"I know. So do I." Malfoy grins again, trying to make light of the situation, and Hermione wonders how in the hell he's smiling through his pain and actually trying to reassure her. Why is he trying to make her feel better when it should be the other way around? She leans forward without thinking then, and kisses the corner of his mouth – slow and lingering, her lips warm, and his lips and cheek clammy and cool and so, so soft. Malfoy makes a quiet, rough sound and then turns his head, and his hand is in her hair and he's kissing her, gentle and thorough, tasting of whiskey and blood, and her stomach flip-flops and twists deliciously. And then all too soon he's pulling away and shaking his head weakly.