It was so incredibly hot that Hermione almost couldn’t breathe, and his body against hers, cloaked in layers of his Death Eater robes, made the sweltering air even more burdened. She felt her hair stick to her forehead, felt moisture gather along her chest, her thighs. He was staring at her, waiting for the others to leave, she understood finally, with his own cheeks flushed from the high temperature. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple and she was tempted to wipe it off with her wrist, to also rest her forehead against his chest because the effort of keeping upright required too much energy. 