of all too well. And then, she's tossing and turning, thrashing around, mumbling pleas of no's that nearly have Draco hunching over and throwing up his dinner.
Gingerly reaching out, he cups a cool hand against her exceptionally hot cheek and murmurs soothing reassurances, both of English and French, until her writhes slow and her panicked pants turn back to calm, steady breaths. The frown stays. Stays when she's fluttering open her big, blue eyes, so pure and lovely Draco's absolutely determined to never see pain in them ever again. Because right now, this very minute, there's heart-rending pain assailing them.
He doesn't ask. It seems pointless to ask considering he already knows the answer. Considering Oonagh's already scrambling forwards like her life depends on it, crushing their bodies flush together. Draco works on her loose bed-shirt, rolling up the fabric enough for both palms of his to flatten against the exposed skin of her spine, balancing out her sky-high temperature. Oonagh shivers against him, but Draco doesn't move his hands away, only whispers into her gorgeous-smelling hair,
"Je ne laisserai plus jamais rien t'arriver. C'est une promesse"
It's a promise, and he means every fucking word. Whatever it takes, his morality, his soul, his life — he'll sacrifice it all for her never to be hurt like this ever again. Oonagh means more to him than anything thinkable. Anything at all. And whilst it's a scary thought, it's an honour. An honour to be so downright in love with this lambent exquisiteness, it consumes him.
