- 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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"𝖂ell, Draco? Is it? Is it, Harry Potter?"
His father's voice echoed in his ears, excited and avid at the mere prospect of turning him in to the Dark Lord.
Draco hadn't even looked, hadn't casted as much as a single glance in so-called Potter's direction. How was he supposed to when the bastard that hurt his precious Sunshine was there, right in front of him, fucking grinning. Living. Breathing. Abilities that he absolutely should not have. His chest roars in violent anger, mind screams to act, to carry out the deed he's been itching intensely to do since it happened.
Scabior doesn't remember him, the use of memory charms had prevented him from doing so. It was too risky. No matter how much Draco wanted him to know, to be forced see his satisfied face every time he was to remember the pain he ensured he'd never forget. He'd forget the face, but never the pain. But there's only so much obliviation can do when someone's glaring so thunderously, so menacingly it takes seconds to shake them to the core.
His previously gloating grin falters slightly, forever-to-be bruised throat bobbing.
Good.
"Not him, boy. This one, is the one you're supposed to be looking at" Greyback rasped, and Draco had to physically bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from chuckling darkly.
Begrudgingly, he tears his darkened gaze away from a less-confident Scabior to the figure Greyback's captured. It's Harry Potter. There's no single doubt about it, it's the identical face that months ago, had been directly across from, swelled huge, pink and puffed up uglily after making suggestive comments to spoon Draco's girl in bed that night. Stinging Jinx. Granger's doing, of course, some quick thinking to distort the features and lead them off trail. If only she'd thought to do the same to her and Weasley. Six bloody years at school, everyone knows who Harry Potter's golden best friends are, they're bound to be on the run with him.
And as he imagines Oonagh would say, nobody in the universe would want to impersonate them right now.
Everyone's waited on baited breaths, for him to do the confirmation they're all expecting him to make. Harry stares up at him through puffy eyelids, emerald eyes not pleading, but itching to roll at the pointed look in Draco's. Pointing out how incredibly stupid he was for ending up in this position. He cocks his head slightly, to appear more searching, as though he's genuinely confused when he speaks,
"I — I can't be sure"
His father, acting like a young child giddy on Christmas morning, urges, "But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!"
Draco didn't want to come any closer, he preferred to keep his distance from the sodding Gryffindors that interfered far too much with his and Oonagh's nice and romantic, private time. His father had other plans, clasping his cold hand around the nape of his neck and pushing him forwards towards them despite the darkened look his wife was shooting him. Draco grit his teeth together and bared it, looking deep into Harry's eyes as Lucius continued,
