Hermione knew when he gave up. She could literally feel it in her heart; the tugging of their marriage bonds despairing. But still, she had had many years to practise ignoring the bonds. An idle part of her mind wondered how he would cope with the twinges that tended to occur during the night, or the wracking sobs that would be drawn in the early afternoon. The rest of her couldn’t care less.

It had been over five years since she had last seen her husband, more than twenty since they had spoken. It had been at least fifty since they had shared a bed. In those fifty years, Hermione hadn’t shared a bed with another man, although the marriage bonds had alerted her seven times that he had. The first time it had happened, Hermione had dropped a glass of water, so shocked that he would ever do such a thing. The second time Hermione had been sure to lay her book down on the table carefully. By the fifth time Hermione only blinked slightly.

Of course, she still had to focus her will to not be drawn to him. The old magicks that bound them together tried to force her to go to him, to stop the sacrilege. Luckily for Hermione, she had always been extremely strong-willed. But he had given up now. He had really, truly given up.

Part of Hermione wondered why her husband was stopping now, after all this time. It had been fifty years since she had left him, and fifty years of his searching, and her running. In the beginning, she had been able to stay in places for longer, as he had little understanding of the Muggle world, but as time had passed she had had to move more frequently as her husband had gained knowledge of the world she had grown up in. Hermione was suddenly struck with the idea that she would never have to move again, if he had given up.

Her brow furrowed. Surely there was a reason that he had chosen to stop looking for her, after all of these years? Perhaps something had happened, perhaps he was hurt… But her mind shied away from concern for him, instead choosing to hope that his Master had been defeated. Not that Hermione would ever be able to learn this, after all she had absconded from the Wizarding World. How ironic, that the one Mudblood they had offered a ‘second chance’ to had been the one who didn’t want to stay?

Hermione sat on the swinging chair on her porch, the first time she had been able to do so, unafraid that one of her husband’s spies would see her. It rocked gently back and forth, lulling her into memories. Their first kiss had been in sixth year, back at Hogwarts. Hiding behind a statue from Filch he had leaned in slowly and pressed his lips to hers. The rest of sixth year had been filled with secret assignations, behind statues, the Prefect’s bathroom, the Room of Requirement… And then the unthinkable had happened. Death Eaters had stormed the school, and then before anybody knew what was going on, Dumbledore was dead.

He’d found her, just before she’d gotten to Harry, he’d kissed her like he would never see her again, and then he had been gone. She’d only found out when she’d seen Harry what his part in the whole mess had been. And he’d ran, ran to his Master… She had known, intellectually that he was a Death Eater, but somehow, when they were together it didn’t matter any more. Somehow, she had known that everything would work out.

But it hadn’t. She had spent the majority of seventh year in a tent with two boys - Harry, and Ron. And she had tried so, so hard to hate him for what he’d done, but she just couldn’t do it. And then they had been captured, taken to Malfoy Manor. Thankfully, Harry and Ron had managed to escape, but she had been trapped. And he had been there, offering his Master a way to get her ‘on side’. The smartest Mudblood working for the Dark Lord, what an appealing idea. And that bastard Voldemort had agreed to it.

The wedding had been a complete farce, and everyone had known it. She couldn’t actually remember too much about the day, thanks to the copious amounts of potions and the Imperius curse that she had been under for the vast majority of the ceremony. But they had been married, and, whilst they had kept feeding her the Potions, she had been happy, in an odd sort of way. She had been safe with him, with her lover, just as she had been back in school, back at Hogwarts.

But he hadn’t been satisfied. He’d weaned her off the Potions, wanting her to love him as he loved her. He tried to break her, telling her of the things that had happened whilst she’d been near comatose. She hadn’t believed him until he’d shown her the bodies, and that’s when she’d made up her mind to run.

Voldemort had taken over, ruling over Wizarding Britain. As far as Hermione knew, he still did. He had permitted her husband to search for her for years. Occasionally, Hermione could get feelings from the marriage bond, images, or words. I’m sorry, was a familiar one but I love you, was the most popular message he sent. I miss you, was quite regular too, as with Forgive me.

Yet Hermione knew that the messages weren’t true. Maybe he did love her, and maybe he did miss her, but he wasn’t sorry. He had told her, after the wedding that he had never intended to choose her side. He said that once Voldemort had promised him her, that his mind had been made up. And she knew that there was no way that she could ever forgive him for the sight of her friends and her family dead.

The entire Order had been there. Everyone who had opposed Voldemort, and a few who might have been convinced to as well. Harry, Ron, the rest of the Weasleys. Moody, Tonks, Lupin, McGonagall. Her parents. And it had been that bastard’s idea for her to see them - to break her spirit, to bring her closer to him. Thank Merlin that it hadn’t worked.

Back in the real world, apart from the memories, her marriage bonds gave a hefty tug, and realisation swept over Hermione like an ice cold wind. He was giving up because he had no other option. Her husband was dying. Another tug from the bonds and she was swept into an Apparition, landing by his side. His eyes opened wide to stare at her.

“So… beautiful…� he gasped as he stared at her face. “I… love you… please… Hermione… forgive me?� And Hermione reached out a hand to gently stroke his silky hair, now white, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

He lay on the edge of a gigantic bed, face paler than she had ever seen it. A sheen of sweat coated all she could see of his visible body.

“Draco,� she whispered softly. “Oh, Draco, you never learnt. There are some things that can’t be forgiven.�

His grey eyes squeezed tightly shut, and he took a shuddering breath. A single tear escaped, rolling down his cheek.

“Always… love you… wife,� he bit out, between gasps. “Sorry… so sorry… I did it… all for you… for you…�

“I love you too, husband,� she told his cold body, hours later. “but there are some things that a marriage cannot survive.� As her gaze fell on the bedside table, she stared almost unseeingly at the empty potion vial there. “Thank you for my freedom,� she whispered before Apparating away.