Malfoy's lips, soft, greedy, pushing and moving with hers, and her stomach twists and need clutches at he as she pushes back into him. The portkey is forgotten in her grip as she grabs handfuls of Malfoy's jersey at the shoulders, breathless, her tongue at the seam of his lips, and then he parts them and his tongue teases hot over hers, demanding. Her hat falls off to be lost on the snowy ground, her hair tumbling from its precarious bun as Malfoy fists his hand in it, holding her and licking into her mouth so that her knees go weak and her clit throbs. He is holding her up with one arm in the dark, and she feels like she is coming apart.