Tears are forming in her brown eyes, but she doesn't stop. "I see Ron and Hermione together all the time, and they're just so happy. They do everything together, and I can tell that they really love each other. I want that, Draco. Don't you think I deserve it?"
And he can tell her nothing, because it's true, she deserves it, she deserved to be loved and cherished and have someone who can give her the world.
But he can't.
Draco looks around the foyer wildly, searching for something, anything, to say, to convince her to stay with him. Because he needs her, and he always will. But the haughty portraits of his ancestors on the walls only sneer at him, whispering, pretending to be scandalized by his weakness. Over a Weasley, no less.
The truth is, he is not what she wanted. He will always be arrogant, and selfish, and cold. He will take a long time to open up to her, and he will never be able to give her the life she wants so desperately, because he is a Malfoy, and her parents hate him. He isn't the one the hero of the wizarding world. He commands no respect or goodwill from the community.
He is rich, and he is beautiful, and he loves her.
But it isn't enough.
The door slams behind her, offering Draco only a fleeting view of her shimmering, fiery red hair. Echoes slowly die out as a young man drops to his knees on the cool, elegant stone floors of proud Malfoy Manor.
She is gone. He is broken.