Hermione had pushed him away in the end, Draco thought with his thumb rubbing idly over the knitted fabric of her jersey. She had said, nothing, eyes wild and terrified and frantic, and run away. She had probably only kissed him because she hadn’t been thinking straight, too upset to realise what she was doing and just desperate for the distracting heat of mouths interlocked and spiking lust. Maybe the long hours down in the cellar were just making Draco crazy, sending him round the twist, and he only wanted Granger because she was basically the only person he ever saw. He didn’t care.