parted lips, at the light blush that coloured the high points of his cheekbones. He looked almost like he had on the night of Pansy’s 18th – inebriated, tipsy, drunk.
As Hermione stared at him she saw herself reflected in his eyes - she didn’t look so different herself.
As Hermione stared at him she saw herself reflected in his eyes - she didn’t look so different herself.
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Before Hermione knew it her back was against a locker, the metal seeping the warmth from her skin. By contrast, Malfoy’s chest was pressed hard against her, hot to the touch.
If the first kiss was unexpected, then -
The first kiss was a wade into the shallows, a test to see how cold the water -
Hermione found herself thawing, blooming like a moonflower in the evening. Her body sped ahead of her brain, which still couldn’t comprehend the situation in its entirety, and her eyes fluttered closed as she relaxed into the -
A small part of her brain, the part that hadn’t yet thrown its hat in, was screaming at her. It told her to push him away again, to stand her ground and tell him what an arsehole he was, once and for all. It told her to stop -
But the other part…that part was quickly surrendering to the feel of Malfoy’s soft lips, his warm skin, his hips pressed -