"You can prove it next time," she quips, with a smug little tilt of her chin. Implication being, logically, that there may be a next time. The thing is, though, that through all the kissing and groping each other, she's not felt like bolting once.

(Additionally, and this is from the very petty little voice at the back of her head, no-one has managed to keep her on her toes intellectually quite as Malfoy does, and the result of all their banter and polite competition is that she's soaked.

One more petty observation, which comes timed with his mouth closing over her nipple: Ron wasn't this good.)

She lets out a satisfied little sound and sinks her fingers through his hair again, holding him there. Her body, he'll realise quickly, is eagerly responsive. Every flick of thumb or tongue sends a little shiver down her spine, and by the time he properly kisses one nipple, she hisses and tightens her grip, arching slightly to push her tits up towards his face.

"Gods - okay..." she breathes out, in marvelled surprise. That had no right feeling so good, and if that's how it starts, what else is in store? She can't wait - impatiently, she tugs on his hair to pull him up, and plants a quick, hard kiss to his mouth, before hooking two fingers under the knot of his tie and tugging that loose. "Your turn."

And on that note, she's seen where the bed is, so she nudges them towards it as she unbuttons his shirt.