The obvious torment behind his grey eyes waged on in a dark, troubling storm of want and longing and fear. Hermione knew her own brown, teary eyes mirrored his; torn and starved. The hunger won – as it always did. His hands gripped her waist, tugging her down so that her hips collided with his, and he slowly lifted her dress, dragging the silky soft material up her body, leaving sparks where his fingertips grazed her ribs.