Drarry Oneshots!

Animatum Anima by Boooklover12 pt 2

The spell flashed from her wand and impacted Harry's chest, directly over his frantically beating heart.

The first notes sounded slow and brave, indifferent to the world. Harry felt them reverberate in his chest.

"You shout it loud, but I can't hear a word you say

I'm talking loud, not saying much

I'm criticized, but all your bullets ricochet

you shoot me down, but I get up

I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose…"

The first memory hit Harry like a punch in the gut. He knew it well enough. He heard it whenever a dementor got to close.

Above his head, his mother and father fought for their lives.

"Lily, it's him! Take Harry and run!"

His mother whisked him away up the stairs, as below, his father fell to bright green light…

"Not Harry, please not Harry…"

His mother, pleading with Voldemort. Voldemort telling her to move, and her refusal…

And then, she too, fell to green light.

The great hall was silent besides the memory, as a moment recorded in history went down on screen.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, more widely known as Lord Voldemort, aimed a yew wand at a baby Harry Potter.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green death sped towards Harry, who stood up on chubby baby legs to meet it. It impacted on his forehead with a blinding flash, and rebounded.

It hit Voldemort dead center, and with an unearthly screech, he fell.

"fire away, fire away

ricochet, you take your aim…"

A small boy sat in the dark. He was sobbing, bright green eyes leaking pearly tears, which dripped down slightly sunken cheeks. The glowing outline of a cupboard door sat behind him.

He rocked back and forth, mumbling, "Sorry, Uncle, sorry Uncle, sorry…"

He held his wrist delicately, where it was twisted at an unnatural angle. He looked young, about three or four.

Harry remembered this well. It was the only time his uncle lost his temper and hurt him physically- besides lack of food. His uncle had been horrified- not because he hurt Harry, but because of what others might think.

"fire away, fire away…"

The same young boy was running, but this time he looked older, about seven. He was sprinting as fast as he could, duct taped sneakers impacting the sidewalk with loud smacks.

Behind him, a group of boys, led by one with nice clothes, a rather round body type, and blonde hair chased him and jeered.