Drarry Oneshots

Those Little Moments are Constellations in Life- or -IM BACK BITCHES

YO YO YO i'm back, i've had a year or two doing other shit, but i'm back now, and i'm better and older and cooler and yeah.

 Here, have this *throws story at you* Read it. 

Ever since the war Draco has taken to hanging out in the Hogwarts library, since no one ever goes there anymore because they all think it's haunted. It is, but only by an old man and woman who like to hover over his shoulder and read aloud the book he's reading, often at spontaneous times that scare the living day lights out of him. That's probably the scariest thing they can do, other than explain to Draco what sex used to be like back in their day, as if it's any different than it is nowadays.

"We didn't have condoms, we had to use-"

"Oh my god I don't fucking care, please get the fuck away from me, please!"

The librarian has learnt to leave him alone to his secluded corner at the back of the large room, as there's a window seat where he can sit and watch the snow fall outside. It's very Hufflepuff of him, but he doesn't think that he would mind being a Hufflepuff. He loathes being a Slytherin at the moment. He just doesn't know when someone's going to jump him next and take all their angsty emotions out on him over their dead family member or pet or whatever the war did to them. If he had the means and the money then he would have stayed away from Hogwarts, but he had nowhere to go, and being here is really only just buying himself time from living on the streets.

He sighs.

Outside he can see two figures flying around on brooms, right on time. Always at exactly 5:00 pm, Harry and his Weasly friend go outside to fly on their brooms, no matter the wether. It's stupid because they're bound to catch a cold sometime. For sure.

He sighs again as Harry does a loop, looking so free and so handsome that Draco envies him. A feeling he's never felt towards the scarhead before.

He's still watching when a voice, high and shrill, shrieks in his ear, "WHY DONT YOU JUST TALK TO HIM ALREDY?"

He almost falls of the edge of the seat. "Bloody hell! Are you part Banshee or something? What did I tell you about screaming in my ear!"

The old lady was plump like a pumpkin. Her assumed husband was almost the opposite of her. A thin bean stalk man with wispy hair and a large mole on his face, right under his nose. It grosses Draco out, and sometimes he can't stop looking at it whenever the man is talking. He feels bad about that because he thinks that it makes the man feel self conscious.

"Why don't you go talk to Mrs Willowicks? You know she loves it when you go an bother her. It makes her day."

The two ghosts snort, and Draco wonders how he became this pathetic, spending his days hiding in a corner, perving on Potter and keeping company with dead people. This isn't what normal wizards do. Normal wizards actually show up to class and talk to breathing people without offending them or making them want to crucio you. Normal people don't think about the person who's way out of their league like they might have a chance.

Normal people also aren't death eaters and on parole for taking the wrong side in a war they never even wanted to be a part of. Suppose Draco's gotten used to being different, expect his difference beforehand got him power, and it gets him black eyes and visits to the medical bay.

The woman ghost, Draco doesn't know their names because of a curse that was bestowed upon them that means anyone who says their names will contract a bad case of the chicken pox, claps her hands. "Oh look! The dark haired one's coming over!"