It didn't work. Hermione couldn't help it; the images kept intruding jarringly, and she wondered in a tiny still coherent part of her mind if he was thinking of the same thing, and a knot of emotion stoppered up her throat. This was his comfort, she told herself, and tried to give herself over to it. And it wasn't so hard, in the end. Draco kept rocking against her clit with every move and his cock was going so deep, and it took only a little longer before Hermione's muscles began to seize in the familiar burgeoning crest of orgasm, everything tightening, her toes curling, mouth open and eyes shut. She forgot about everything but the sensations inside her, coiling her tight as overwound clockwork.