"You can’t do this to me, Potter. They took her. They took her because of me. She’s–the baby–they’re in trouble because of me." The nausea was back and Draco swayed, reaching out to hold onto the mantle over the fireplace, shoving his fist into his chest as if that was all he needed to do to keep his heart going. He wanted it to stop. She’d been gone an hour and he already felt like he meant nothing to the world anymore. Maybe this was his punishment, for everything he’d ever done before and during the war. Karma had allowed him happiness just so it could rip it away when he’d finally accepted he was worthy. Because Hermione had made him believe he was worthy of the life they’d built together. 