On His Own
It made sense. Really it did. But every night all Draco dreamed of was Hermione. Try as he might, he could not make himself dream of any other girl (or anything else for that matter), even the ones who were clearly superior to her in every way, except, of course, academic prowess. But then, Draco simply didn't find that sort of thing attractive in a girl. So now it didn't make sense anymore.
He wondered if other guys ever faced this sort of dilemma. They likely did, he figured; he couldn't be that unique. But did other guys talk about these things? He couldn't imagine bringing the subject up with Crabbe and Goil; it would be showing weakness, and as a Malfoy he couldn't do that.
He found himself wishing for someone to talk to and cursed himself for it. He didn't need anyone to talk to! He was sure his father never needed to confide his weaknesses, if indeed Lucius had any, in anyone. So neither would he. He would learn to deal with it on his own.
I was much easier to make such resolute claims than to put them into practice. He found himself always looking for her: in class, at meals, while playing Quidditch he'd search for her in the stands. Not that she was ever watching him. He didn't kid himself.
Of course, he was careful not to be obvious. He didn't stare at her openly and was careful to glance casually away from her. Sure, he was embarrassed to be looking at her, but he wasn't about to let the world know that. Not that anyone would have noticed. Pansy was far too absorbed in her overt infatuation with him to actually notice much. As she fussed over his broken arm, Crabbe and Goil looked on stupidly with dull emptiness in their eyes, and Draco felt very alone.
"I had a dream about you last night," Pansy told him. "Do you ever dream about me?"
"You're all I ever dream about." The lie felt easy, and somehow right. More right than the truth at any rate.