            Palms flat against his chest, Hermione let the song of her magic set the rhythm of her hips. Beneath her, Lucius was coming alive, pale skin bursting with color, lips open, slinging moans and praise and words she couldn’t make out, even if she wanted to. When he suddenly sat up, yanking her flush against his chest, arms wrapped around her waist in a crushing embrace, Hermione let her body—let the magic—flow faster, deeper, urging them both to dive into the wave of pleasure threatening to crash down.