One for sorrow, two for mirth

A burst of laughter makes him squint and his precious cargo jerk slightly in her sleep. Hogwarts Express has been only halfway to London when she dozed off on his shoulder, and by now Draco’s back has already grown stiff from serving as a body-pillow, but he wouldn’t give this away for the world. Yesterday hasn’t ended all happy-happy, joy-joy. Of course it hasn’t. Everyone had gawked at them and indulged themselves in gossip, not even bothering to lower their voices. Pinescrew and other gits, probably inspired by the presence of their lord and saviour, were eager to throw insults at him as well as hexes. Weasley had caused a scene — he’d waited patiently until the end of the ball, though. That definitely deserves praise. But they had still managed to dance and laugh, and Hermione’s eyes shone blissfully every time he put his hand on the small of her back. He is ready and willing to endure any amount of slurs to see her like that. Just like he is enduring a journey to London right now, sharing a compartment with Lovegood, Longbottom, his Hufflepuff sweetheart (Draco cannot for the love of Merlin recall her name, was it Anna?) and, of course, a freshly engaged couple: Potter and the little Weasley. Her older brother would probably be here too if he hadn’t gotten so furious that he apparated straight home from Hogsmeade. Draco considered following Weaselbee’s example, but he knew his wife — oh, Salazar, he’d never get used to calling Granger that — wanted to have their last train journey. It’s her chance to catch up with her friends and also have some sort of closure. Who knows, maybe even he will feel like he’s finally turning the page once they step out at the Platform 9 ¾. Throughout the trip, nobody has made any effort to include him in their conversation. And that was, honestly, a blessing. Draco has toyed with the idea of befriending all these people for many days now, but it just doesn’t sit right with him. They tolerate each other, and that should suffice. As soon as the only person connecting him to Potter’s clique had gotten lulled by the sound of the wheels, Draco stopped paying attention to his neighbours' chatter altogether. His train of thought travels further and further from the actual train he’s in. The final destination is always one and the same: the first Death Eaters' meeting he’d been admitted to attend. The meeting where the Dark Lord had announced the names of those he desired to see dead most of all. It had been like a torturous version of some top of eligible bachelors in Witch Weekly. And Hermione Granger — probably for the first time in her life — came in second, right after the Boy who Sucked (Draco came up with this alias for Potter during the Triwizard Tournament and was proud to no end back then). That was the moment when his life truly became hell. Every sliver of hope to save Granger had been trampled over. He somehow had convinced himself that a teenage Mudblood nerd would be insignificant next to dozens of renown Aurors, that being Potter’s friend was not that crucial — after all, Saint Potter was so disgustingly virtuous that everyone was his friend! What a fool he had been… Draco shivers at this memory and holds his wife closer. Hermione Granger is alive and — as much as this is possible — unharmed. No thanks to him, but she is. And she’s his. Again, no thanks to him. Draco can’t stop marvelling at that. Having been a spoiled brat for most of his life, he’s gotten used to getting all the best and everything he might want. But never in a thousand years could he dare to hope he’d have her. ‘You should probably wake her up, Malfoy. We’ve arrived.’ He focuses his gaze on Potter. He is the only one left in their compartment, aside from himself, sleeping Hermione, and an ever grumpy Crookshanks. Draco glances out of the window. They have indeed arrived at King’s Cross, and he hasn’t even noticed. ‘Ah. Yes. I’ve spaced out.’ He leans in to her ear to try and wake her gently, but Potter’s voice stops him mid-action. ‘You don’t know how hard it is to trust you with her happiness.’ Draco scoffs, lowering his eyes. ‘Oh, believe me, I do. No one trusts me less than myself these days, Potter.’ His arch-enemy flops back on the seat, apparently inviting him to elaborate. 'I honestly love her, if that counts for anything.' 'Yeah, I’ve heard! You said, you have since what, twelve? That’s… Well, it explains certain things.' They sit in awkward silence for several moments while Draco fights a disgusting urge to confide in this chivalrous wanker. 'So, are you taking her to the Manor, or-' 'Over my dead body, ' Draco snaps and sees how Potter immediately flinches. 'It’s not what you think, it has nothing to do with her… blood status. I just can’t drag her to that place. I can’t risk her reliving those minutes when- ugh, you know what I’m talking about, Potter.' He nods, his face tense. 'Maybe one day, if she wishes that herself. But even then, I’d try to talk her out of this.' Potter snorts. 'Nobody can talk Hermione out of anything if she’s made up her mind.' 'Because all of you tried to when you found out about us? ' The heavy silence confirms Draco’s suspicion better than any words. 'Potter, I know, I had been an envious prick. But I think I’ve proven that I’d go to impossible lengths for my loved ones. And Hermione is- Ah, drat, just look at how pathetic she’s made me…' 'It seems she’s led you to light, so that’s something.' Draco winces and barely keeps himself from making a vomiting sound. 'Must you be this pompous, Potter? It wasn’t how you imagine it. She wasn’t some beacon that led me through treacherous waters of Voldemort’s deceit. If anything, this love for her had dragged me through so much darkness that I’d almost lost it.' His unlikely interlocutor nods slowly. Seems like he wants to hear more of this sorry whining. No surprise. Ah, what the heck, Draco might as well get it out of his system, even if this is who he gets as a listener. 'During the war, I hated myself quite enough as it was, but every thought of her just made it unbearable, made me mad with worry that right at that moment she might be dying a horrible death and I can’t do anything about it. After that day in our Manor, I even- I tried-’ The words he needs to say get stuck up his throat, and he gulps them down helplessly. Why on Earth did he decide to tell Potter, of all people?! Draco breathes hard through his nose, trying to calm down. His heart rate has gone through the roof, and now it flat out refuses to go back to normal. He feels his teeth grit and fists clench, as if his whole body is dead set on keeping it a secret. Potter furrows his brow. It’s understandable, Draco probably looks like he’s going to throw up. ‘Malfoy? ’ ‘Have you ever wondered if Avada can kill you? ’ Draco blurts out before he even has a chance to think. ‘What? Are you dense? I’ve taken two of those and one has killed me.’ Potter swallows hard and pushes his dorkish round glasses up the bridge of his nose. Seeing that he isn’t the only one visibly shaken by the topic makes Draco ease up a little. ‘No. I mean your own Avada.’ The silence around them is deafening. ‘I- Wait, Malfoy, do you mean you… Tried to- You know-’ Oh, he knows! Something snaps inside at these words, flooding Draco with an urge to scream. But he can’t. Hermione is still asleep, and he can’t wake her now. She can’t hear this. ‘What choice do you think I had but to take my own life? ’ he asks in a hoarse whisper, averting his eyes. ‘I loathed myself like I’ve never imagined I could loathe anyone.’ Draco hurries through the words, afraid to cave in at any given moment. If he doesn’t say this now he might never be able to. ‘In fact, that may have been the only time I actually had the guts to go through with Avada, but-’ He smirks, recalling their clash with Weaselbee on Christmas Day. ‘In the end, I wussed out. See, Mother found me before I- I managed to utter the words, and I couldn’t possibly do that before her eyes, could I? ' He gasps for air, as if he’s been stuck underwater for this whole conversation. Potter stays silent and stares into the wall. That helps. Draco wouldn’t want him to be all forgiving and consoling. 'So- Ugh- Yes, this is what love has done to me. Which is of course not Hermione’s fault, but she would fuss about that no doubt, so promise me you’d never tell her.' Potter heaves a sigh. 'Are you going to knock an Unbreakable out of me or-' 'No vows. We don’t even have to shake hands. Just a simple promise. I trust you.' Still, Potter extends his hand, offering to seal his word. Draco snorts, suddenly remembering the only time he wished to shake Harry Potter’s hand. His handshake is underwhelmingly average. Nothing to have been looking forward to for eight years. 'We are not friends though, Malfoy, ' he states blatantly and grabs his bag from the shelf. 'Oh, who’d want to befriend you, you upstart! ' Potter snickers, shaking his head. 'What on Earth does she love about you, honestly…' With that, he leaves the carriage. Draco sighs and kisses his exhausted brave wife on the crown of her head. Her hair smells heavenly. It’s ridiculous how much he’s obsessed with this untamable bush of hair that she sports, but he didn’t exactly lie saying he’d be her slave for letting him braid it. And she did let him a couple times. 'Hermione. Hey. Wake up.' She winces, refusing to open her eyes. 'When do we arrive? ' 'We’re at King’s Cross. Wake up. Let’s go home.' Hermione blinks at him, either blinded by the carriage lights or confused by his words. 'Home? What- What do you mean? Where is that? ' Draco gets up and helps her stand. 'Wherever we choose. Wake up.'