Hermione was standing before him, breathing even harder. Her uniform shirt rising and falling in time with her panting. Her face flushed all over, more intensely at the top of her cheeks, and covered in sweat, dripping down her neck. Her thick hair was beginning to escape from the up-do she had done hours before. Her hand, trembling with effort, was clutching his jumper as if her life depended on it. Hermione felt the hardness of his sternum under her knuckles, and the rapid rise and fall of his ribcage. And his face was right in front of her. Draco’s hair was completely tousled by the wind, framing his grey, mature eyes in a gracefully innocent way. Hermione felt as if, despite needing it badly, she stopped breathing.