Drarry Oneshots 2

les oiseaux volent à minuit

Les oiseaux volent á minuit- the birds fly at midnight

tw: mentions of minor character death, self-hatred, homophobia, blood, and bodies (aka the battle of Hogwarts basically)

**also i know Harry's POV comes twice between nine and ten instead of alternating, but it just fit so i kept it**

One for sorrow

He won't understand it, not for many years, the concept of death. It evades his mind when he tries his best to reach it, hides in the edges of his consciousness when he leaves it alone.

He can't fathom how the people who were supposed to protect him, to raise him and be with him through his life, who were supposed to smile and encourage him and hug him and inhale and exhale and laugh, could be sitting six feet under, unable to ever speak to him again.

He doesn't understand why cruel fate would tear him away from people so early in life. At only the age of ten, he can barely remember his mother's eyes, his father's smile. In a few years, they will probably vanish from his mind completely. He can't remember their voices, or anything they did. He can't remember murmurs of "I love you" or soft voices singing him to sleep.

It feels like mourning people he's never met.

Every sound of his breath feels like a betrayal to him, a mocking. I got to live, you had to die. It feels like a trade, their lives for his, and he feels like his life isn't nearly worth that of his parents. It doesn't feel like a fair trade at all.

Sometimes he wishes he had died instead of them, because he can sometimes remember flashes of how his father looked at his mother, and even a ten-year-old can recognize true love when they see it.

Sometimes when he dreams, he dreams of his mother crying. Not sad, he doesn't think, but at two years old he hadn't been able to tell much of a difference. No, he dreams of his mother crying and putting her hand on her stomach and his father hugging her with the brightest smile in the world, and when Harry was eight years old he sat bolt upright and wondered if it was really just a dream, or if his mother had been pregnant when she had died.

So sometimes he really does mourn someone he never met. He could have had a sibling, and instead Death cruelly tore them away from him.

Two for joy

Draco is positively alight with excitement. For the first time in his life, he will be able to go to a place without his father hovering over him, barking orders.

He will be free.

The candles in the Great Hall illuminate his excited face, and he struggles to keep his composure. A Malfoy must always be stoic and impassive, he father would say.

But his father is not here, so Draco allows a small smile to cross his face.

It feels like an act of rebellion.

Three for a girl

Cho's lips are soft.

Her body is soft.

She pulls away with a soft smile.

Her soft hand comes up to cup his face, soft eyes gazing into his before she softly kisses him one more time.

Harry doesn't want soft. He wants to press someone against a wall, panting and exchanging heated kisses. He wants to leave bruising kisses, to leave marks on necks, to have nails dug into skin, to fight for the dominance that Cho would just softly let him have.