Draco was warm, and hard, and he tasted like alcohol and smelt like sweat, and his hand was fisted in her hair, his mouth pinned to hers. Hermione's heart pounded jaggedly and her hips bucked out against him, insides melting and twisting and throbbing with want. In the pantry, again. It hadn't been planned, it had just...happened. Hermione had been rummaging about in the pantry for a late night snack – she couldn't sleep – and then Draco's hand had clasped around her arm. She had jumped with fright, not knowing it was him, and when she turned around and saw him, her breath had caught in her throat.