Hermione felt like she was tearing herself in half as she walked away from Draco, and in a way she was. She had never felt more complete than when she was with him. Even when they were in the same room, pretending to hate each other, she still felt electrified by his presence.

But now she was walking away from the only thing that had ever made her remotely happy. She had thought that she was happy before Draco, when she was with Viktor, or spending time in the Burrow with her best friends. Since Draco, Hermione realized that before she was just satisfied, and if it came down to it, not so lonely.

Hermione entered her room crying. She laid down on her bed and buried her head in the soft and caring pillows. The thought that Draco could easily come in and find her never crossed her mind. All that Hermione could think of were the many nights her and Draco spent together in the huge suite they shared as Head Boy and Head Girl.

Their entire relationship seemed to flash before her puffy, closed eyes. She could see herself fighting Draco over who used the bathroom first in the mornings. She could see herself holding back tears after Draco said things that could do nothing but cause her pain. She could see the guilt in his eyes. She could see herself brushing him away, and trying to ignore the feelings she was developing for him. She could see him, slowly charming her, showing a side of himself he only gave to her. She could she them, making love for the first time. She could see them making love in the shower, on either of their beds, in front of the fireplace. She could see them perfectly happy with just holding each other.

Hermione fell asleep reminiscing about the last time Draco held her as she fell asleep in his arms that seemed to be made to hold only her.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco didn't know what to do. He felt as though the world was collapsing on him. He finally looked up when he could no longer hear her fading footsteps.

Then he let out a muffled cry and the tears started flowing. Draco felt as if he was going to die. He almost thought he deserved to die. He shouldn't have grabbed her, hurt her. He should've gone after her instead of letting her walk away.

Then Draco heard some footsteps, probably Filch and that damned Mrs. Norris. Draco forced himself off the cold, hard floor and up onto his feet. Running to the nearest door out of the castle, Draco felt the cold air immediately as he hit the darkness of night. He wrapped his robes a little tighter and started wandering on the abandoned grounds.

Though he was distracted by Filch, his thoughts never left Hermione. What was he going to do? What could he do? He definitely didn't want to disturb her now. Draco thought that Hermione probably could use some time to herself, to collect her thoughts as Draco now planned on doing. Nothing clears your mind like a walk alone.

As Draco walked around aimlessly, he too started to remember how things were with Hermione. He couldn't help but hate himself when he thought of all the times he hurt Hermione with hate-filled words. Though she had told him that he was forgiven, now he felt as if nothing could erase the pain he caused her. Every time that he had hurt her, expressed his misguided hatred, or took out his repressed anger on her went through his mind. He felt like dying with every memory that flashed before his eyes.

After a couple of hours of walking around in the cold hating himself, Draco found himself at the edge of the Black Lake. He sat down and rested his head on his bent knees. He took a couple of deep breaths and threw himself back onto the cold ground. Then, suddenly, a flashback hit him: Hermione was straddling him, rocking her body back and forth. Her hair was glistening in the moonlight, and Draco could practically feel her smooth skin beneath hands. The sound of the waves that were crashing on the banks of the lake blended in with the soft moans of their lovemaking.

And as fast as it hit him, it was gone. Draco reached up to feel if Hermione was still there, but she was gone, leaving a harsh emptiness in the pit of Draco's stomach.

It was nearly sunrise when Draco decided he needed to head back into the castle.

He walked slowly back to his room, the room he had shared so many times with her. When he reached the portrait, he whispered the password and entered silently. Draco couldn't resist the urge to see if Hermione was there, in her bed. He felt as if it was his duty, as if he was her protector.

He tip-toed to her door, which was slightly ajar. Draco gently pushed it open so that he could see Hermione, lying on her bed. She looked so beautiful, yet so torn apart. Draco wanted to go to her, to hold her. He wanted to apologize for everything that he did wrong. He wanted her to know how much he loved her. But upon seeing her tear-streaked face, Draco was able to resist this urge. He slowly moved away from her door and sauntered over to his own room. He didn't bother taking off any of his clothes; he just laid down and fell fast asleep.