Draco's hand brushed her hair to one side and then slid teasingly up her side beneath her tank top, slipping around to her front to cup a breast, and his lips brushed over the back of her neck and shoulders, dotting persuasive kisses. His fringe tickled her sensitive skin, and his fingers did wonderful things to her breasts, making aching quivers shoot down between her legs, but Hermione wasn't in the mood. She slid forward, extricating herself from his grip and searching under the covers for her knickers, trying to ignore the slightly affronted, hurt look on his face at her rejection. She almost never pushed him away. Hermione found her knickers and clambered out of the bed, wiggling them on as Draco stared pointedly at the ceiling and not her, sulkiness a protective screen over top of his hurt.