Drarry Oneshot Collection

Tattoos and Flower Crowns.

A/N: Listened to Just My Type by The Vamps on repeat while writing this. I recommend listening to it while reading. Shrug. Enjoy! And by the way, where y’all from? Looked at my demographic and saw a loooaaad of countries coloured blue. But….with my stubby fingers (umbridge) and my laziness (everyone in the world) I didn’t tap on all the countries. Anyone from Ireland out there? It was  coloured blue! REVELIO! I decided to put a song up top today, instead of a picture of Drarry cause I've been listening to it on repeat and it has a really good message. I suggest listening to it. It's called The Village by Wrabel

Harry stared at the grey building in front of him and took a deep breath. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach and he tugged at the cuffs of his pale pink sweater subconsciously. He began to walk slowly towards the building. A bell rings inside, unheard by him, and students begin pouring out of the double doors. They were chatting and Harry froze at the sight of them. He takes another deep breath and forces himself to walk forward. He slips in between the students, taking care not to brush off of them. He made his way into the school almost unnoticed and sighed in relief. Then froze again. He faced another dilemma. Where’s the office?!

He shook his head and made his way through the halls of his new school. He wandered, not exactly aimlessly. Until another bell rang, startling him. He was beginning to get frustrated now. He stomped his foot. Yes. He’s a child, don’t judge him. Spotting a men’s bathroom out of the corner of the his eye, he headed over to it. He picked at the chipped black nail varnish on his nails. He pouted at the faded daisies adorning the nails. I only did these yesterday.

He stared at his reflection and fixed his hair, tugging at the unruly black strands uselessly. He huffed. His pastel pink sweater hung off his thin frame and fell past his hips onto his light blue jeans. His white converse were scuffed and practically grey at this point.

The door to the bathroom slammed open and Harry jumped, colliding with the edge of the sink. The guy who came in scrutinised him with narrowed eyes and he tsked. Harry stared at him. He wore a tight black tee and a pair of black skinnys. He wore a worn leather jacket and worn leather boots. Harry could see a tendril of a tattoo peeking out from under the cuff of his jacket. His pale blond, almost silvery hair fell into his eyes. And his eyes…..They glinted dangerously, an almost surreal shade of metallic silver. The guy slammed the door behind him and Harry jumped again, face reddening when he realised just how long he was staring at him. He muttered an apology and hurried out of the bathroom. It wasn’t until he was two corridors away that he realised that he should have asked the guy for directions to the office. Sugar. Luckily he saw a teacher walking a little ways down the corridor and only hesitated a moment before calling out. The teacher kindly directed him to the office and Harry scurried away from her, mumbling a thank you.

He finally reached the office. Thank God. A red haired receptionist sat at the desk, typing quickly at the computer in front of her. She chewed on the end of an unlit cigarette.
She didn’t look up when Harry walked in, not even when he cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to speak but she held up one fake nailed finger, as if she could hear the breath he took in order to speak. She clacked at the computer noisily and pressed one key before swivelling around in her chair to face him. Her beehive hairdo swayed dangerously and Harry couldn’t help but watch it, entranced. It moved with each miniscule movement and looked like it would collapse any moment. The receptionist tugged the cigarette out of her mouth and flicked it into the metal waste basket beside her. “What?” She demanded finally. Her voice was raspy and Harry felt like she should have auditioned for the role of Estelle on Friends. He cleared his throat again. “I’m the new student.” He said lamely. The receptionist stared at him disinterestedly. “Harry Potter?” He asked. Why am I asking? She’s the receptionist! She swivelled around and began clacking at the computer again. A printer began to whir and she turned back around to him, ripping the page out of the white machine. “Here.” She drawled. “Schedule, map and anything else they give new kids. Locker number 125 and code 4729.” Oh no. Numbers. Harry could never remember numbers.