Hermione’s lips parted on instinct as his mouth met hers rough and hard – all icy, hateful anger, as if he was trying to hurt her. Draco’s hand tangled in Hermione’s hair and yanked at it until her scalp stung, forcing her face to tilt upwards more, nipping at her bottom lip, tongue sliding slick and hot over hers. Hermione whimpered at the pain but her hands went up to Draco’s shoulders, fingers digging in hard and locking him to her, kissing him back just as rough, just as hard. This was better than dispassion, better than saying awful things to each other, better than a horrible gulf stretching between them. It was messy and frantic and angry, and their teeth clashed, and Draco kept pulling her hair until her scalp hurt and ached but it was still better than before.