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Draco Malfoy left Hogwarts the following morning.
If you asked him why he did it, he'd probably just shake his head and turn the other way. The truth was, he didn't even know himself.
Part of it was because there was too much baggage. He and Hermione had been through so much. And just when they'd overcome one obstacle, another unfathomable one had sprung up. It was too much. There was no repairing it.
He'd stood in the hospital wing with her, hour after hour, sunrise after sunset. Madame Pomfry kept assuring him that she would wake up, but it still made him break inside to know that he had caused this. His involvement in her life brought her nothing but danger.
At the same time, he was terrified. The fact that this girl could make him feel the way he felt was utterly terrifying to Draco, and he didn't like having his heart exposed like that. It was a habit of his to burn every single bridge when he got hurt.
So that's what he would do.
Still, he didn't hate Hermione nearly as much as he hated himself. Sierra Harrison's smell was still on him, her fingers still tangled up in his hair; he had felt guilt rush through his veins as he gazed at Hermione's lifeless form on the hospital bed, looking ghostly and beautiful. He couldn't stand the shame, the humiliation, the pure agony.
And when Hermione woke up only a couple of hours after, asking where he was and why he had left her, nobody had an answer. Because nobody knew. Draco himself didn't even know where he was going, he only knew that he needed to get as far away from Hermione as possible.
The entire story came out soon after.
McLaggen had used his potion on Hermione, planted the stolen potion in Zacharias's trunk, and then Confunded him so that he would confess into trying to slip it to Hannah. After that, he intentionally kept Hermione away from Draco so the effects would never wear off. McLaggen had been expelled from Hogwarts, to much celebration, and was currently out of work, a home, and money.
Draco heard about it a couple weeks later. By then he was back living with his mother at Malfoy Manor.
Maybe he would get a job at the Ministry, earn enough to buy his own apartment. He could get a dog, find a few hobbies, become an Auror like he always wanted to.
Hermione sat broken-hearted in her dormitory for days on end. Tears ran like jagged scars down her face. She dreamed about Draco, thought about Draco, cried over Draco, day and night. Her friends did as much as they could- it was no use.
But what kept her awake at night the most... what occupied her waking thoughts and made her cry in heaving sobs on the bathroom floor was a note, that Draco had left on the bedside table in the Hospital. It was covered in tear stains, and the ink was splotchy because of it.
It read,
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