"I just think that what we had – what was developing between us – was worth fighting for," Hermione said, mind fixated on the way Draco had just given up. Just walked away. She had called him a coward, but when she thought about worst-case scenarios, he had so much more to lose than her. She wasn’t facing the possibility – no matter how slim – of years in Azkaban. She just wished he could see it the way she did now; that in a war like this, when the future itself was uncertain, and death lurked around every corner, and victory was a pale, flickering hope off in the distance... Why borrow trouble from a future they didn’t even know would eventuate?