- 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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"𝕻iertotum Locomotor!"
All along the front corridor, statues larger than life and solid suits of armour jumped down from their plinths, followed closely by their fellows on the floors above and below.
"Hogwarts is threatened! Man the boundaries, protect us, do your duty to our school!"
Cried Professor Mcgonagall, chest flaring with the uttermost courage and determination when the horde of moving statues stampeded past her, clattering and yelling, prepared to carry out their sole duty as ordered. She sighs, a tiny smile quirking at her lips. She's always wanted to use that spell.
Jets of misty blue spouted from the wands of the most skilled adults and professors, joining together to create a magnificent shield of protection all around the castle. Protection against the hundreds of Death Eaters standing outside the grounds, awaiting their word to break down the enchantment and attack.
Standing on the grassy hill nearby, Draco watches with a mix of awe and fear in his expression. Because whilst it's, without a doubt, one of the most remarkable things he's ever witnessed, taking his breath away, it will never hold Him out. Nothing could ever hold Him out. Hogwarts, once over, home to every witch and wizard in Great Britain and neighbouring countries, was going to be torn down to the ground, and most soul-crushingly, Draco's on the side that will bring it down.
He releases a shaky breath, tightly curling up his fists that really should be empty. They're not. He tears his eyes away from the castle that housed memories of his youth, laughter and of Oonagh, to the figure close to his side. It's dusky, the only source of light being the magical barrier they're about to bring down, but Draco sees it. Like a sheer layer of it's own in her eyes of grey, the dread, the sorrow, the anguish. The strictness that he doesn't fight her on this.
He wants a hug, he's never wanted a hug more in his life than now, when tomorrow's not promised and she's going to enter battle wandless, to give him a higher chance at survival. A higher chance of returning home to his nosy, sunny fiancée and live the rest of their long lives together. He quickly passes the wand into his other hand, freeing up that one to slip into hers, giving a tight squeeze.
Narcissa fights tears, fights the overpowering urge to take him and dissaprate somewhere safe and far away from the final battle commencing. Deep down she knows that leaving isn't an option, not yet. Deep down she knows Draco wouldn't run, not anymore, not when there's a fight for his future, for his world to keep turning, orbiting the blazing Sunshine. He's on the wrong side currently, amongst the cruel and despicable, itching to get started, as soon as the approval is word, something tells her he'll be gone.
It's simple, one single word. But it's going to cost so much that it's actually cosmic.
