Once at the seaside as a child, Hermione had been dragged under the water by a churning, roiling wave; pulled down and tumbled like a rag doll, lungs bursting for air, head spinning. She felt almost like that now. Except that Draco was giving her pleasure, not trying to drown her, she thought muzzily, fingers grasping hungrily at him. She felt like she could kiss him forever, even like this when it was jagged with hate and hurt as much as it was good.