The follow up question caught Harry off guard; judging by the way Malfoy’s expression wavered, it seemed like it had surprised him, too. It was well past midnight and the pace of their conversation finally felt like it was genuine, however tentatively that might be; the tone was still a give and take of trial and error.<br/>Harry’s cheek left his hand, and, with a delay, the corner of his smile upturned, humoured.<br/>"Well, I was 19, so I don’t know either," he grinned, unfairly displacing the blame onto Ginny who had only been 18 and some odd weeks by the time they married in January. In reality, Harry didn’t mind the criticism; maybe he would have, a lifetime ago where he was certain he was in a happy, stable marriage. Now he had nothing to show for that could disprove Malfoy’s point.<br/>"We didn’t think we’d make it to 18, at all," he mused, relaxed in the face of his own mortality. He didn’t ask, but he expected Malfoy to share the sentiment.<br/>Harry had once again slumped back against the backrest, and his smile had softened by the creeping exhaustion. He wondered if Malfoy had known about the wedding in real time, or if he had quickly done the math. "In comparison, getting married was easy."