When Draco was four, he loved birds. At night, he’d lie in bed and listen to their quiet twittering in the tree outside his window. His mother offered to put a silencing spell on it to make it easier for him to sleep at night, but he refused.
When Draco was seven, his father took him to the Ministry, and he fell in love with the memos that flew and darted through the office. When he expressed an interest in how they worked, his father brought him a book on magical origami, and told him to work out how to make the memos explode when opened.
He did.
Two weeks later, a senior official in the Ministry was killed by an exploding memo. The Prophet called it an accident, but Draco knew that Malfoys didn’t make mistakes.
That was the first time that he made a thousand cranes. He wrote the man’s name on each one, and sent them to his widow in a crate. After that, it became a tradition – when his father had someone killed, he made a thousand birds, and sent them to the family.
When Draco was nine, he thought birds were stupid. He watched as a pigeon pretended to be wounded to draw attention away from its nest, and laughed when his kneazle caught it and ate the eggs from the nest.
His father had his uncle killed, and even though he didn’t like birds anymore, he still made the cranes. He burned them in the fireplace instead of sending them, because his uncle’s closest relative was his father, and he couldn’t send them to his father. He’d know, because Malfoys always knew.
When Draco was ten, he met Pansy, and he knew that he would have to marry her. He made her a bouquet of paper flowers, and knew that when he’d made a thousand pansies for her, it would be time.
When Draco was nearly eleven, he found a new respect for birds. He watched a hawk snatch a mouse off the ground, and spent the next three months watching the sky for more birds of prey.
His aunt committed suicide, and his father wouldn’t go to the funeral. Draco wasn’t sure whether or not to make cranes, so he made doves instead. He watched as they shrivelled up in the fire, the way his aunt had done after her husband’s death.
When Draco was eleven, he met Harry Potter, and wished he could make a thousand cranes for him. He started anyway, just in case.
When Draco was thirteen, he learnt how to animate the cranes, and started sending them to Potter with insults written on them. He wondered whether Potter kept them.
When Draco was sixteen, he knew for a fact that he’d have to marry Pansy. He brought some heavy silk from Hogsmeade and made her a bouquet of silk flowers. He had some material left over, and made a crane to send to Potter. He told himself that it was because he was halfway to a thousand.
When Draco was seventeen, the war began in earnest. He made a crane every day, colouring their beaks a deep crimson like the blood of the fallen. He sent them to Potter in Potions, and watched as the boy tucked them away. He laughed at Potter for being a sentimental Gryffindor, until his parents were killed in a raid.
That week, he didn’t go to classes, but sat in his room and made a thousand phoenixes for each of his parents – not cranes; cranes were for people who deserved to die. At the end of the week, he sat in the Slytherin Common Room at midnight, and threw them all into the fire. He hoped that like their real life counterparts, they’d rise from the ashes again; because then his parents would still be alive. They didn’t, and he started going to classes again the next day.
When Draco was nearly eighteen, he changed sides. He still made the cranes for Potter, but he stopped making pansies for Pansy – there was no point, she was dead anyway.
When Draco was eighteen, he only had fifty cranes left to make. He waited at the edge of the battlefield and looked across at Voldemort’s army, waiting for the orders to attack. He folded cranes while he waited – it was automatic now, he didn’t need to watch his hands. The wizard next to him looked at him oddly, and he tucked the origami paper away again. He sent the eight cranes he’d made to Potter, and knew that Potter wouldn’t die today. He still had forty-two cranes left to make.
Then Potter won, and he looked across the battlefield and wondered if there was any point making any more cranes. He made one anyway, and dipped its wings in Voldemort’s blood. They shrivelled up like dehydrated leaves, and Draco threw it away.
When Draco was nineteen, he started making Potter paper lilies instead. Birds were overrated, flowers were much better.
Small Swift Birds by Hidden Magril
Chapter Notes: This is a very plotless oneshot plot bunny, and was mostly written as a stylistic experiment. It disregards HBP, and was inspired by the scene in the forth movie where Draco sends Harry a paper crane in Potions; and a song called Small Swift Birds by Cowboy Junkies. I recommend listening to the song while reading this.
Also, both Draco and I know that cranes traditionally stand for good luck and long life. Please don’t send me reviews accusing me of not researching my traditions properly – I wrote it like this on purpose.