What had he done? Not only had he sinned against himself but against his father as well. Lucius Malfoy would never accept a Mudblood into the family and Draco knew it. Why had he allowed himself to fall for this bloody girl? His thoughts whirling, he placed his weary head in his hands and looked over at the bed where Hermione still lay.
Last night had been something out of a dream, one familiar to Draco as he had dreamt of it often in the last several months. He had dreamt of holding her, loving her, and giving himself wholly to her, but now that the act was done it seemed wrong somehow. After all he was a pureblood and what was she? Nothing but a lowly Mudblood; at least that was the truth that he kept trying to persuade his already confused brain of.
No, this wasn’t her fault; he wouldn’t let it be. Draco blamed himself for what had taken place. It had been his transgression, not hers. In her world their relationship could exist and flourish; in his world it could do nothing but wither and die no matter how much he tried otherwise.
Rising from the leather armchair he crossed the room and stopped at the foot of the bed, Hermione slept on soundlessly, an aura of enchanting peace radiating from her. As he looked at the angelic visage wrapped in sheets of white, he thought of all the things that made her the perfect woman for him: smart, funny, beautiful, and brave. If only she had been born a pureblood, then they could be together; but she had not and therefore they could not.
Putting on his slacks, he prepared to leave her there. What choice did he have? This angel had fallen last night but now he was prepared to disgrace all that had occurred, to forsake their love. If only…