"So gallant," she jokes, quick on the uptake, managing to get the words in before that kiss just wrecks her.

The truth is, though you wouldn't say it by the reputation she's built for herself and her impossibly high standards when it comes to social justice and ethics and schoolwork, Hermione fucking loves messy kisses. The ones where there's too much unaddressed desire that you try to kiss and forget to breathe. The ones where hands work furiously at pulling clothes off. All those types of messy kisses are just her jam.

While he pulls her shirt out from where it was neatly and stylishly tucked inside her skit, she unbuttons the top three buttons, so when he takes it off, there's no resistance. She flings it carelessly over back of a chair in the bedroom, and curls her hand over his nape to touch him, ground him, while he kisses her neck, and chest, and lower.

She has to open her eyes to check him out. Draco Malfoy, kneeling at her feet, kissing her stomach, pulling her skirt off. That fucking scar from Dolohov a few inches above where his lips are now, and she prays to any gods that he doesn't pause and notice it, because he's headed in the perfect direction.

Besides. They both hide their fair share of scars beneath the clothes. Doesn't mean she doesn't want to see them. Touch him.

While he pulls her skirt down, she reaches up behind her and unhooks her bra, deciding it can come off without his assistance.