I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)

I am never anywhere without it (Anywhere I go, you go, my dear; And whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)

I want no world (For beautiful, you are my world, my true)

And it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

E.E. Cummings

She didn't understand. This is how it had to be

He had tried, really hard, to keep her satisfied. Not just sexually, really, but generally.

It wasn't easy, but at least the truth was coming out.

She wondered why they just couldn't make up like the last billion times.

He thought he was doing the right thing. It was just time to let go.

She was making things more difficult than they had to be.

He had tried, for weeks now, to withdraw from her. He spoke in a flat tone, it was cold, rude.

He could see it killed her though. But he couldn't help it. He needed her safe.

He couldn't take anymore, it was killing him. You didn't know the meaning of pain until you experienced something like this.

So much pain, he had caused. It was obvious. Those pillows, on her bed, didn't wet themselves. She lay there every night, and cried for him. He knew it.

Why, he didn't know, would she cry for him, a human being so deep in his own shit that it wasn't even funny.

It was absurd, actually that she could love someone like him, someone so cruel and unfeeling.

It was abnormal, because Hermione Jane Granger was the most important thing that life offered. To him, anyways.

It was the little things about her, everything that made her. She was kind, and forgiving. She had a dimple on her left cheek whenever she smiled. When she was happy, she would smile wide and proud, showing her perfectly aligned, shiny, bright white teeth. Her hair, which was the color of cinnamon, was bushy and just screamed, "NOTICE ME!". It was a part of her character. It was so soft, so plush. She brushed it often, leaving it silky. Draco loved to run his hands through it and feel the sensation.

It was the way that she woke up early on Saturday mornings, and made him breakfast. His favorite of course, waffles with fresh strawberries, butter, and Hermione.

It was how, when she was angry, her nose would scrunch up like she smelt something terrible.

It was her tongue, and how incredibly pink and tiny it was.

It was her lips, so plump and edible.

It was her skin, so soft, yet firm and tan.

It was the way, after work, she would change into some grubby old sweats, put on her fluffy pink slippers, and lounge on the couch.

It was how she was gorgeous she never needed makeup, yet she insisted on wearing it.

It was the way, at night, they would cuddle, and she would wrap her arms around him, kiss him on the nose, and tell him she loved him.

It was her corny jokes, that she thought was hysterical.

It was the way she blushed, even after year of them dating, when she caught him staring at her.

It was the way that when it was raining, she would encourage him to go outside with her and jump in puddles.

It was the way that she was a sex kitten in the sack.

And it was the way Hermione Jane Granger loved.

She was perfect, and wholesome, and needed. But he had to let her go.

What chance would they have in the real world? Sure, in school, everything was okay. They had protectors, and little corners they could jump into when someone came around the corner and they happened to be holding hands.

There were ways to hide it from his folks. There were ways to hide it from Weasley and Potter.

There would be none out there.

Whilst he thought, Hermione sat there patiently and waited. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, his were cold and emotionless.

He stopped, and looked at the pitiful sight before him.

Her eyes looked into his, screaming, "Why?"

He turned away. "Don't you see Hermione. The war… The war is coming. And… If something…" He couldn't bear to say it.

"Nothing." She murmured. "Nothing will happen to you."

"How can you be sure?"

"I can. I just know." She whimpered.

He stared at her, then back to the brand on his arm.

And he chose.

He got on one knee, Draco Malfoy, age 17, got on one knee and proposed to the only person he'd ever truly loved.

"Hermione Jane Granger, will you marry me?"