"I swear I will hex you if you don’t. You’ll be vomiting slugs for a week," she threatened sincerely, and Draco glowered as his hand found the door handle and yanked it open. Her wand was uncomfortable at his throat as he backed inside the tiny, shelved room. It was around the same size as the potions cupboard at Hogwarts, and he stumbled over a sack of something that rustled as she backed him up against the shelving. The only light came through the cracks in the louvre door, and the air was close and smelt like spices and Hermione. Fuck, he wanted to bury his face in her hair and just breath it in. This was bloody torture. He leaned his head heavily back against the edge of a shelf and stared down at her.