Wanderer

Some Hope

AN: Hi guys! Sorry I've been so rubbish at updating! I've kind of lost a bit of inspiration for the fic and started another Tomione AU which I have more inspiration for, but I received a few really lovely reviews this past week that have given me the motivation to sit down and write! Things are PROGRESSING in this slowest of slow burns, I promise you.

Chapter Twenty Nine – Some Hope

June

The day of his birthday, Draco slept in.

He knew without having looked at the clock, because his head felt heavy and his chest light, and the way the sunlight filtered through the kelp and seaweed on the lakebed was brighter than usual, sunflower yellow instead of muted and dull. It rippled across his bed, dancing along the pale expanse of his skin. He raised his hand and watched it flit through his fingers.

Another year gone. Another three hundred and sixty five days. Another twelve months. Time was flitting through his fingers, sifting like the sands of an hourglass. It had scared him before, how quickly his stolen life was carrying on, as though the war hadn't happened, as though hundreds and thousands of people hadn't had their time cut brutally short whilst he stumbled on.

Draco breathed deeply, hand falling to his chest.

Nineteen. Before him stretched the responsible and trying years of adulthood and for all that he felt he had been born anew, a gasping infant to such a new and unfamiliar world, Draco simultaneously felt like the same boy that had hidden his shaking hands in the sleeves of his robes on September 1st all those years ago. The burden of duty had always weighed him down, first his name, then the Mark, and though he remained burdened with both, there was something lingering in the air that morning that made him breathe more freely. His future was stretched before him, an unending, winding road, but Draco swore there was some glimmer of light, some hope, waiting for him at the end.

It was a strange feeling, one he had not felt in such a long time, but it was unforgettable, impossible to ignore. A lazy smile pulled at his lips.

Draco allowed himself a few more seconds in bed, the comfort and warmth foreign but welcome, before he couldn't justify it any longer and got up. It was a weekend, early June, summer in full bloom. He buttoned up his shirt, then stopped abruptly, catching sight of the dark, garish smudge on his forearm in the mirror, where the sleeve had slipped.

Freezing, he stared at it. Before he diverted his eyes, straightened his shirt and rolled both sleeves to his elbows. The cream Blaise had given him for Christmas was locked and warded in his drawer, and Draco reversed the magic, taking the tub and sitting on his bed. He turned his arm, skin pale, the Mark dark, and he only stared at it for a moment or two before he began to apply the cream, relishing in the way every line disappeared under his fingers.

It felt odd, tingling as the magic took effect. It felt like a second chance.

Draco put it back in his bedside table drawer, warding it shut again, and slid his shoes on before he left. He knew nobody would either care or remember his birthday, but he couldn't shake the slightly euphoric feeling in his stomach, the victory that he had survived this far, that things were finally looking up.

The Common Room was almost empty as he passed through it, making his way to breakfast. If the sunlight bathing his room was anything to go by, most people would be outside or down in Hogsmeade. At least the castle would be quiet today.

Draco found Blaise immediately when he entered The Great Hall, moving over to sit beside him and helping himself to some food. His friend didn't acknowledge him, merely slid a black tub to him.