acceptance
infinity.
Noisy and crowded.
Draco looks around helplessly, practically sandwiched between Ron and Harry. This can’t get any worse, but then again this is what he gets for agreeing to go to the pub with them on a Friday night.
Tonight, there is only one topic that everyone can seem to talk about. The paper has published an opinion piece about the legitimacy of symbols, and Draco finds his luck worsening when she proudly sticks out her wrist mid-conversation.
They all gather around her mark; it stands out on her skin with quiet elegance. A laugh suddenly interrupts his train of thought.
“It was clearly a load of bollocks in the end! I don’t need any sort of symbol to tell me that Ron is my soulmate – it’s a feeling.” Hermione’s eyes seem to sparkle when she speaks animatedly, and he wonders how, after all these years, nothing seems to dull them.
“A feeling of home, of knowing he is my person. No mark could have ever told me otherwise.”
The women chatter amongst themselves, swapping stories of marks and debating the validity of the meaning. Luna – ofcourse she would – believes stubbornly in the meaning behind these marks, and Draco swears it sends a chill down his spine when she turns to glance at him with that strange expression on her face.
Ron and Harry join in, sharing their own stories and swapping theories. Ten years, he thinks to himself. You would think the novelty had worn off, but it seemed to hold true that the unknown was both soul-crushingly terrifying yet utterly fascinating.
Finally, she turns to him, and Draco shows nothing, just like the last time they spoke.
And the time before that.
And the time before that, until ten years flew by and now, he finds himself once again preparing a passable response.
What truly catches him off guard, knocking into him with a senseless brutality, is the blissful simplicity.
“What about you Draco? Did you ever get a mark?”
Noise fades and stillness is a welcome sound. Devoid of emotion and hesitation.
He knows the price he will pay for infinity.
“No.”