He had looked at her wordlessly; grey eyes feverishly bright, the waft of alcohol off him strong enough to make her feel like she could get drunk off the fumes. And then he had kissed her. And now Hermione was shoved back up against the shelves stacked with tins and cereal boxes, Draco pressed against her and kissing her like he was trying to crawl inside her skin, like he was marking his territory, trying to make her shatter apart with the force of her desire. And he was succeeding.