Drarry Angst oneshots

Shards

A/N: Based on above photo, with a twist of my own :) Kudos to whoever made this headcannon - you're absolutely amazing!!!

Shards - of a mirror or of a broken heart?

Draco stood amongst the mist-shrouded ruins of Hogwarts, levitating bricks with his old hawthorn wand up to the wizard above, who deftly caught the brick, cementing it into place. 

The battle of Hogwarts had left the castle looking worse for wear, and Draco'd decided to help with the rebuilding. After all, he thought, yanking up the sleeve of his linen shirt and staring at the faded dark mark marred with white scars from a metal blade, he'd caused it. Vanishing some pebbles, something caught his eye - a shard of something glittering, glinting in the fading sunlight. He limped over,  leaning heavily to his right side as he made his way across the rock-strewn Great Hall. 

It was a mirror. A single, huge, sharp-edged shard of mirror. But when he looked into its depths...he saw him. Potter, with his crooked smile, bright emerald eyes and the messy black hair. Potter, who hated him, but with his bloody saviour complex saved him from the Fiendfyre. And Draco hated him...right? But then why was he next to Potter in the mirror?

One thing was clear - this was no ordinary mirror. He looked to the left, then the right, and when no one noticed him, he shrunk down the jagged, sharp-edged mirror and pocketed it. 

That night, when he'd went back to the rickety, old cottage he was staying in - for Malfoy Manor was seized by the Ministry, his father was in Azkaban and his mother in exile - he took out the piece of broken mirror and restored it to its original size. He once more saw mirror-Potter and him in it, and this time they were holding hands, Draco's dark mark visibly gone, laughing and joking. Mirror-Potter mussed mirror-Draco's hair up, chuckling and he watched as his mirror self glared daggers before restyling his hair and laughing with Potter. Draco couldn't help but chuckle a little at Mirror-Potter and his mirror self's actions, before he flopped on the rusty bed, springs moaning and protesting, pulled the thin, hole-filled blanket over his head and went to sleep. 

That night, his dreams were filled with Potter. 

The very next day,  he received a summons from Hogwarts inviting him back to school. Dressed in a black suit from last year, making sure to cover the Dark Mark, he washed up in the bathroom of the tiny cottage and apparated into Hogsmeade. 

He was anticipating the stares and the glares of the people as he, a former Death Eater, shuffled through the streets of Hogsmeade. Keeping his head ducked down, he quickly shuffled into Flourish and Blotts, all his past confidence gone.  Picking up his book order, he turned to apparate out of there, when he saw Potter, laughing and joking and smiling with his friends. When the Weaslette kissed him and he kissed back passionately, Draco couldn't take it all of a sudden and apparated away, landing on his rickety bed and sobbing face down. 

He didn't like Potter...no, he couldn't like Potter. He was the Golden Boy and Draco was a Death Eater. There was no way in a thousand bloody years that he would like Draco, whose hair was an unappealing blond, whose skin was pasty white, who had dead grey eyes. No way.

Hogwarts begin, and Draco still checked his mirror every night, doing all his homework ahead of time and always leaving space to check his mirror. Sometimes, he saw his mother and father as well, beaming proudly and openly like they did when he was just a little child with his brother, when the Malfoy's hearts had not yet hardened, when Adrian wasn't gone. 

Adrian - he saw him too, his blond-haired, blue-eyed brother who smiled at mirror-Draco, taking his hands and placing them on his shoulders as he hoisted Draco up like they did when they were just children, giving him a piggy-back ride. But mostly, he saw Harry, emerald green eyes sparkling with life, mussed raven hair and tanned skin glowing as he hugged and held hands with Draco. 

But then there came the night where he checked the mirror and saw the kiss, as Mirror Harry leaned towards Mirror Draco and captured his lips in a sweet, soft but passionate kiss, cupping the side of his face as the other curled long, thin aristocratic fingers into messy raven hair. 

That night was the night Draco finally admitted his crush on the golden boy. 

The time wore on, and he checked the mirror every night, finding himself with Harry doing all the things that a couple did, like what Lucius used to do to Narcissa before Adrian was gone, waking up in bed every day together, innocent little kisses, making breakfast for each other...

And all throughout this time, real-life Harry shunned him, ignored him, probably hated him.

Then that faithful day, Draco finally broke. He walked to the Owlery to find his owl, and he confessed what he'd saw in his shard of mirror, confessed his feelings, poured his heart and soul out into his letter, mailed it off with the air of a man who had nothing to lose and everything to gain. All too soon, he received a letter back, signed with his name, saying that he was a sick fucker for making a joke like this, and that to tell Malfoy that he hated him. 

That night, watching mirror Draco and mirror Harry cuddle in bed and exchange sweet little phrases and little kisses, he finally broke. Hot tears ran down his cheeks as he convulsed and shuddered, curling up against himself. He felt like he was the only one in the world, an insignificant speck of dust that no one loved. A gate seemed to break, and suddenly pure sorrow flooded his heart. He was lost in the darkness of the sorrow, and maybe he was dying, or almost dead. Because he loved Harry so much he couldn't breathe, and Harry - Harry hated him. But not as much as Draco hated himself for not being good enough for Harry. 

The very next morning, he never got up to check the mirror, he never got up at all. For the shard of mirror that had once been his greatest friend was now embedded deep inside his chest, piercing through his heart. A single blood-splattered note was left on his bedside table, a last note. "I'll never be good enough, and that's OK. I love you enough to let you go forever."

They didn't find the note and the body until about a week or so later. No one really kept track, after all, who cared?