The rough fingertip snagged occasionally on her lower lip as it smoothed her skin over and over. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter against the sensation, before one of the vexing digits pressed forward between her lips and into the cavern of her mouth. It invaded her body as well as her senses—all tangy, salty flesh sweeping along her teeth, exerting pressure until they parted and another finger joined to thrust deeper. Hermione could ignore the dry slide of him; she refused to rouse for something so childish as this obscene violation of her flesh with his, even as his fingers took a curious twist that made her heart stutter at the intimacy of tasting him like this.