Author's Note: I wrote this more than a year ago, but never posted it anywhere. It is a kind of follow-up to Infatuation, which is Hermione's confession.

Rating: T (for thematic elements)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it. Well, the plot line, of course, but otherwise….nope!

His Infatuation

She's something of an enigma. I never understood her, and I still don't. She attracted me from the beginning, not in a sexual way—we were only eleven—but in a spiritual, elemental way. Her sheer exuberance, her desire for learning, her appreciation of the written word, and the way she seemed to worship history and learning.

I don't understand my attraction to her. Of course, infatuation might be a better way to describe it. Obsession might still be right. There are times when I find myself reading a passage and still being able to think about her, think about what she might think if she read this passage, whether she had read this particular passage or if she'd ever even picked up this book in the first place.

No one could ever possibly understand. I don't understand. She wouldn't understand. The school wouldn't understand. The world wouldn't understand. My father wouldn't understand.

I'd laugh if I could, about how obsessed I've become, but I'm past laughing. Besides, I don't laugh. The other student would have a conniption if I laughed. I don't laugh. I'm Draco Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy doesn't laugh.

I didn't realize until this year, our final year, that it was an obsession. I didn't realize that my hatred of her wasn't truly hatred, but an obsession that bordered on something akin to love. It was earlier this year, when I had a dream that ended when I woke up, twisted in my sheets and sweating, that I realized that whatever else my feelings were for her, they included lust.

There are one hundred and eighteen days left before I never see her again. One hundred and eighteen days where I might approach her, see if there is any possibility that she might have any attraction to me. But I know I won't ask her, because I'm Draco Malfoy. I have an image to uphold, and pride to maintain. If anything were ever to happen, if she were to ever find out, it would be for one of two reasons: complete and utter accident…or a carefully thought-out seduction.

I've been leaning towards the latter for some time now, as my physical attraction to her grows and she blossoms. She tries to hide it—or perhaps she's never even noticed it. She becomes more beautiful with each passing day, and here I am, sounding like a prissy, stuck-up poet, reciting her gorgeousness.

Still, I'm obsessed. Physical attraction first appeared at the Yule Ball, after her horrid teeth were gone and her hair was straightened and she had on those gorgeous blue robes…

Pardon me while I wipe the drool off the parchment.

But, no, I take the back. Physical attraction dates back to that day in third year, when she slapped me. Let me put it simply: I like being slapped. For me, it's a huge turn-on. Particularly since she wasn't afraid of what might happen. Pansy never dared to slap me, or even touch me if I didn't say she could.

So here I am, in my room, thinking about a girl I'll never have and wishing it could be.

-

Draco laid the quill on his bedside table, blowing slightly on the parchment to allow it to dry. He sneered at the sheet, disgusted with his unfathomable display of emotion and other sappiness. Gripping it at the top, he pulled in opposite directions, calm overcoming him as parchment tore neatly into two pieces, then four, then eight. Gathering them into one hand, he stood and walked across the room to the fireplace where, one by one, he dropped them into the flames and watched them burn, until there was nothing left but dust.