- 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 stares at his reflection in the mirror, reminding himself to breathe.
It hurts. It hurts to breathe, the rise and fall of his chest painful and the air inside of his lungs stings. His throat feels red raw and his the pressure behind his eyes is almost unbearable. It hurts. And it's been hurting all day, getting worse as the hours tick on. He very much doubts sleep will come tonight, another night of watching the real life Hufflepuff snoozing besides him instead of the imaginary one that holds out her pinky and leads him through his dreams.
He hunches over the small sink, splashing ice cold water up into his face just as he did that fateful day in sixth year in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. But it's not Harry Potter's face that he sees in the mirror, standing behind him. It's someone far more delightful. He quickly shuts off the tap water, turning around in time for when she speaks,
"You grand?"
No. He wasn't, not in the least. He's hurting and the hurts fresh, unlike the aftereffects of the Cruciatus that fade overtime. Draco plasters on a smile that feels fake at the corners, not convincing himself or Oonagh when he nods, stating simply,
"I'm grand"
Oonagh hums, a concerned, little thing as she takes a slow step towards him, blue doe eyes shining with something that they shouldn't. They should always be shining with happiness, joy, love. Never worry or unease. She rolls up onto her tiptoes, hand reaching to swipe away a droplet of what could be sweat or water from his forehead, sweeping aside the quiff of hair that's flopping down.
"You've been off all day. Tell me what's bothering you" She whispers, the pad of her thumb gently rubbing at the base between his deeply furrowed brows.
Draco allows himself to melt into the touch for a moment or two, before lowering her hand down, briefly kissing her knuckles, "It's nothing. Let's go to bed"
He moves to walk past her, yet only gets as far as the bathroom doorway before he's turning back. Because somehow during the movement, Oonagh's managed to grasp hold of his arm, peeling back the sleeve of his sweater he's been careful to keep down all day. He's quick to yank his arm away, hide it behind his back, but it's too late. She's already seen it, her breath catching in her throat and her eyes rounding in horror. A reaction that he didn't want.
The grumble is gruff and dark, breaking out of the tough confines in his chest, "Why the fuck did you do that?"
Oonagh doesn't answer him, all the questions she wants to ask dying on her tongue. She lunges forward, tugging at his elbow, her eyes beginning to burn when she catches sight of it again. His Dark Mark. A dark shade of black that she didn't know existed. And it's angry, furiously raging the worst it has been for the past months, inflaming the poor skin around it to be so red he'd probably hiss in excruciating pain at the faintest of touches.
