Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Infatuation

No one would believe me if I told them. I knew, as soon as I saw him, that he was the 'bad boy.' I know, now, that he's even more of a 'bad' boy than the rest of them—because he might actually be evil. It's so cliché, the good girl having a 'thing' for the bad boy—but it's true.

I can't say that I like him. As a person, I detest him and everything he stands for. However, I still catch myself watching him. I feel a twinge of jealousy when he flirts with other girls. He's never flirted with me. He's probably never even considered it. After all, he's Draco Malfoy.

It doesn't even matter that he's been behind almost every attempt to get Harry, Ron, and I expelled or killed, or that he calls me "Mudblood" more often than "Granger." It doesn't matter that his father was sent to Azkaban, or that he still teases Ron about his hair. He is still, in some twisted way, attractive.

I told my best friend (a Muggle, who thinks I go to a boarding school in Scotland) after Sirius was killed. I knew that my crush—obsession?—was getting out of hand when I dreamed about him, especially when it was his aunt who had killed Sirius. She let me talk it out before giving me some advice.

"Hermione, I will tell you this: it will not end until he finds out. If this has already gone on for five years, it isn't going to end because I tell you it has to, and you know it. If he is as ... evil ... as you say he is, then your obsession, or crush, or infatuation, or whatever you'd like to call it, will be put to a painful death as soon as he finds out."

She was right. One more year has passed, and nothing has changed. I still watch him, wondering when he will find out, what or who will clue him in.

She knew me well enough not to waste her breath telling me I couldn't change him. We had that talk when I was seven, and had a crush on William Swenson but could not stand his love of Thomas the Tank Engine.

But that's unrelated.

The point is, if I ever told anyone that I was infatuated with Draco Malfoy, they would think I was insane. I think I'm insane.

I know I can't change him. But that doesn't stop the dreams, and it doesn't stop me from watching him as he smirks, walking into Potions class late. I wish there were some good in him, something that would make this infatuation have some possibility of living—but I know, in reality, that isn't going to happen.

Just because I have fantasies doesn't mean I don't live in reality. It's just a matter of keeping the two separate.

-

Hermione rushed out of Potions, balancing her books precariously in her arms—so precariously, in fact, that just as she crossed the threshold, a few of them tumbled off. She bent down and picked all of them up—except for one sheet of paper which had fallen out of one of the books. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Blaise Zabini pick it up, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Within the hour, it would be all over school.

And she would finally be at peace.