"I might change my mind..." he teased her straight-faced, a dangerous little purr to his words as if he really would, and Hermione shivered and pressed in closer to him, leather against leather, but he was warm through it all and he smelt so good, like home and soap and sex and Draco. He belonged to her and she to him, and they'd tried being apart but it hadn't worked, and she knew he would never leave her so long as she told him to stay. He couldn't help himself – he was too selfish he said, and if that was selfishness then Hermione was horribly selfish too and she didn't care. She wanted him, and she would have him, and that was that. End of story.