She looked at him with anguish in her eyes. It was over. The air around them was charged with that sense of inevitable end, as real as the smell of mustiness. It hurt. Draco almost felt like he was in mourning again. For so many years, he had lived with the reassuring hope that that youthful love, never really blossoming, could bloom one day in his maturity. A dream, that had been a comfort to him in the darkest moments, and that now vanished into thin air. He waited for the panic, but nothing came. In fact, the pain he felt was less strong than he had imagined. Hermione was saying goodbye to him, but it was as if he secretly agreed with her.