I feel like I should have a plan for all this; that I should know exactly what I'm going to say, exactly what I'm going to do… but in all honesty, I don't. I have no clue what's going to happen, who's going to scream or cry or fight… I just don't know… and that's what scares me. I know I should be sad, or even angry, but I can't bring myself to believe that there's anything worse for me out there… because this is what it all comes down to. This is the fight that's going to change us. This is the fight… the last fight; the fight to end it all.

"I don't want this to happen," she whispers. She's sitting on the couch, watching me, studying me. I'm usually an open book to her, like the ones she spends hours reading, but not today. Today I'm closed off; I refuse to let her see how I'm silently admiring the way her loose hair falls around her face, still too short to reach the messy bun she's pulled it into; I refuse to let her see the way I think how adorable she looks in her pyjama pants and my shirt and old school jumper; I refuse to let her see the way I'm resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. I can't let her see how much this hurts me.

"It has to… you know we can't go on like this," is all I reply. I want to be harsh, but it comes out almost soothingly. I want her to realise that it's not working, but I know I don't need to. She knows it, I know she does. Three months of secrets, of lies, of hiding… it's hurting us both, and I can't have her hurting. I'm causing her one last bit of pain, so she can leave. She can find someone who she won't have to hide, someone she can love openly, someone she won't be hated for even speaking to.

"We can… you know we can. We've lasted this long. Please… don't – don't do this." She pulls her knees up and rests her chin on them, still studying me, still trying to see why I'm doing this. I look away from her, not wanting to see the pain in her eyes as the first tears start to fall.

"We can't. Not anymore." Not after seeing her face last week as she left for her first dinner with her old friends; she promised she wouldn't tell, for both of us, but I could see how much it hurt her to still be hiding it after so long.

She was quiet for a few minutes, before asking a question I didn't expect.

"There's someone else, isn't there?" I heard the hope in her voice; the hope that she was wrong, that I wasn't cheating. It hurt me to think that she didn't trust me, but I knew she did. She just wanted to eliminate possibilities – that's how her mind works. She analyses things and works to eliminate other things so she can find what she's looking for.

"No." I should have lied, it was there, on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't lie to her. I wanted to help her as much as I could, without hurting her. I knew it would still hurt her in the end, but I wanted to hurt her as little as possible. I couldn't stand the thought of her in pain, but this was necessary; I had to do it. I loved her.

"Why? What have I done? What did I do? Help – help me understand. Please."

"This needs to stop, Hermione. We need to end it."

"No – no we don't. We can fix this, like we always do. We can fix this." She was pleading now, the tears still falling.

"We can't fix it, it's too late." I was lying. It hurt to lie to her, but I had to do it. I loved her.

"Draco, p-please… I want – I want to stay with you. Do – do you want me to stay?"

"No." The lie was painful; so, so painful. But I had to do it. I loved her.

She sobbed, then. She hugged her knees tighter and rested her forehead against them, looking down and crying for all she was worth. After ten minutes, I got up from the couch opposite her and walked to sit beside her. I didn't touch her, even though I so badly wanted to. I couldn't do it, not now.

"You don't mean that… you can't mean that." Her hidden plea was obvious in her eyes as she looked up at me. She was in pain. It was necessary, though… I had to do it. I loved her.

"Hermione, I-" I started. I wanted to apologise, for everything.

"What did I do, Draco? Why do you hate me?" her pain transformed into anger, like it always did when someone hurt her. It was a trait I admired in her, her ability to hide her pain; though I never really admired it when she turned her anger on me.

"I don't hate you; I just think this isn't going to work."

"We'll make it work! Please, Draco. I don't – I can't lose you. Not after everything we've been through."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry." I whispered it, hoping she wouldn't hear, but I knew she did. She always heard me whispering, as if she listened for it. I knew she heard it, because she softened. She wiped away her tears and looked at me.

"You're doing this for me, aren't you? You want me to find someone else, so I won't have to keep it a secret from my friends."

She knew me too well.

"You have to… this is hurting you." I murmur. No point denying it; she'd figured it out.

"I don't want to." She replies. "I'll tell them. I don't – I don't care what they think. They'll get used to it. They know I've been sad about something, if I tell them, then – then they'll understand why I was so happy when we started all this. They'll know I was happy the day I moved in with you, because I moved in with you, not because I got promoted at a job I didn't even have."

I stare at her as she leans forward, kneeling in front of me, her enthusiasm and happiness obvious, and her decision made. We'd never have to worry about telling my friends, because I had none – and my parents were long gone. "You – you'd risk your friendship, just to stay with me? Are you sure?"

"I love you, Draco. I'll do anything for you," and with that, she kisses me.