            A hand left her hair, only to go skimming down her shirt, up the hem. And with hand flat against her back, he pushed her impossibly closer, and Hermione moaned into his mouth. Magic raced up her skin, down her spine. She felt its ache in her teeth, her toes. Like every part of her had been ignited all at once. Not like his earlier outburst—it wasn’t clinging to the air. It was clinging to her. Like his magic has slipped through her mouth into her soul, tangling with her own.