Draco sat down weakly on the edge of his bed and folded the jersey neatly, just to give his hand something to do. It wanted to plunge into Hermione Granger’s long, dark, wild hair and tangle and pull; he wanted to grasp the naked swell of her hip, cup the heavy weight of her breasts, trace the jut of her jaw and the shape of her lips. Her jersey was soft and the warmth of her body still lingered on it. He hadn’t expected that. Draco would never have expected that. But oh, Merlin, he had fucking enjoyed it. Kissing Hermione Granger.