A/N: I don't normally go for this ship but I decided to experiment and now really love it, because let's face it, who doesn't secretly love Draco?

Disclaimer: I own none of these marvy characters, much as I like to pretend I do. They are JKRs.

Summary: What do you do when everything you've ever believed in is forced into question? Draco Malfoy is about to find out...and learn the true power of obsessive love along the way.

He was doing it again.

He didn't mean to - tried his hardest not to, in fact. The very idea was absurd. But it had been happening more and more lately.

When it had first happened, he'd dismissed it. He was Draco Malfoy, it was ridiculous! As things had progressed he'd found it occurring with increasing frequency, until it had finally got to the point that he was unable to control it.

What was wrong with him? When had he suddenly lost the ability to decide where his eyes roamed, what his imagination conjured? What had happened to him, to make him feel this way, to make him love that-

'No'. The utter conviction behind that one word was audible as it rang about the silent confines of his dormitory. Thank goodness it was empty - which of course, it would be, it was breakfast. Crabbe and Goyle missing a meal was like Voldemort suddenly announcing that he loved all Mudbloods and muggles and was setting up a charity devoted to preserving and protecting them; never in a million years.

And yet, Draco would have said the same thing about his current…problem. Because that's what it was, he'd decided. Nothing more than a troublesome problem.

'You're being stupid.' He told himself firmly, as he roughly pulled his shirt over his head. 'It isn't love.' As if to illustrate this point he tugged the shirt hard. A little too hard; it ripped and, cursing, he tossed it into the corner and sank down onto the bed, head in hands.

What was wrong with him? What had he done to deserve this? It wasn't love; if anything it should be extreme dislike. Hatred, even. And the stupid, ironic truth was that, until recently, it had been. So what had changed? Why couldn't he just be satisfied with Pansy Parkinson?

This question was answered for Draco as he left the dormitory for breakfast. Pansy, true to form, was waiting outside for him (though she tried to pretend it was a coincidence that she was alone in a deserted corridor when everyone else had gone down for breakfast ten minutes ago) and rushed towards him the second he emerged, a huge (and frankly scary) smile plastered across her wide, flat face.

Draco regarded her for a moment. She really did look like a pug, Granger was right. Her nose was broad and flat above her wide, slack mouth; her eyes were a large bug-eyed brown that seemed to bore into him. They did so now, as she waited for the response to her overly enthusiastic gabble.

'Hi Draco, didn't see you there, how are you? Fancy breakfast?' She said all this very fast, and Draco blinked in shock.

'Yeah, lets go.' He didn't return her hello. Pansy, though, hadn't seemed to notice, and grabbing his arm, steered him forcefully towards the Great Hall, chattering inanely away as they went and seemingly oblivious to Draco's utter disinterest.

Ah. he thought sullenly. This is why I look elsewhere. Who'd want to date the epitome of the phrase 'verbal diarrhoea'?

It happened again as he walked into the Great Hall. A few eyes turned at their entrance (something Pansy found extraordinary pleasure in) but for the most part people were more interested in their fried eggs and bacon. Draco hurried to his seat, trying desperately not to look at her, but yet again his eyes let him down as he found them straying towards the table where she sat with her friends.

He continued to stare, oblivious to his surroundings. It was only when Pansy shrieked that he was spreading jam on his bacon that he snapped out of his reverie.

STOP looking at her, Draco, he scolded himself angrily. She's the enemy, for God's sake. Draco resigned himself to the way breakfast was clearly going to be as Pansy started her chatter once more (dear God, did the girl ever shut up?) and ate his breakfast in silence. Yet still, snatched fantasies kept floating around in his head, unhelped by the fact he could see her hair shining from this angle, see the curve of her body as she shook slightly from laughter.

He leans down, gently brushing his lips on hers, making her shiver pleasantly. His hands bury themselves in her hair as he pulls her close; her fingers have found the opening of his shirt and are trailing his chest gently, stroking the light dusting of hair. He murmurs into her mouth as her tongue begs for entrance, his hands slipping down now, down her neck, past her shoulders, resting lightly on her own chest. He fingers the buttons, opening them gently, slowly, tantalisingly revealing her to him….

'Draco! What's wrong with you, you haven't heard a word I've said this last ten minutes!' Pansy's voice intruded on his daydream once more. How had he not noticed the way her voice grated on him before, the way its brittle, nasal quality set his teeth on edge? And, unbelievably, she still wasn't finished.

'You don't listen to me anymore, you don't even care, we're meant to be together and you never listen to a word I say, why don't you pay attention to me anymore, what's changed? You're so different Draco, why have you changed, what -'

Draco cut her off, unable to listen to anymore. 'Maybe it's because I can't get a word in edgeways, Pan, because you never shut the hell up,' he snapped nastily. 'Or maybe it's because you bore the hell out of me and I can't be bothered to listen to it anymore. I'm sick of you and it's high time I found myself someone new. As a matter of fact, I already have. Deal with it.'

He pushed his plate from him and got up roughly, striding from the hall. He'd got some small satisfaction from seeing Pansy pale, watching her jaw drop in utter shock, which he knew was petty, but oh, it felt good. But what on earth was he thinking, saying he had someone else? Nothing could be further from the truth.

True, he was Draco Malfoy; he could have his pick of quite a few girls. His steely blue eyes and carefully coiffed blond hair drew girls to him; his well-muscled physique and general height made them stay. Add to that his status, wealth and family and they were hooked, every one of them perfectly suited to pander to his every whim and massage his already overinflated ego, just as he liked them to. So why couldn't he choose one of them? Why did he have to pick the one girl he could never get, the one girl who'd never like him even so much as a friend?

Why did he have to pick Hermione Granger?