Hermione’s hand convulsed involuntarily on Draco’s shoulder.  She was not his girlfriend.  They were friends, maybe.  Barely.  She didn’t have romantic dreams about the man, at least not when she wasn’t doped to the gills on being a Veela, and she was certain he didn’t think about her that way.  He’d despised her very existence only a few short years ago.   Reaching the point where he could see her as a person was impressive enough.  It would be illogical to hope for more.  Unreasonable.  And she wasn’t an illogical or unreasonable person. 