Malfoy's mouth meets hers hard and greedy as his arms wrap around her, one hand sliding up to cradle the side of her face, scratchy wool gloves covering her ear, thumb brushing back and forth over her cheek in caress. He kisses her hard as though something has snapped within him, backing her up until her shoulders bump against the hedge and pinning her there between his body and the snow-coated greenery. His lips part at the same time as hers do, and his tongue flicks hot and teasing against hers, asking, demanding, making her knees go weak and pleasure and lust pulse needy between her thighs. She is wet, Hermione realises vaguely as she tangles her arms around his neck and kisses him with desperation threading beneath her want. Sopping wet and throbbing from just a kiss, and Merlin she wants more.