Her thoughts swung from that point in an unwelcome direction, and she imagined how warm his skin would feel on hers, his hair as dishevelled as it had been in the classroom, and the sounds in her imagination were not coming from Pansy. It wasn't a classroom either, but a comfortable bed with the same black sheets as his bed had. Fingertips were dancing over her skin, gentle and light as a feather, and her hands were in his hair, making it even messier than it already was.