Draco stayed quiet under the rest of the train ride. Ginny didn't mind. The rain that had been pouring outside under a big part of their trip was over, and a magnificent rainbow had appeared instead. She watched the stunning light phenomenon, trying to capture its beauty in a picture her mind could save. She'd always had a thing for rainbows, had always admired their heavenliness. As a little girl, she always stopped whatever she was doing just to run out in the garden, just to be able to see that rainbow more clearly. She strongly remembered one specific time, when her family was having dinner together and a rainbow appeared – she had dropped her fork right on the wooden table and run outside. Leaving the dinner table without explanation was not appreciated – she went to bed hungry that night, but still didn't regret her choice. Eventually, she'd learned to control the impulse a little, but every time she saw a rainbow occur, she had to stand still for a moment just to fully embrace its beauty. She had to.

Draco Malfoy liked rainbows, too. He had memories connected to them, both good ones and bad ones, but overall, he liked them. They stood out wherever they took shape, they didn't have to blend in, and they never failed to be beautiful. Rainbows were so breath-taking, so real despite of the fact that they were only an illusion created by light.

Rainbows were of great use in metaphors – they're only an illusion, but still exist, and their existence is noticed. They had quite a few resemblances with the monsters in his head.

The monsters no spell could kill, the monsters no words or actions could erase. He'd tried making them pleased, which explained the thin red scars on his underarms, but it didn't help. Eventually, he'd discovered that alcohol quietened them for a while, and he had welcomed that solution. He knew it was unhealthy, but it helped, and everything was better than listening to their high, sharp voices all day long – telling him how worthless he was, how worthless everyone thought he was, how extremely big his inadequacy was, how he should just die because no one would miss him. Maybe he looked pathetic when he sat there, by himself in a slovenly muggle bar at 1.30 AM, in the corner with a disgusting drink in his hand – but it was way better than the alternative. He could take the hangover, he could take his wife screaming at him, he could take it, because it told him absolutely nothing he didn't already know.

Draco had never learned about these monsters at Hogwarts. He may not have paid very high attention in Care of Magical Creatures – in fact, the only thing he truly remembered from those classes was the time he almost got his arm chopped off. These monsters attacked from the inside, like a poisonous draught – but Snape hadn't mentioned them, either. According to wizard knowledge and text books, monsters like this didn't seem to exist. And yet, if someone would've asked him, he would've answered that they were the worst kind of all. No physical shape meant no chance to use Stupefy or Avada Kedavra. He had yet to find a spell that could help better than the ways he had. And no one would ever help him, because Draco Malfoy, who had once been a popular and admired boy in school, was both shy and lonely nowadays.

He looked out through the window and wondered if rainbows ever felt lonely. Probably not. After all, light clearly lacks feelings. He observed the woman next to him instead. He still couldn't remember her name, but her flaming red hair was so beautiful when it spread out over her face. Her movements were so perfect as she leaned back into her chair, lost in thoughts. She was painfully attractive and hot and ravishing, but it was best not to think about it, because it didn't matter. He was irritating and pathetic, she was lovely and they were different. Draco wouldn't see her ever again. And it didn't matter, because he could barely remember what he had said to her and he was still sure it had been horrible.

The unevitable headache was approaching, coming closer and closer, and he silently swore to himself to never get drunk again, already knowing how great he would fail.

The redhead was now reading something she'd written in a notebook the exact colour of her hair, and he desperately hoped that he wasn't mentioned.

She was perfect in the way her hand gripped the pencil, in the way her brown eyes glittered when she did. She was perfect and he was a mess, and it was best for both of them never to meet again.

~3 months later~

When Draco Malfoy was a young boy, he had thought of Diagon Alley as something that never rested, never became empty or deserted. That's because the young, blonde boy, still playing with toy broomsticks, only knew the Diagon Alley as the place his parents took him to when he needed new clothes. And young Draco had loved walking down the old and beaten brick stones, watching all the people rushing in and out from shops. His father would say Hi to some people, introduce Draco and his mother, and Draco knew that the people Lucius Malfoy said Hi to, they were people worth talking to. That's what his parents taught him, and since most children believe their parents almost unconditionally until they reach a certain age, he believed it. He had been taught about the people not worth saying Hi to, the mudbloods and they were not to talk about, they were something unwelcomed, almost poisonous. Why they were different, he had no idea, but the people his father gave negative looks, those people were either mudbloods or blood traitors. The little boy had no idea about why there were differences in how you treat people on the street, but he still followed the rules.

Even if the little boy was unsure which people to talk to and which people to stare at, he had loved visiting Diagon Alley. It was alive, loud and noisy, wild and untamed, messy, happy and filled with different people. Diagon Alley was all the things the empty corridors he called home wasn't.

The young boy that had existed so long ago could've never pictured an empty Diagon Alley, but twenty-three year old Draco knew better. He may prefer drinking at muggle bars where he could be sure that nobody knew him, but he always finished his nights at Diagon Alley.

It was 3.54 in the morning now, the alley was dark and all the stores likewise. It was cold, especially with only a thin men's coat, but the corner he'd found was safe from the wind.

It was 3.55 in the morning, and he knew that he could go home.

It was 3.56 AM, and every normal person would've gone home instead of staying in a dark corner of Diagon Alley, sitting cross-legged on the ground.

It was 3.57 AM, and his wife would be furious with him when he came home.

He wasn't even drunk this night, he was just lonely and pathetic and really, really sad. Draco didn't want to be home, he didn't want more people screaming at him, he couldn't, couldn't take it. A lonely night in a corner of Diagon Alley could seem depressing, but to him, it was clearly preferrable to the alternative. The stones underneath him were not wet, but ice-cold nonetheless, and he shivered, thinking of the bed that awaited him at home if he was brave enough to go there. But he wasn't brave enough – The odds that he would be thrown back out on the streets were too big, he didn't have any explanation to what he had done, and he just couldn't take the angry looks Astoria would give him. Couldn't.

The moon still shone bright in contrast to the sky, and he wondered how long he would have to wait until dawn.

"Can't be long until dawn now", said Harry and gave the moving planets on his wrist a quick look. "We should head home."

"You don't have auror training tomorrow."

"No, that's exactly why I need to take care of my unfamiliar and abnormal opportunity to rest." He laughed a little. "It's not every day I have that."

"I know. After all, I'm the one that stays up waiting for you." She gave him a light kiss on the forehead, just a little to the right of the faded scar. They had shared a pleasant night out, laughing and talking and kissing, playing board games with Neville and Hannah at The Leaky Cauldron. They hadn't even noticed how late it became until Hannah jumped up from her chair, telling the guests it was closing time.

Going straight home seemed boring, even though the night air of late august was chilly. A walk had seemed much more tempting, a chance to talk about the things they so seldom had time to talk about. With Harry's auror training and Ginny's reporter job, their conversations were often both quick and lifeless, handling only the most necessary subjects – what would they have for dinner, how was work, do you feel like staying awake or going to sleep. Five days a week. Then the weekend came and Harry wanted to catch up at sleeping, that was, if he didn't have extra auror training. Ginny was sick of it by now. But her family loved Harry so much, she did love him too, they had so much history and memories, shared the same friends and interests.

Sometimes it all just seemed so predictable. And she was happy with things that way. But something in her heart, so deep in that it did hurt to reach it, reminded her that predictable wasn't always her favorite thing.

She liked predictable in the way of knowing that you had a home,money and a job, in the way of knowing that the people close to you were all healthy and happy, she liked predictable as in knowing there weren't any wars going on in the wizarding world right now.

She just had a burning love for unpredictable every now and then.

"I'm exhausted", said Harry when they reached the street where they had their apartment. "So I suggest we go home and sleep."

"Do that", answered Ginny. "I think I'm going to walk around for a bit, just to clear my head."

"You'll be fine without me? Your guardian?"

"Of course. You know very well that I can be my own."

"If you say so." He yawned, kissed her quickly, and started walking towards the entrance to their apartment. Ginny watched him every step of the way, and then, when the door slammed shut, she started walking the other way in a rushed pace.