Then the woman gave her a hard shove and she stumbled directly into Malfoy.  When he caught her so she wouldn't fall, his hand brushed against her exposed wrist, the same place Pansy had touched just moments earlier, and she was lost.  The touch was electric.  It was euphoric.  She'd been trying not to touch him, not even through fabric, and now she couldn't remember why.   She looked up at him and smiled in delight to see those grey eyes squinting down at her.  They were such an unusual color.  She'd never seen anything quite like them.  She swayed so she could press herself against him more thoroughly and was dimly away of grating laughter behind her.  Draco wrapped one of his perfect, perfect arms around her waist and looked over her shoulder as she rested her cheek against his shirt.  His fingers slipped under the jumper and pressed against her skin and she could feel his manicured nails curving into the flesh above her hip.  She could also feel his shirt.  He had the best shirts.  The linen was so soft she wanted to wrap her entire body in it and when she inhaled she caught the mixed scents of whatever soap he used, the whiskey he'd been drinking, and something indefinably, wonderfully him.  