A/n- So, I have decided to break chapter 20 into two parts because I would like to punctuate a certain action with a pause between chapters. Don't fret- this won't make either exceedingly short, just more poignant.

Disclaimer: I laugh at you.

Summary: Quite possibly the first time Draco Malfoy admits to having made an error.

Jackknifed

He had read, somewhere, in a muggle history text Hermione had brought one day- much to Draco's initial chagrin- a section on the Roman Empire. For the life of him, Draco had no idea what had brought him to even take an interest in the document, but there it was.

The fact of the matter was that not a single piece of information had really stayed with Malfoy, save one, a quote from the Emperor Marcus Aurelius:

"Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart."

Now, sitting ridged in the Great Hall at breakfast, naught but two painful weeks and a day after his and Hermione's silent defeat- if you could call the little breakdown silent- Draco wished he had remembered that tidbit of seemingly useless information when it would have counted.

Pushing around his bacon with a fork, Draco came to one unimaginable and unutterable conclusion:

He was an idiot.

.o.o.o.o.

If someone, afterward, would have asked Draco what he did on that balcony after Hermione had left, the Slytherin would have sworn he couldn't remember. If only it was that simple, if only that was the whole truth.

After blinking away half-dried tears, the boy fell spent against the stone, his head back, his legs pulled up into a crossed position.

He laughed then, a piteous sound gurgling stirring up from his chest, which seemed ripped; voice hoarse from the strangled noises he suppressed. Something had snapped within his soul, a kind of high-wire that had slowly been becoming more and more stable in the recent days. Well, that was shot to hell.

The laugh spilled into the chilly morning, and Draco doubled over, sides in stitches, cracking up so jovially his stomach turned to knots. He thought of Potter's face when he found out, of the Weasel's if he did, the faces of Zabini, Pansy, his father, Snape- oh god it was too comical.

Hermione's face flashed in front of his eyes, her soft curly hair, her pursed lip smile, those knowing eyes… all drenched in sadness.

Draco didn't know when his laughter had dissolved into wracking sobs, but they had, and when he raised himself to his feat, he was still sucking in surprised breaths.

That was the point at which, after, Draco couldn't really remember much. He kept on tapping his own head with his wand, murmuring any kind of anti-headache charm; pick-me-up spell; or calming conjuration he could think of, stumbling sullenly thought the halls.

They worked too, like a immense draught of sleeping pills; and the only indication Draco had that he had made it back to his Common Room was the fact that he was laying face down on the hearth rug a few hours later- when a fellow Slytherin had had the common courtesy to nudge him with their foot on the way to breakfast. Malfoy was slightly perturbed when he found out, a few days after, that people had walked by all morning while he lay there, motionless, before someone had thought that they should check if he was still breathing.

Regardless, Draco, at the slight touch of the sole, had jerked himself awake, twitching so violently that the fellow with the foot jumped back in shock, the girl he was with letting out a shriek of comic surprise.

Draco glared up at the girl and as she caught sight of him, her voice died in her throat. She glanced at her companion, an eyebrow raised and a slightly uncomfortable look on her face. The boy grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

Malfoy, sitting up slowly, rested the palm of his hand against his forehead.

Dear Lord, what was becoming of him?

Zabini tried to wave him over, but Draco ignored him, standing awkwardly in the middle of the Common Room for a few moments, staring off into nothing, his pale eyes widening, turning to slits, then widening again.

Finally, as if someone had slapped the boy up round the head, Malfoy clicked out of his stupor. Heaving a long sigh, he starting down towards the staircase leading to his lower dorm.

He prayed silently that no one would follow him.

The solid oak door of the dorm closed shut with a vacuum like thud, reverberating round the small room, tomb like.

This did not lighten Draco's mood.

Sitting gingerly down on his four poster, he shouldered off his cloak, hanging it down over the edge of the bed, proceeding to then pull his sweater over his head.

Malfoy felt extremely constricted; something only to be elevated by the removal of clothing. He reached for his shirt collar.

Sitting back against the headboard, now shirtless, Draco ran a hand through his hair.

Why hadn't he said something when he had the chance?

A few days passed after that Sunday, and a few after that. Malfoy had tried to forget all about Hermione- what they could have been and what they were, but it was impossible.

Instead he poured himself into his work, Quidditch having lost most of its appeal after the game on Wednesday in which he had looked down expecting to see Hermione in the stands and quickly realized that she wasn't going to be there.

Now, he showed up for class, was early even. Snape was so giddy; he nearly didn't know what to do with himself. Some days, on rare occasion, although it was becoming a slight more frequent, the Potion's Master would open his door prior to class and see the blond already standing opposite the hallway.

It was painful in that Potions class, as Draco knew it would be. He sat, silently, taking notes on a borrowed roll of parchment, not but feet from the Gryffindors.

There was no way to express his fury when they joked with her, like nothing was wrong. It only gave him a sick sense of gratification to hear her say nothing back, their voices dying flatly against the awkward silence no one could detect.

He could detect it.

And it was driving him mad.

"You're not eating." A voice had called to him that night while he toiled over the Potion's homework.

Draco ignored Pansy's concern and only focused more readily on the parchment.

As if fishing for a fight, Pansy had repeated herself no less then three more times, adding on the end of the last…

"You think I don't notice."

So what?

That concern, that fake concern, only infuriated Malfoy further and soon after Pansy's snide comment, Draco had ceased sleeping as well.

It was just, every time he closed his eyes, he saw her; her smile, her laughter, her lips so close to his yet never touching.

And throughout his emotional and physical starvation, Malfoy continued to ask himself the same two questions:

Why had he done it?

and

Had he done the right thing?

.o.o.o.o.

Now, glaring at his untouched bacon, those questions were still running through Draco's head.

He had pushed her away, called it off, for her own protection.

It was safer to hedge his fear- the fear of the love he felt, the fear of… something unattainable finally becoming such- on some noble act, like he was saving her or something daft like that.

It was not because he was frightened of what Potter or what the Weasel might have done to him, not what the Slytherins would have done, not even what his father would have done that scared Malfoy to the point at which he pushed her away.

He did it to protect her.

There was that innate fear that, if they did defy society, Hermione would be put into a situation where Draco could not save her.

And Draco would die if anything happened to her.

The blond reached for his fork and stabbed a sausage, glancing up to his goblet of orange juice, raising his eyes just a fraction over the table… he saw her, sitting opposite him at the Gryffindor table.

She was smiling, only the corners of her mouth upturned slightly in order to hide her sadness.

He paused, the fork halfway to his lips, a breath caught in his chest.

As terror overtook him, Hermione turned her head and their eyes locked.

Draco ceased to breath, Hermione's ghostly smile fading away.

Protect her.

There was such a look of longing in her gaze.

He was protecting her.

But then, if she was willing to risk that, her life, would not his honor of that risk be worth more then her so-called safety?

Was his protection denying her the right to put her life on the line? For him?

For them?

Draco's stomach clenched from hunger, his body drained from fatigue.

It wasn't worth it anymore, his pain, their pain.

Hermione, as if seeing the turmoil rolling silently in Draco's gaze, became stiff.

She could sense his distress, sense his frustration.

She knew what he was going to do.

Slowly, fractionally, she moved her head to the left, then to the right.

No. She was saying with her eyes, but Draco wasn't listening anymore.

His fork clattered onto his plate

Hermione had come down to the Great Hall that Monday morning with Harry at one shoulder and Ron on the other.

It was easy to do this, to walk, silently, nodding every once in a while to an offhand joke while not really hearing a single word. Doll-like, awake when instructed and lifeless when convenient.

It wasn't that Hermione was becoming depressed or anything, she still found joy in the same things she had before Harry had found out. It was that her heart was broken; she needed time to mend and recover; from Draco's absence, from Harry's crulety.

It surprised Hermione that she didn't hate Draco for what he had said that Sunday morning.

Even more surprising was that she slightly agreed with him.

Perhaps it was too good to be true. Perhaps he was right in telling her to choose life over love.

In truth, Hermione blamed Harry and Ron for her shredded feelings. They were the ones who hated Malfoy, detested him, and forced Hermione to choose between her friends and her heart.

Sitting down that morning, Hermione came to one unimaginable and unutterable conclusion:

She loved Draco and, given the choice again, would forsake Harry and Ron for him.

.o.o.o.o.

Two weeks prior to that breakfast, Hermione promptly ran back to the Common Room following her and Draco's termination.

Bitterly, Hermione wished she had the Time Turner.

As the portrait hole closed, Hermione threw the Marauder's Map down on the floor, glaring at it.

Somone across the room stirred.

"Hermione?"

"What Harry?" She snapped, glaring at him, tears still fresh in her eyes.

"Did you… you know?" He started awkwardly, leaning off the chair he was perched on, hands clasped, as if he had been waiting for her.

"What?" Hermione snapped again.

"End it?"

Hermione let out a long breath which came out in a whistle.

"If you must know, he ended it and not because he wanted to break my heart either."

Harry gave a 'humph' sound.

Oh, that was enough to set her off.

"Your so pompous, Harry Potter! Do you have any reason why he-"

"To break your heart. It's Malfoy, we discussed this."

"To save our friendship, Harry!" Hermione exasperated. "He was worried that what we had become would destroy your, mine, and Ron's camaraderie! He said that my loyalties to Gryffindor were worth more then what he could give me! "

Your such a liar, Granger! Hermione thought bitterly. Loyalties mean nothing to you without him.

Harry stood, slowly, brushing off his trousers as he looked at her. His hand rested on his hip, his gaze calculating, as if he was seeing her for the first time in a long time.

Seeing her as a woman.

A woman, who, was shaking like a leaf, rooted to the ground.

Harry walked forward and extended his arms, pausing, unsure. Tentatively, he clasped Hermione in an awkward hug.

"It was for the best, Hermione. I promise, just wait and see."

Hermione never hugged back.

A few days passed after that Sunday, and a few after that. Hermione had tried to forget all about Draco- what they could have been and what they were, but it was impossible.

Instead of acting out the way Draco had, lashing out in a self destructive way, Hermione kept her emotions hidden from her friends, and after she was convinced Harry did not tell Ron about her little secret, she even forgave the boy, if slightly.

It was a strange grief that she experienced.

For moments in the day she felt whole, complete again, as if her friendships, work, and life actually contended her. It was nearly shameful for Hermione, how at moments she forgot his face.

But as soon as Potions started, she saw his shock of blond hair at meals, or heard about him in terms of Quiddich, a new kind of pain- that of longing- gripped her.

Potions class was the worst.

It was a time where Hermione sat just across the aisle from Draco Malfoy. Where she entered class to see him already seated at a desk, she had to force herself to walk past.

Occasionally she would glance at him but he would always be looking down at his work or away from her.

Perhaps that was how he dealt with the pain; silently. Oh how she wanted to take him in her arms, smooth back his blond hair with her hand and kiss his forehead, cradling him.

She thought she heard Harry pipe up with a joke, but Hermione wasn't listening.

That night, sitting in front of the fire, Hermione pondered over why she had been so calm when Draco had suggested her calling it off. Especially since she had blown up at Harry moments before over the same topic.

Perhaps it had seemed more reasonable coming from Draco, because, really, he hadn't truly said they had closed the book on their relationship forever. Perhaps that was what Hermione was going on.

That thin hope that their pause might be indefinite… but the wait hurt her so.

He was protecting her; he had done the right thing.

Hadn't he?

.o.o.o.o.

Harry nudged Hermione's arm lightly as she swirled her goblet round and round in her cupped hands.

Hermione looked up, slightly startled by his touch and smiled halfheartedly at him.

He knew she was still sore, hurt, devastated, but he had tried to make up for it.

"You all right Hermione?" He asked, the love in his eyes genuine. Hermione smiled back, the corners of her mouth turned slightly upward, masking her hurt.

She nodded, taking a sip of juice and glancing away from the table, eyes darting round familiar and unfamiliar faces.

She found Draco staring at her, gaze locked with hers for the first time in weeks.

Hermione's blood ran hot.

She couldn't breath, looking at him like that.

In a rush of shame the memories of their moments together flooded her mind- her heart- and she felt a terror grip her.

A fire raged within his gaze, a painful conclusion.

She knew what that meant.

In a last ditch effort to stifle the oncoming storm, Hermione shook her head fractionally left and right.

No. She silently pleaded, hoping her words would reach him.

Don't do it.

We'll be fine.

I'll be fine, we'll live.

Its better to live apart then die together, Draco, isn't it?

…isn't it?

But he was beyond her silent pleas and Hermione watched, almost in slow motion, at his fork clattered down into his plate.

A/n- kind of sad, but don't worry, it wont be like that for long! besides, we need conflict!

Hope I didnt keep you waiting too long - hehe.

2 more to go!

Review!