They’re only twenty minutes into the lesson, and Hermione’s watching the clock with desperation. If Theo hadn’t hexed her bag, the lesson would’ve been another mundane Potions block, micromanaging Neville, Dean and Seamus through brewing, with an extinguishing charm primed to go if necessary. But now she’s managing her own arousal, which rears its head whenever she’s within three feet of the Slytherin trio. She’s played into their hand, yet again. And she’d be kicking herself if some dark part of herself wasn’t so turned on.