Playlist Ch. 22: ‘A Lack of Color’ by Death Cab for Cutie

Chapter Twenty-two: King’s Cross

Ginny tried not to cringe as she walked alongside her husband, her brother, and his wife through King’s Cross station, her arms wound about in an effort to hug herself despite the warmth of June and the approaching summer. She was a mess and she freely admitted it, to herself at least. With Harry’s arm around her shoulders and Hermione’s disapproving glare sent her way every few seconds, it was a wonder she found the courage to walk forward at all, grateful only that Ron seemed to be oblivious as ever, something she was infinitely grateful for now.

Truthfully, Ginny knew that Harry was not trying to upset her with his arm around her shoulders, only trying to offer her some small amount of comfort after the horrible last few weeks she’d had. Ever since their fight the night she’d come home from Hogwarts and their children’s fight in the hospital wing, their marriage had been strained, made more difficult and almost impossible after her visit to Draco and the childish way she’d locked herself in their bathroom once she’d come home. Harry had been kind enough to blame himself for that one, horrified by his hangover in the morning and realizing he’d very nearly frightened his wife when she finally had come home. Ginny hadn’t bothered to correct him with saying that she hadn’t been so much scared of him as she’d simply wanted to avoid him.

Unfair though it may have been, Ginny wanted to blame her husband for manipulating her all those years ago in the kitchen of her and Draco’s flat, whether he truly meant to or not. A rational part of Ginny’s mind reminded her that Harry had never been intentionally manipulative of her in their entire marriage, but what did that matter if their entire marriage may have been founded upon that first hint of a threat all those years ago?

Shaking her head to herself, Ginny tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, her head down and unable to look upwards. Harry seemed to stiffen at her small shake of her head, glancing at her with his jaw uncomfortably clenched. He lightly rubbed her shoulders to gain her attention and Ginny glanced up at him, quickly looking away, well aware of the way in which her sister-in-law was watching her like a hawk, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Ginny and Hermione, once trusted friends, hadn’t spoken since the fight between their daughters in the hospital wing. It no longer mattered that Lily and Rose had made up since then, as contrary to Harry’s earlier assurances, Hermione was deciding to become a very difficult problem indeed. After witnessing their daughters’ fight and seeing the way Draco had held her when she’d collapsed into tears in the corridor, Hermione had a right to her suspicions, feeling that the revelation of Ginny’s past was nothing less than a betrayal to Harry and blaming their daughters’ fighting on her as well. Glancing aside to her sister-in-law, Ginny knew that if she was looking for sympathy, she would not find it from her.

Feeling the whisper of her husband’s voice in her ear before she actually heard it, Ginny kept her vision fixed downward, still childishly wishing to avoid making eye contact.

“We’re at the platform, Gin,” he murmured.

Finally looking up, she saw that it was true and then with Harry directing her ahead of him, they stepped through the barrier and onto Platform 9 ¾. Immediately, Ginny senses were assaulted by the families crowding the platform and she was grateful for the relief from the awkwardness of her own family.

With the train still ten minutes out from the station, Ginny had nothing better to do than glance around herself, taking in the sights of other, less dysfunctional families and thankfully avoiding Hermione’s interfering questions, all so innocent but laced with an undercurrent of suspicion and dislike. Purposefully relaxing her shoulders and trying to appear unaffected by the hostility of her sister-in-law’s close proximity, Ginny was more than grateful that they had abandoned any notion of sharing a car with Ron and Hermione. The walk through the station had been difficult enough and she shuddered to think what a good hour or two would have been like in the bushy-haired woman’s company.

“Oy, are you two ever going to loosen up around each other?” Ron lamented aloud, rolling his eyes and jostling his wife with a bump to her shoulder. Hermione fixed a cold glare back at her husband and Ginny squeezed her eyes tightly shut, wanting to curse her brother’s stupidity in addressing the tension between them.

“Knock it off, Ron,” Hermione bit out.

“Are you mad? You two are normally going on like a pair of harpies over the Lily said this, and Rose scored that, and Hugo and Albus and Quidditch and James…”

“Your point, Ronald?” Hermione snapped, glaring fiercely at her husband with her arms crossed over her chest.

Ron seemed to falter for a moment, glancing across at Harry with an incredulous expression. “Do you see this mate? I’m tempted to think they’re both knocked up again! Wouldn’t surprise me at all what with the tiff these two are in. Merlin knows I’d hate to live through that hell a third time! Ow, damn it, Mione!” he cursed, nearly doubling over after receiving a sharp elbow to the ribs and grimacing.

Hermione spared but a withering glance for her husband before her gaze caught Ginny’s, dislike clear in every rigid angle of her expression. Ginny only glanced away, not actually bothering to feel sorry for her brother, just wishing he’d kept his damn mouth shut.

“That was hardly necessary, Hermione,” Harry admonished though his cheeks were tinged red from Ron’s all-too true referral to the two times their wives had been pregnant at the same time, first with Albus and Rose, then Lily and Hugo respectively. He and Ginny had been fortunate enough to have James as their first, without Ron and Hermione tagging along to birthing classes. He shuddered remembering how unbearable it had been when both women were pregnant, Hermione’s nastiness affecting his wife’s normally cheerful disposition and leading to more than several occasions where he and Ron would meet up at the local pub, ready to get pissed.

Matter of fact, Harry realized, glancing back and forth between the two women, Ron had been perfectly right in saying they were hostile with each other, and Harry remembered with a sickening feeling the fact that Hermione had been present when the truth of his wife’s past with Malfoy had come to light. Conflicted and unsure whether he wanted to defend his wife’s actions or not, Harry settled for silence, assuring himself that he certainly couldn’t bring the whole thing up in front of a clueless Ron anyway. Sighing deeply, he turned to loop his arm once more around his wife’s shoulders, but Ginny immediately tensed at his touch and he let his arm drop, feeling sick. She didn’t so much as glance back at him, averting her gaze to anywhere else.

Swallowing thickly, he turned again, catching Hermione’s eye without meaning to, and he certainly didn’t like the anger he saw swirling in her eyes, Ginny’s discomfort with him clearly serving as some sort of confirmation to Hermione and he shuddered to think what.

With her body tightly wound and her emotions rising up inside of her, Ginny’s eyes flitted around the platform, desperate to focus on anything but herself and the fact that her marriage was falling apart, that she was in fact letting it and helping it along with her practiced distance. She’d been unable to sleep for days, though, and her nerves were on end, the presence of tears near constant. Glancing around, she caught sight of a streak of blond and refocused her attention, feeling a pang of loss as she stared after Draco Malfoy, the same sick feeling blossoming in her chest as she always felt every time she caught a glimpse of him on Platform 9 ¾. So focused on Draco, Ginny hardly noticed the white-blond head of the man standing beside him, somewhat bowed as he spoke to his son.

*

Draco tried not to roll his eyes as his father attempted to look haughtily down at the lesser witches and wizards all around them, struggling because of his rather bowed stance from age and a few extended stays in Azkaban, the first when he’d been caught in the Department of Mysteries all those years ago and again the several months between the end of the war and his trial in which Potter had testified on the Malfoy family’s behalf and he’d been set free.

Glancing aside at his father, Draco was grateful that Azkaban had not had a worse effect on the proud man, as looking down to others would have proven much more difficult had his bones shifted any more. There was something sick about the place, Draco shuddered, and he owed Potter an immeasurable debt for sparing his father from that Dementor-infested prison. So it seems, were Lucius’ exact thoughts.

“Ah, look, there he is, the Savior of the Wizarding World,” Lucius Malfoy sneered.

Draco rolled his eyes once again, glancing only off-handedly back to where Harry Potter stood with his family, carefully passing over the sight of his wife’s red hair, unable to risk losing his train of thought and thinking of her in front of his father’s probing gaze. Instead, Draco merely shrugged, glancing back down at his wrist watch and wondering when the damn train would arrive.

“Look at that pretentious bastard,” Lucius continued, his displeasure deepening, unable to look away from the man he owed more than his life to. “I hate even looking at him,” he spat.

“Yes, well, I did tell you that I could manage picking up my own son well enough on my own,” Draco sighed. “You certainly didn’t have to come and be subjected to Potter’s atrocious company all on the other side of the bleeding platform.”

“Nonsense,” Lucius waved him off, straightening himself up to glance down the still empty train tracks once more. “It’s the last time my grandson will come home from that school and I intend to welcome him back properly.”

“You could have welcomed him home, at home,” Draco pointed out, smirking slightly knowing he was getting on his father’s last and very short nerves. “Astoria would have even kept you company, and you could have forgotten all about Potter while helping her order the house-elves into setting up for Scorpius’ arrival home.”

Lucius cast his son a withering glance that made Draco feel like he was only sixteen again, and he struggled not to roll his eyes as his father remained unamused. “You are patronizing me,” he spat.

“Perhaps,” Draco conceded with a shrug and playful smirk.

Lucius raised his head proudly, refusing to let his middle-aged son gain the upper hand in their petty battle. “You don’t understand what you would be asking me to miss,” he said. “Now that he has graduated, this will be the first time seeing my grandson as a full-fledged wizard.”

“As if he wasn’t one at his graduation you attended only a week ago,” Draco smirked.

“Enough. I tire of arguing with you simply for the sake of it.”

“Is that why you look so disdainful?” Draco chuckled.

“Unfortunately, no,” Lucius drawled, glancing back at the Potter family once more. “Every time that I catch sight of that scarred menace, I have the uncomfortable inclination to go and thank him for his testimony on my behalf,” Lucius spat out disgustedly. “These wizard’s debts are far too inglorious in my opinion and I despise every minute that I feel so inclined to reassure him of my unending gratitude.”

Draco shook his head to himself, glancing off down the still empty train tracks once more. “Do as you feel you must, but remember that I suggested you wait back at the manor,” he sighed, still smirking slightly.

Lucius cast him a disparaging glance before proudly turning on his heel and moving straight towards Harry Potter, hating every second of life that he had felt was indebted to the younger man.

Draco watched him go, finally letting his shoulders relax as he glanced past his father to where Potter was standing, Ginny beside him, hugging herself. Their eyes met for a moment and she quickly looked away, shame-faced and Draco felt as though he’d swallowed something awful.

Despite her looking away, Draco drank in the sight of her, remembering the morning she’d come to see him at work, the fear she’d tried to overcome to tell him her real motives for leaving, the fear she had been unable to get past and the truth she’d left buried, still haunting him, weeks after her visit, years after her departure. Swallowing painfully, Draco let his gaze trail over her scarlet, nearly waist-length hair, her slender waist and her Muggle jeans. He smirked at that, remembering how she’d once convinced him of wearing Muggle clothing as well, seeing that it had never quite lost its appeal to her. His eyes traveling back up, seeking out her face once more, Draco stiffened, seeing Potter’s arm loop itself around her shoulders. If he noticed the way his wife flinched, her body growing tight, Potter didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist, as if subconsciously reminding Draco that she belonged to him.

But Harry Potter was not directing any such thoughts towards Draco Malfoy, as when Draco blinked and tried to clear the sudden haze that had come over him, he saw that Potter was smiling weakly and nodding politely to his father, Lucius having gone to speak with him. Breathing shallowly in and out, Draco tried to calm himself, reminding himself that this was why he did not let himself linger on thoughts of Ginny, of the woman he could never keep his eyes away from for long. In a moment of pure weakness, he glanced back, seeing that she was still standing as rigidly as ever, her lower lip trembling as she struggled not to meet Draco’s father’s gaze.

His brow furrowing in confusion, Draco glanced between his father and Ginny, unsure of why she was so tense. She had always supported his father, if only to support him in the time they’d been together. Had she changed her mind about him in the years she’d spent with Potter, unable to even direct a proper smile at the man? No, no something wasn’t right, Draco realized, openly scrutinizing the three.

It had always been Potter who disliked his father. It had even been Ginny’s doing that he agreed to testify for the Malfoy patriarch at all, feeling that while the man’s family was innocent and redeemable, Lucius ought to rot in prison for the rest of his life. It was part of the reason Lucius hated thanking him so much, because Potter never wanted to help him.

Staring at the three people standing together, Draco felt his mind whirling back through his memories, an insistent feeling prodding at his mind. His eyes met Ginny’s for a moment and he froze, seeing the way her face crumpled upon seeing him, silent tears coursing down her cheeks. She averted her gaze, glancing sickeningly at his father and then staring down at her shoes, trying to keep her shoulders from shaking so long as her husband’s arm remained fixed around her waist.

Seeing her distress, something in Draco’s mind finally clicked and he felt as if all the air had been expelled from his lungs, his soul seemingly ripped from his body by the cold, harsh reality of what he’d just realized.

Potter hated his father.

Potter never had wanted him anywhere but in Azkaban.

Ginny had convinced him to testify on Lucius’ behalf, on Draco’s behalf.

And the trial had been the same morning Ginny had decided to leave him.

His breathing suddenly shallow, Draco took an unconscious step back, his mind reeling. He was going to be sick. He was going to fall to his knees and vomit out his humanity. Trying to focus his thoughts, his breathing, hearing the blood pounding in his ears, rage infusing every inch of his skin, Draco tried to keep his bearings, to keep from falling apart or launching himself forward across the station and ripping Potter to pieces.

He was going to kill him.

Memories, moments frozen in time and suppressed by hurt, flitted though his mind, burned against his retinas.

Ginny’s sixteen year old face, grinning cheekily up at him from the couch as he entered the flat, an insult ready on her lips to greet him with. The way her features had darkened, realizing something was wrong when he didn’t immediately respond. The feel of her hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder as she finally convinced him to tell her what was going on. The first time he’d cried in front of her, though only after hurling a frying pan against the back wall of the kitchen, raging about the Ministry and their witch-hunt, how both he and his parents could be sent to Azkaban after the brief two months he’d had thinking his life could piece itself back together. He remembered punching his fist through the wall, Ginny’s arms encircling him, her hands reaching up to bring his face down to hers, to let him bury himself in the slope of her neck. He felt his tears, soaking the neck of her Cannons jersey, the way her fingers ran through his hair. Her voice, usually quipping some snide insult directed towards him, instead had softened as she’d sought to comfort him, assuring him everything would be alright.

His memories stretched out, became longer and fit together seamlessly, like strips of a Muggle film, evidence that should have been so obvious if only her leaving hadn’t hurt him so badly. If only he had tried to make more sense of everything, if only he’d realized that the two were related, the trial, their relationship… It always had been that way; it should have been obvious.

His fears for his family and himself had brought out her compassion and his honesty, binding them together. Only now, standing in the train station with his mind and heart lurching, did Draco realize it had been what had ripped them apart.

Potter had not wanted to testify. He never had. And he had wanted Ginny to return to him, becoming impatient in the last several weeks of their living together. Draco remembered the difference, something he’d shrugged off at the time now standing out so blindingly clear.

Potter had given her time at first. He had come around every few days, eventually only once a week as he’d become bogged down with Auror training. He hadn’t realized that Draco and Ginny’s relationship was shifting until it was too late, having been gone and too busy to catch their shifting feelings any earlier. Harry had become enraged, hurt, coming by more and more frequently, insisting that Ginny come back to him, wear his engagement ring and finally marry him.

Draco had never been present for these confrontations but he remembered the state he always found Ginny in afterwards, miserable and in tears.

He remembered the first time he’d come home from looking into his father’s trial, both his own and his mother’s having been decided months earlier, Lucius’ pushed back as far as possible by the vengeful Ministry.

Draco had Apparated directly into the living room, his brow furrowing as he didn’t see Ginny there or in the kitchen. He called her name, wandering down the small hallway and glancing into her bedroom, seeing it was empty. The bathroom door was wide open, and she wasn’t there either. Feeling nervous and calling for her again, Draco had gone to search his own bedroom, taking a step back when he saw her lying on his bed, her red hair disheveled and tears streaking down her cheeks.

“Gin, what’s the matter?” he’d asked, sitting down lightly beside her and brushing her hair away from her face. Her brown eyes, full of tears had glanced up at him, her lower lip trembling.

She had softly admitted that Harry had come by again and Draco had stiffened, wondering why this time she was crying, though the pang in his chest told him he already knew the answer. Harry hadn’t come around much since their relationship began becoming something more. He’d been too busy with work and they hadn’t wanted to tell him. The tears in her eyes were evidence enough that he knew now.

“W-what am I doing here?” Ginny asked in choked whisper. “What am I doing h-hiding away from m-my boyfriend… trying to put off marrying him…”

“That’s no reason to cry, Gin,” Draco soothed, lightly rubbing her shoulder, she still not having moved in the slightest, her cheek pressed against his pillow, tears still falling and he wondered how long she’d been lying there.

“N-no?” she laughed, tears tumbling down her cheeks. “Then what is?”

Draco leaned down to press his lips to her temple, sitting up once more and still rubbing her shoulder. “Clearly I am the much better flatmate, better bloke, better shag…” he trailed off.

“You think so, we haven’t quite tested that theory yet,” she chuckled, smiling tearfully up at him.

“Do you consider him your boyfriend still?” Draco asked quietly, trying not to pressure her into answering a certain way but wanting to know, needing to know how she felt, needing to know if he was only setting himself up for heartbreak from a girl he couldn’t possibly bring himself to ever leave.

Ginny stared up at him, not saying anything for a moment. “I don’t know what any of us are,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t know if I’m engaged or not, as technically Harry says all I did was postpone it…”

“Run away, more like,” Draco cut in gruffly.

Ginny sighed, staring miserably down at his now tear-stained pillow. “I’m living with you, but… but those weren’t our original intentions when we signed the lease…”

“And now?” he questioned.

“Now,” she chuckled, “I’m fending off continuous pursuits from you every day.”

Draco smirked, lifting her hand to press a kiss against her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers.

She smiled weakly up at him, the curve of her lips seemingly forced. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“You’ll have to make a decision eventually,” Draco whispered somberly.

“I know, that’s what Harry says…” she trailed off.

“How soon?” Draco asked, hoping she didn’t catch the way his breath hitched, his world seeming to upend just at the thought that she might ever leave him.

She shook her head sadly back and forth, tears falling once more. “I don’t know. All I know is he said soon… and I’m no sooner to knowing what I want…”

“I know what I want…” Draco whispered, leaning down enough that she couldn’t possibly look away from him, his silver eyes piercing hers.

“What?” she breathed, heedless to the way her eyes glittered with teardrops clinging to her eyelashes, her scarlet hair scattered around her in a tangle that left her looking stunning, her lips slightly parted in question.

Draco leaned down to swiftly capture her lips with his, closing his eyes against the threat that she might ever leave him, hoping that by making himself forget, he could make her forget, make her forget Potter and stay with him forever.

He never thought twice that he should have been using that time to plead with her and ensure she stayed his.

When she returned his kiss and let him roll them both over so that he was holding his weight above her, he never thought he would have to.

She was his perfect match, and nothing should have torn them apart.

“Oh, my God,” Draco breathed, trying to keep his heart from throwing itself against his ribs like a caged animal, wanting to rush to Ginny, to kill Potter… to kill himself for having been so stupid.

She had loved him.

She’d sworn only days before the trial, when he had cried to himself for hours in the locked bathroom, she had laid down outside the door, her gentle voice coming from behind the crack beneath the door, promising him that everything would be okay, that she would be there for him, never leave him, that she would never let anything come between him and his family if she could help it.

She had been what came between them.

Potter had wanted her back and had asked her for an answer only minutes before the trial, minutes before his father’s fate was decided. He couldn’t have asked any earlier than then, because Draco had been home, he would have remembered, would have noticed and read it in Ginny’s expression. But she had been happy, they had been happy.

She had loved him.

And all these years he thought she had chosen Potter to be rid of him.

She had saved him.

Feeling twenty-six years worth of self-hatred, questioning, and loathing building up inside of him, Draco directed all of his fury at the black-haired man standing across the platform, his arm still around Ginny’s waist.

Draco moved towards him, as if in a thick fog that slowed his movement, heedless of the train barreling into the station, the engine’s horn blaring into the cavernous platform, echoing all around them. It was hardly a sound compared to the blood rushing in his ears.

Moving past the other witches and wizards, Draco never let his eyes off of Potter, pushing past some, his hands balling into fists, itching for his wand in his robes. He knocked straight into another man, ready to push past when he realized it was his father, Lucius’ hand clamping down on his shoulder.

“What has gotten into you, Draco?” Lucius demanded incredulously. “The train’s here. Your son’s getting off, two hundred feet behind you,” he said, nodding his chin forward.

Draco glanced back, somehow taking in what his father was saying while simultaneously shrugging it off, not hearing it. It was unimportant, it could wait… Ginny couldn’t wait… Not any longer…

“Draco,” Lucius snapped, shaking his shoulder, his silver harsh gaze piercing his son’s. “I don’t know what has gotten into you, but you will turn around and greet your son properly. This is his first time returning as a true wizard…”

“True wizard, right,” Draco struggled to glance past his father, catching sight of Ginny and seeing her throw her arms around Potter, hugging him to her and smiling past her tears in utter relief. He blinked, feeling sick, finally realizing with immeasurable relief that it wasn’t Potter, it wasn’t her husband she was cleaving to her but her son, a boy no older than Scorpius, though he was undeniably the spitting image of Harry Potter.

Trying to calm his breathing, Draco stared after her, his eyes never leaving Ginny’s tear-filled eyes, the smile she struggled to plaster on. He felt his body turning at his father’s prodding, his feet moving in the opposite direction, his head finally turning as he was directed back towards his son, his footsteps stilling as he caught sight of him, his blond head bowed as he kissed his girlfriend goodbye, her red hair concealing her face from his view.

He was staring at his past, seeing himself and Ginny…

But he blinked and it wasn’t them…

Potter had ensured that there never would be a them…

“Greet your son,” Lucius hissed in his ear, pushing him forward. Draco swallowed, watching as his seventeen-year-old son glanced up at him, sheepishly releasing Lily Potter’s hand and murmuring a short goodbye, moving towards his father.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, glancing away awkwardly.

Blinking once, Draco brought his arms around his son, embracing him as he muttered gruffly in his ear, “Welcome home, Scorpius.”

He then released him, carefully avoiding the questioning look in his son’s eyes, letting his father welcome his only grandson back, Draco’s thoughts traveling back to Scorpius and Lily, to a Malfoy and red-haired girl, two heads bowed, silver eyes meeting brown.

He felt as though his heart had stopped in his chest and when he glanced back to try and catch sight of Ginny once more, she was already gone, nothing but the blur of other witches and wizards moving before his searching silver eyes.