Draco’s fingers clutched convulsively at Hermione’s back whenever she gently twisted her hand just so, and his splinted arm pressed hard against her side. His tongue was tracing the shell of her ear, teeth nipping at the lobe, and little growls of incoherent pleasure escaped his lips, breath hot on her ear, the sounds vibrating through her bones. His hips jerked against her hand in small movements she suspected were involuntary – and god that she could do that to him was so hot – and her hand squeezed tighter, drawing a low moan from him that made the hairs stand up on the back of Hermione’s neck, her skin rippling with goosebumps. She whimpered low and shaky, eyes sliding shut and legs feeling weak and trembly.