Drarry Oneshots (Angsty)

'I'm Sorry' doesn't solve anything

Requested by @gaydrarry

Warning: Mpreg, suicide, major character death

The world isn't fair. It's so fucking far from fair. Don't ever let anyone tell you it is; they're a liar if they try. It isn't, it just fucking isn't. Never has been, never will be. You can have everything, everything you ever wanted, everything you ever dreamed of and it'll disappear like that because the world decided you didn't deserve it, didn't deserve to be happy.

If there's a god out there then he's a dickhead. Or she, I suppose. A real dickhead. Doesn't want anyone to feel fulfilled, feel satisfied, feel that life has treated them well. That never happens, not anymore. Grief, pain, anguish—anything else you'd like to throw at me? If you're responsible for this then I want you to know you're an absolute bastard.

In this life no one gets three wishes. They don't even get one. You're just supposed to blindly accept your fate and wait for death like a good child of a vengeful parent. It isn't fucking fair.

To be, or not to be?: the age old question. Hamlet had a point, not a point to existence no, nobody has that, but a point that we must choose our destiny for ourselves, held at the point of a sword, directed by our own emotionally fuelled fingertips; shaking. To die, to sleep? Is there a happy medium? Is to die to sleep as well or am I kidding myself, lost in the hope that maybe I'll see him again, or if I don't at least I won't wander this cruel earth without him.

He phases in and out of my mind. That's all that's left of him now—a ghost in my memory. So young, so hopeful, so dead, rotting away six foot under, with only the maggots for company. And...and it. It too, dead. Never a brain, never a heart, never a human. I loved it, for a while, but now it's what I loathe and long for all at once.

Crying is no use because life isn't fair. I did it anyway. I sobbed until I couldn't stop, until the tears dried and cracked on my face leaving my mask broken on the floor along with the shards of my heart. How does one recover from this?

They don't. The sad truth is, they don't.

Life isn't fair, neither am I, plunge the sword deeper and thus I die.

Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince.

*. *. *. *. *.

"Harry! Harry, come here!"

I lift my head up from the sofa, eyes blinking wearily behind the skewed frames of my glasses, hair tousled in an almighty mess.

"What is it?" I groan, noticing drool on the cushions as I do so.

"I've got something to show you. Hurry up."

My joints crack as I get to my feet and trudge into the hallway. Draco's nowhere in sight.

"Where are you?"

"Downstairs loo," he yells at me. I roll my eyes at his enthusiasm, slightly confused about what was so exciting about the toilet.

He's standing, hands resting on the sink, looking at me in the mirror when I walk in. His grey eyes are sparkling as he turns to face me. "It happened."

"What did?" I ask, clueless as usual.

"Just look." He thrusts a piece of plastic into my hand and steps back, grinning like the Cheshire Cat on ecstasy. Not that I really know what that would look like. I've never met the Cheshire Cat, let alone seen him on any sort of drug.

I look down at the pink stick.

Pink stick...

Oh my god.