Maybeif
Not once in his short, miserable 17 years of life had Draco Malfoy ever experienced such anger, such pain. He felt as if a burning hot fire was raging through his body and all he wanted to do tear someone apart with his own bloody hands. Ronald Weasley, to be exact. He desperately wanted to rip off the arm that was currently draped over Hermione Granger's shoulders and more than anything, he wanted Hermione Granger. It was quite ironic (and unfair), he thought, that the one person he was taught to hate, was the one person he was capable of loving.
The one person he truly wanted.
He wasn't quite sure when this crush had first started, or when the crush had slowly developed into love, but he did know that seeing Hermione, his Hermione, writhing in pain on the floor in Malfoy Manor made him feel as if he was the one being crucio'd by his Aunt Bella.
But he knew he could never have her, because she was Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's Golden Girl and he was Draco Malfoy, Slytherin's Pureblood Prince. And Death-Eater.
Draco was, in general, a realistic person and he knew that there was no way in hell that Hermione could ever like him, let alone love him. He only had himself to blame for that.
Maybe if he had stood up to his father and not let him brainwash him with ideas about Muggleborns being inferior, he and Hermione might have been friends.
Or maybe if he had accepted Dumbledore's help that night in the Astronomy Tower, Hermione may have realised that inside, Draco was not a bad person.
Or maybe if he had thrown himself in front of Hermione and protected her from his crazy Aunt, Hermione would not have physical and emotional scars.
But he hadn't done any of those things. Not one. So now, all he could do was watch as the Golden Trio walked out of the Great Hall (or what was left of it), with Weasley's arm still draped over Hermione's shoulder.