"Do you know what you're saying to me, when you tell me we should be together, even if it's all going to fall apart after the war, when I'm dragged off to Azkaban?" His breath was coming shallow and quick with sudden anger as he glared at Hermione, her face still turned away from him, her hands twined tightly around each other. "You're saying that we should drag things out, even though we both know how it's going to end – torture ourselves with maybe's and what if's and false hope. And that might be all right for you – you're not the one who's going to Azkaban. For you, it is worth it, to have the experience despite the way it ends. Merlin knows why. But I can't do it. So I can't love you, and I can't want to be with you, because I know how it's going to end, and I just can't fucking handle that!" He was throwing his words at her, ragged and furious, trying to make her understand – desperate to make her understand – but he didn't think she could.