Draco slipped away from her before dawn. His fingers had lingered on her skin a moment longer, his nose buried in her curls, swallowing down the lump in his throat. The walk back to the dungeons had felt unfamiliar. He didn't recognize the corridors. For a moment he'd forgotten where he was, believing he was back at the Manor. When he entered his dormitory, he sat on the edge of his bed unfeeling and numb. Taking the letter out of the pocket of his robes he unfolded the parchment and read it once more. The last lines caught, replaying over and over in his mind.

I will simply die.

He crushed the letter in his fist, his eyes red with un-spilled tears. When he uncurled his fingers, all that remained was ash. Dusting it off his palm, he knew he'd never write another like it again. His ears were ringing and he could sense how his mind was beginning to close; when he blinked he was in an empty room with white walls. There wasn't a sound, barely a coherent thought. He knew it wasn't right, this place, this room he was in, and he tried desperately to get out. But every time he attempted to, a sharp wave of nausea assaulted him. He keeled over, his elbows on his thighs, his fingers twisted in his hair.

Parting his lips, he inhaled deeply.

The room was spinning. Not the room he was sitting in, the white room, the one he was trapped in.

He exhaled.

"Mate."

Draco's eyes snapped open.

He was back in his dormitory; sick to his stomach.

When he raised his head he saw that everyone else was still fast asleep but Blaise was propped up on his elbows facing him in the shadows; a sleepily frown on his face.

"Mate, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied softly, as to not wake the others up. "I'm fine."

His friend's frown grew deeper. "You sure?"

He nodded.

"Is Granger…is she…?"

Draco bit the inside of his cheek.

Alive, he thought. She's alive.

"She's fine," he clipped. Except you didn't want her to be.

Draco clenched his jaw, staring at Blaise. This is what he'd said would happen and maybe he'd wanted it to happen, wanted Hermione dead. For all he knew it was Zabini who'd been the one to tell Potter, and maybe he'd be the one to tell Voldemort, so he could take the Mark himself.

Looking around the room at the sleeping figures, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, they all wanted her dead, wanted him dead.

And why wouldn't they? They were all blood purists, death-eaters in the making and besides they hated him, hated her. Malfoys and Mudbloods; hated them both for different reasons. Even Theo had tried to tear them apart and then she'd been torn apart and afterward, put back together… and yet, they'd still be apart now.

Until…

Until…

Blaise had sat up in bed, his eyes glued to Draco as if he was unhinged; dangerous. But they were the ones who were dangerous. His enemies were everywhere, sleeping in the bed next to him, watching, discovering his secrets, ready to betray him.

"Draco…" And Blaise's hands were rising in a placating manner. "You sure you're okay?"

"Just peachy," he answered, his voice coarse.

His friend looked nervous. "Then why are you holding your wand out like that?"

Glancing down, he saw he had his hand wrapped tightly around his wand, resting on his knee, and wondered when he'd taken it out. Blinking furiously, he stood and left without another word.

Locking the bathroom door, he closed his eyes.

The world was dizzying.

His mind was fracturing.

Everything had to be let go; he couldn't breathe this way.

Just for a moment…

The doors which were always locked flew open, water pouring in everywhere, water trickling down his face, down his throat. His chest constricting, his wand falling to the floor because even that had become too heavy to hold. He was too heavy to hold. He fell to his knees. It was all too heavy and if he didn't take it off he'd suffocate.

He threw himself over the toilet. His stomach churned, the taste of bitter bile rising in his throat and with a violent lurch, he began to heave. Except there was nothing other than the rancid taste of his own organs and he imagined the rotting, decaying portrait of Dorian Gray. And it was exactly as it had been written in the book Hermione had given him, so why hadn't she seen it? Why hadn't he?

When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others.

Severus Snape had been right… he hadn't truly loved her… until now he'd deceived her… until now, he'd been so utterly selfish that he'd convinced himself that the risk was worth it.

And he felt sorry for having tricked her into loving him the way she did. For having let her think he could protect her. He wasn't capable of that, and that meant everything.

He was pathetic.

Rising from the floor on shaky legs he turned the tap on and rinsed his mouth of his vomit. Then he washed his face and ran a wet hand through his hair trying to fathom how he'd go about breaking up with Hermione. Maybe he could just stop speaking to her, ignore her till she understood. It would be like telling her without speaking. But even he wasn't cold-hearted enough to be as blunt as that.

He fumbled in the pocket of his robes searching for the half-full vial. Eyeing the nightshade, Draco only wanted to sleep today, and then he'd tell Hermione tomorrow.

Opening it, he took a large slug downing the remains. A calm washed over and he felt… numb.

But better.

So much better.

Draco had slept most of yesterday and no one had come to disturb him. The news of the fight between the Golden Trio and him had spread quickly from house to house. Macmillan had presumably told most of his friends in Hufflepuff and like dominos the entire student population of Hogwarts had come to hear of what had happened two nights ago in the Astronomy Tower. Although, which version of the story they'd heard, was another question. He assumed Potter and Weasley hadn't told anyone anything because none of the stories which were circulating mentioned anything about him and Hermione having a secret affair.

He was sitting in uncomfortable silence among the murmurs at the dining hall the next day. Pansy, Blaise, and Theo had been quiet since the incident, refraining from asking any questions and having taken up to asking if he was alright every few hours. They had all been there when he'd woken in the hospital wing and he hated the way they seemed to watch him as if he were a bomb set to detonate. Mercifully though, they were also the ones to tell anyone who asked him what had happened to bugger off, including Crabbe and Goyle, who were so persistent that Pansy eventually fed them both a version of the story.

"I've always told everyone," she'd said. "Harry Potter can't be trusted."

Then she'd looked to Draco hoping he'd be happy with her for vilifying Potter but he felt nothing and said nothing to add to the narrative. She'd cleared her throat and continued to eat as Crabbe and Goyle returned to their meal. He glimpsed Blaise's hand reach for hers underneath the table.

He looked away and to the Gryffindor table where Potter and Weasley were eating with their backs turned to the rest of the dining hall. Then Hermione walked in, and the entire hall fell silent for an instant as if she'd just walked in on them talking about her. She was walking and balancing an open book in one hand; engrossed in it. He almost wanted to smile. It had only been yesterday that she was in the hospital wing and today she was back to reading. Then by some fortuitous hell, as she was about to sit down, she looked up from her book and their eyes locked.

Her eyes spoke volumes. It said too much. It said I miss you, I love you, I want to see you.

His eyes darted from her and to the two figures of her best friends. She sat down opposite them. He looked away and pretended to eat, pretended not to care about being the topic of discussion around the school. He tried to pretend to listen to the little conversation that was going on at his table and he tried not to notice that the coin on his chest had grown warm.

Tonight, she'd said.

He replied, tonight.

So tonight would be when he'd tell her and he'd come up with a way to do so.

A few hours later, Draco stood in front of the door, fighting the same nauseating feeling he had yesterday. He knew he was late but it had taken so much energy and courage to find himself here. She wrapped her arms around him when he entered and hugged him tightly.

In his ear, she whispered, "You're okay. You were gone before I woke and I…" Her breath fell on his neck in a little sigh. "I'm just so glad you're okay, Draco."

Draco couldn't understand it. She'd almost died and yet her concern was for him and not her own well-being. It was the kind of compassion that would get her killed. It was one of the things he loved most about her. How much she cared, about everything, every little thing.

He was starting to hate it.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Tilting her head up, she gave him a small smile. "I'll live."

"Don't make light of what happened," he muttered, pulling away.

He was starting to hate her.

"I'm not," she argued.

He moved to sit at the edge of the bed and cradled his head in his hands.

"Hey," she cooed, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Stop being so grumpy. It's over now and—well things are a little strange but…"

Draco swallowed, his hands coming to steeple. He waited for her to finish speaking but her fingers were running through his hair. He couldn't look at her.

"I poisoned Theo," he blurted.

Hermione's fingers stiffened. "You what?"

Raising his eyes to look at her he said, "That's why he was in the hospital wing before… I gave him enough poison to make him violently ill."

He looked down to the floor. There was a moment of drawn-out silence and Draco swore it was the end. This would be the straw that broke the camel's back. She'd hate him, just as much as he hated her right now and she'd leave him.

"Ok," she sighed after a minute. "Let's… let's talk about this."

Draco's eyes snapped up to hers, his teeth clenched. He watched as she crossed her arms, pursing her lips. "There's nothing to talk about," he said in a low voice. "You said you'd leave if I hurt anyone else and I have, so…"

The reminder of her ultimatum seemed to come to her as a bigger shock than his confession. "Well, yes, yes," she stammered. "I did say that, so, let's sit down and talk about why you did what you did and—"

"There's nothing to talk about," he deadpanned. "It's done. I did it."

Her mouth fell open a little and then suddenly she composed herself. "I'm willing to forgive you," she said evenly. "You… you felt hurt, betrayed—but you must regret it—you understand it was the wrong thing to do."

Draco let out a heavy sigh. Maybe he did feel a little bad about it, maybe it'd been wrong of him, but…

"I don't regret it, I don't feel bad and I'd do it again."

She was blinking furiously. "Well, I… I'm obviously very disappointed in you for doing this—"

A frightening revelation came to him. His face contorted in disgust. Disgust at her, at himself, and at what they'd become, at the lengths they were both willing to go to, to stay together, to be able to reach out and rub against one another's flesh. And she was lenient with him, far too forgiving.

"Disappointed?" he sneered. "You said if I hurt anyone else, you'd leave me. Or does Hermione Granger no longer care about what's right or wrong?"

Her arms fell to her side and her chest was heaving, perhaps finally understanding the trap she'd walked into. "Of course, I do! I just—"

"You have a different set of rules for me."

"No!" she retorted angrily crossing her arms again. "I don't, it's just you never follow them and—"

"You said you'd leave me."

Her eyes snapped to his and he realized they were moist. "Stop saying that," she hissed. "You and I both know I'm not actually going to break up with you over some stupid fight you have going on with Nott!"

"And if I had given him enough poison to kill him?"

She scoffed as if the idea was laughable and he supposed it was. He couldn't kill anyone. He didn't even want to kill Dumbledore and that was with a death threat over his head. But he didn't like the certain way she'd laughed at him as if the entire thing was unfathomable.

"Find that funny, do you? Don't think I'm capable? Where do you think I got the poison from? It was the poison I smuggled in to kill Dumbledore."

Her face fell, devoid of any happiness. Her voice sounded small and far away when she spoke. "Why are you always hurting me?"

"I don't mean to."

"But you do… whether you intend to or not."

"Weasley's right," he said, the words tasting foul on his tongue when he spoke them. "You deserve better than me."

Something flashed in her eyes. A realization as if it had only occurred to her just now.

"Are you trying to break up with me?"

Draco looked to the floor again. It was a little dirty. They should clean this room, this room they'd never come to again. Not after this.

"Or are you hoping I'll do it for you?" she said when he didn't respond.

"Why?"

And even then he still couldn't speak. Couldn't remove his gaze from the dust bunnies.

She shoved his shoulders.

"WHY?"

"Because!" he choked and then he was suddenly raving like a madman. Furious with her for making this so bloody difficult.

"—And I have no control over anything! My head is filled with you and it's always been like that, except now it's infinitely fucking worse! I should've stopped but I'm weak for you. And I can't protect you. I can't even protect myself! I'm powerless and scared and I wish I'd never come to this bloody school! I wish I'd never met you!"

There was a pause, so brief, he thought she'd just leave and let it be done but suddenly she was screaming bloody murder and she wasn't leaving.

"…and don't think I don't know about your secret plan!" she cried. "I know you're leaving—I've known for weeks—do you think it's easy to be kept in the dark, to pretend like everything's going to be ok when I could wake up one day and you could just be gone! I didn't choose to love you either—!"

"THEN STOP!" he begged.

"I DON'T KNOW HOW!" And she was sobbing and he was sorry and they were both so, so sorry and he was holding her to his chest cradling her head telling her he couldn't be selfish anymore. But she was kissing his mouth, his eyes, his cheeks, his chin, his nose, kissing I-love-you's all over his face and tugging at his shirt.

"Hermione… Hermione, stop."

She was shaking her head, shaking the words away, her breath hot against his skin. "You're just scared," she whispered. "Let me make it better… I can be brave for the both of us."

She was pushing him down, straddling him. Her lips on his, making him forget. Her fingers were unbuttoning her shirt and his eyes followed the movement. Merlin, he wanted to. The temptation to get lost in her was overwhelming. It would take away everything, the fear, the aching void… the white room. And maybe he could bury himself in her just once more. To say goodbye. It wouldn't be his fault. She wasn't giving him a choice. She never gave him a choice. He fell back on the bed, running his hands through his hair, wanting very much to tear it all out. Her lips were on his neck and he was growing hard under the heat of her. But he couldn't, he couldn't because he knew if he didn't do it now, he'd never be able to.

Professor Snape's words rang in his ear.

Love, Draco, is sacrifice.

He chanted them in his mind until it was quiet again.

Sitting up quickly, he placed his hands over Hermione's and removed them from his person.

"Hermione," he exhaled, holding her away from him. "I can't. I—"

"Shut up," she rasped, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. "Shut your mouth."

"Hermione—"

"You came to me. You seduced me… begged me to be with you! You wanted this! You asked me what I wanted, you said you'd give me anything—"

"I know," he cringed. It was true, it was all true.

"Give me you," she whimpered. "I just want you."

Looking her straight in the eye he spat, "That's not true… I'd have asked you to come with me but you won't though, will you? When it comes down to it, you'd choose him. I know you would—"

"W-what? I don't feel that way about Ron!"

He gave a heavy sigh. "I'm not talking about Weasley…"

Hermione blinked the tears out of her eyes.

"You'd never leave Potter," he said wiping her cheek.

Her palm was on his, reassuring him that they were just friends.

He looked away from her. "I know no matter what you say to me you have some deep-seated loyalty to him that eclipses anything else. You love him. You love both of them—everyone—even the bloody elves… even me."

"Especially you," she cried. "You said this was worth it."

"I'm not worth dying for," his voice cracked. "We can't be together... not now."

There were tears streaming down her face. "Then when?" she demanded, clinging on to, 'not now', rather than 'we can't be together'.

"After," he gulped. But maybe that was a lie.

"What if there is no after, what if this is it?"

"There will be," he said. "When it's safe, we'll be together again... I'll come back to you."

"How can I believe you?" she sniffled, her words barely discernible. "How can I…"

Draco offered her his little finger and one little word.

"Faith."

She curled her own little finger around his, trying to smile through the tears.

Her other hand wrapped around his, clinging to him. He tried to extricate himself from her, pulling gently as tears fell down his own face.

"Let me leave you, Hermione. Please... Merlin, let me do it because I can't do it alone."

And despite the nauseating feeling threatening to rise up his throat, he left her in their room; banging the door closed as she called out his name.