Drarry~Oneshots

Mama's Paper Bird

((A/N- not exactly drarry I'm afraid, but there's a slight glimpse of it in there.))

--ANGST, SLIGHT COMFORT--

"Mother, look!" giggled a young Malfoy of nearly six years. "I did it! I made the bird fly!"

The paper bird flitted and slowly descended onto the grass in front of him. Narcissa clapped at his joyous feat, smiling as widely as her internal anxiety would allow her. "Oh, you certainly did, didn't you?"

She kneeled, adjusting her gown so that it wouldn't fold under her ankles, as Draco giddily picked up the origami and ran up to her. His hair brushed back as a gush of wind passed the two, and he grinned, his cheeks rosy from the cold.

"The bird even did a flip, mother," he said proudly as the older woman took him into her arms. His small hands held onto the bird tightly, and he smiled yet again into the warm embrace of his mother's sleeved arms.

 He was quite small for someone who was nearing the age of six. If anyone had to guess, he didn't look anymore than four, which wasn't at all a compliment.

Draco wasn't very ambitious about wand magic. He'd find viles of harmless potions and draughts in the experimental chambers at the far left side of the manor, mix them together, expect for the best, and get severely chastised no matter what the outcome. 

Though that stopped him for a good while, on days when he was sure he'd done nothing to anger his father and was free of any such stress, he'd sit and think why the chambers were called experimental chambers when experiments weren't appreciated in the manor at all.

But Narcissa was always happy with him no matter what he happened to be good at.

In truth, having no option left to prove himself worthy of great ambitions, he turned to wand magic. Perhaps it was somewhat his father telling him that wand and wandless magic were the sole two major sorts of magic that were truly respected (and that was- after all- what was expected of a Malfoy), but it was also his own sense of duty that made his developing mind feel pressurized to live up to the dignity of the Malfoys that he had observed- by himself- as he grew up.

He could only hope endlessly that this would grab his father's attention and earn him- at the very least- an affectionate pat on the back.

Draco had expectations that were not met.

But his mother was with him. And she was admiring his work.

"Are you proud of me, mama?" he clenched his other fist on Narcissa's robes, who nodded, caressing his hair soothingly.

"I'm always proud of my darling boy."

I-----------------------------------------------------------------I

It was twelve years later.

Potter had rolled out of Hagrid's arms and landed on the dusty ground below. Chaos had risen. The 'Dark Lord' seemed out of breath.

There was smoke and dust in the air.

Harry Potter was alive. He had not a wand.

"Potter!" Draco had yelled hoarsely, stumbling forward as his hand swung without his consent and his wand flew.

He saw Harry catch the wand. He saw him mouth something incoherent, seeming quite perplexed yet immensely grateful, and then turn his attention towards the task at hand.

Draco digested it a bit late.

Harry'd said thank you.

Harry had thanked him.

Why had Harry Potter thanked him?

Pain and confused guilt collected heavily on his chest as the weight of everything his own two hands had done, his own two eyes had seen and his own two ears had heard yet hadn't stood up against heaved itself on his lungs, scalding hot and dark. 

It choked him till no oxygen went down his windpipe. He coughed into his palm, stumbling back with moist eyelashes, his pricy black coat soiled and stained. 

His steps backed away from the scene. He saw nothing more. 

Screams were heard. Smoke. Ruins

Draco was desperately thankful he hadn't laid eyes on blood yet.

That was until he opened his eyes wide enough to look at the hand he'd coughed in.

 Crimson.

The boy's vision momentarily blurred.

Almost immediately, a sleek hand swiftly grabbed his shoulder, and an arm backed up against his back as support.

He nearly came undone.

"Mother," his eyes welled up rapidly, his face crumbling, and he slowly turned to face Narcissa like she was a mere dream.

A dream that came after a nightmare. But neither ever stayed.

He couldn't decide whether waking up was a choice or not.

"Mother, I.." he pleaded again, as Narcissa painfully ran her gaze over her shattered child. Her hands rubbed his arms up and down but she couldn't hold the trembling of her fingers.

Draco's knees gave way. He landed weakly on the soil mixed with all sorts of broken castle bits, shrinking into himself. He could breathe, but it tortured his lungs like like shards of glass. Narcissa, pulled down along with him, shivered as she slipped her hand around the nape of Draco's neck and pulled him close to her heart.

For her, she had failed everything she had.

For Draco, well, he didn't care. 

His mother was here now. 

His mama was with him.

He clung onto her like the six year old he suddenly yearned to be again, because no matter how horrid thing used to be, they were a hundred times better that whatever this was.

He could cry.

"My beautiful bird," Narcissa crooned, running her slender fingers through his hair again.

"You've flown well."

------------------------------------THE---END--------------------------------------

((870 words))