Without conscious decision, Hermione's hands wriggled between their bodies, fumbling at his jeans. Draco lifted his hips up so she could pop his button open, yank his fly down, and his cock sprang free, still caught in the thin fabric of his boxers. This was a bad idea, she thought vaguely, it very irresponsible and stupid and entirely inappropriate and wasn't going to help. She should push him off her now and leave, before things went any further. She didn't need to be hurt by him more than she already had. She shouldn't be doing this with someone who kept pushing her away when he was sober, no matter how he might truly feel about her. Thoughts were cheap, it was actions that counted, and Draco had been treating her horribly. She should stop this drunken, clinging farce and go. It wasn't real, it was just the firewhiskey. She should...