Hermione had wanted to go over to him, wrap her arms around him and kiss that mouth. Wrap herself up against him with everyone watching and press her lips to his, feel his tongue moving quick and light as it flicked over hers, sending sparks into her core; making her knees trembly and her stomach quiver. Hermione had watched him watching her as she tried to put Viktor off politely, without any real reason to get rid of him – wishing she could say she was with Draco and be done with it. But she couldn’t, and so she dodged Viktor’s probing questions and her eyes were glued not to Viktor’s dark, handsome looks, but to Draco; pale and thin in comparison to Viktor. Hermione didn’t think she would ever get sick of looking at him. His broad lean shoulders; that sharp chin that suited him so well; the elegant, strong fingers on his hand, and it made her chest ache to look where the other hand should have been; and those knife-sharp grey eyes, like steel and ice.