She jolts in her skin with sudden fright as his arm snakes naked and hot around the back of her shoulders, and his voice is scratchy and dry. "...I'm not quite with it, am I? I can't give you proper comfort, and such. Or whatever. You know." She doesn't really know, but she nods anyway, and goes with Malfoy's unexpected tug as he pulls her close to him. She bumps up to the feverish heat of sweat-damp skin, the hardness of spare fat and lean muscle beneath. Malfoy. And she can't think. He is all pulled and pushed and pressed against her like then, only it isn't then it is now.