Hermione, steeling herself, walked to him, standing before him. He didn't rise, but grasped the front of her skirt and pulled her closer, until her could grab her by the hips, his warm, large hands spreading over her flesh and pressing in gently through the fabric. His head was almost between her breasts. He pulled her in and breathed in her scent. Hermione let her hands fall to his shoulders, stroking softly, mechanically. He sighed, and the flood of hot breath over her was almost welcome, but only because the room was cold.