His father was still out there somewhere, and whether or not his mother had chosen Draco in the end, she still loved his father. He still didn't know what was going to happen after the war was over if they even won, because the Order couldn't make promises about his freedom. They could only try, and so Draco was acutely aware his future still could involve a cell in Azkaban, instead of marriage to Hermione Jean Granger. And the mission to Gringotts was tomorrow and he wasn't ready for it – none of them were – and they were all worried and tangled up in nervous knots. But today was his birthday, and Hermione had baked him a cake – with sprinkles on it, she'd pointed out with absurd pride – and they'd sung him Happy Birthday standing around the table, Weasley singing some rude Muggle version about Draco smelling like a monkey.