- 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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𝕾ilence.
The castle was unusually silent. All screams, shouts, crashing and bangs becoming a product of the past. Silence was peaceful. Silence was for the dead. Oonagh wasn't dead. Draco refused to allow it.
He doesn't known how long its been, how long ago he disobeyed his orders to retreat with the rest of the Dark Lord's orders. Hours, days, Draco didn't know, only that the sun was beginning to rise, bidding the stars to take their nightly rest. Draco wasn't resting, not until he found his own bright Sunshine.
"OONAGH! OONS!"
Corridor to corridor he sprinted through, rummaging through chalky piles of rubble and dodging limp bodies lacking chocolate waves and ridiculously blue, blue eyes. His limbs are aching, ankles in particular, having been twisted too many times to count over jagged rocks. Shooting pains were blasting up and down his body. Nothing hurt as bad as the cracking of his heart.
Hogwarts is huge, he's forgotten how much, had forgotten how agonisingly slow the enchanted moving staircases were and how they often think it's hilarious to randomly change direction. Draco would've jumped over the bannisters if Blaise hadn't yanked him back insisting he won't be able to go faster with two broken legs, best case scenario.
"OONS! SUNSHINE!"
"Draco, they're going to think they're coming back if you don't stop yelling" Blaise reasons calmly, but Draco point blank ignores him.
He doesn't care. Call him selfish, call him disrespectful, call him inconsiderate, Draco doesn't care. He won't let his world go silent, he'll make all the loud noise humanly possible until she's there to fill it herself with entertaining Irish curses and horrid belting out of Irish folk songs. He'll suffer the burst eardrum, he'll endure the stabbing headaches. Anything. Anything she can give him, even those crappy hot chocolates that make him feel terribly nauseous, he'll have. Gladly.
He rakes a hand through his rumpled locks, sooty and slick with sweat from the battle. Think. He had to think. Not about the blotches of blood painting the floors like some sort of messy piece of Claude Monet's or the mangled body parts strewn all over the place, the person they belong to having been blown to smithereens from explosion. Heart. He has to think of his heart, where that might be, his feet will take him there. Take him to her.
Mere feet behind, he faintly hears Theo mutter something to Blaise about being exhausted, whirling Draco around before he realises what he's doing. Blinded by rage and panic and the heartbreaking possibility of loss, he fists hold of the front of Theo's robes, and harshly shoves him up against the wall closest, not nearly enough satisfied at the crack of his head smacking back against the stone.
"Exhausted?! You're exhausted?! Tough fucking luck! If you hadn't left her alone, maybe we wouldn't have to do this!" Draco shouts, seething.
Theo jostles in his unrelenting grip, trying to break free with the help of Blaise attempting to pull Draco off him.
