Hermione felt a word wanting to spill from her lips, but she shoved it back and kept kissing him fiercely, like she could lock them together. Like her kiss was a promise that Draco would live, instead of a goodbye. Draco’s tongue grazed over hers, tangling and thrilling, and their mouths tasted like blood; like their first real kiss except this time it was her blood, and Hermione didn’t care. She felt the familiar ache for him start to throb, and a whimper made him break their kiss.