            She wanted him. She wanted him more than air. But it was her body screaming that message, not her head. Her mind was plagued by thoughts of Sirius, the man she sought so desperately, despite the wizard right in front of her. The guilt that had been building since New Year’s was eating at her insides, digesting her desire and spitting out acid. Hermione could feel it climbing in her throat, filling it, rendering her unable to speak—to say yes, to say no. Her hand came to his chest, above his heart. It beat beneath her palm, frenzied and abjectly crude, like a creature living inside him. The creature lived inside her too. She ought to starve it. Starve them both. But how could she, completely, when its cry was so desperate?