DracoxY/n Imagines

One year ago

(Bear with me, I know Draco doesn't get married one year after the battle, but it just makes the imagine have more sense if it's presented one year after Voldemort's death.)

Draco met his wife's eyes, returning her smile. When she turned away from him, his smile dropped intensely.

"Excuse me," he managed before his eyes welled up. His wife waved him off as he closed the room door behind him, breaking down into full sobs as he sat on the bed, resting his head in his hands as he thought back to what happened one year ago.

The dark lord, made of elements of death, fearless, confident, he stood in front of them, with an army of cloaked men and women behind him, ready to kill for their master, ready to have blood trickle down their hands and forever mark themselves.

Draco, among the sea of Hogwarts staff and students, hiding behind people to avoid being seen.

(Y/N), looking desperately for his face; (Y/N), wanting to feel assurance from his calm gaze, from his sweet eyes.

Narcissa, capable of finding her son within seconds of scanning the crowd— when the time comes, she'll beckon him forward.

Lucius, afraid of what the dark lord would say if his son deemed lost or deemed as a coward, fleeing away. He too tried finding Draco's face, but failed miserably.

Harry, a dead but not dead corpse in his former teacher's hands. He tried hard not to breathe, tried hard not to let his chest go up and down. With a quick peek, he saw Hermione and Ron and Ginny sobbing and he saw his friends and wanted to grasp them, to assure them everything would work out as a horcrux had been destroyed when he was struck, a horcrux less to find.

Hermione, scared for what could happen in the foreseeable future. There were two outcomes, a 50/50 chance, something that made her heart beat. No one had the upper hand, she wanted to tell herself, but truly it was 75/25. Voldemort's army was truly outnumbering hers.

Ron, terrified for his family's and Hermione's life, grasped her hand for what could be the last time. He held her hand tight and never wanted to let go.

Draco choked out a sob, his hand running through his hair as he continued weeping, his breath shuddering as he continued visiting the memory.

"Draco," Narcissa beckoned, her voice soft, her voice inviting, her voice indicating a life of victory and a life with (Y/N).

"Draco," Voldemort repeated, his voice harsh, his voice forcing, his voice depicting a life full of misery and grief if he didn't obey.

"Draco," Lucius whispered, his voice weak, his voice neutral, his voice showing the disappointment in his son if he didn't step forward.

"Draco," (Y/N) said, her voice strong, her voice confident, her voice supporting, her voice telling him she'd always be with him if he made the correct choice.

Me, Draco thought. What is best for me? The good or the dark? A new family or the old one?

One word, two letters.

"No."

And he withdrew, his fingers intertwining with hers, intertwining with the girl of his dreams, the love of his life, his soulmate. The girl he'd sacrifice his life to protect, the girl who he'd love eternally.

And (Y/N) decided that he was her love, her soulmate, her source of happiness, her eternal lover and the person she'd stay beside forever.

"Draco," Voldemort tutted, shaking his head, cackling at the fact that the poor son would back away from power for love.