Draco thought that maybe Hermione was right. He had walked away from what they’d had as much for his own sake as for hers. He couldn’t stand the thought of being with her, falling more and more in love with her, becoming accustomed to being with her...depending on her. Not when it was all just going to be torn down, ripped away. Or just tainted and fall apart. Draco couldn’t see a way for their relationship to survive post-war. He had thought and thought and fucking well thought, and he just couldn’t see it working out happily. They had a better chance of being together if Voldemort won; except of course, they wouldn’t be any happier – being on the run in fear for your life tended to drain the contentment and fun from a relationship.