Hermione whimpered breathlessly in his ear as his weight pinned her, and her hips rocked out and Draco hissed in a breath. She was warm and soft and smelt like the little packet of – cinnamon? – that had dusted her lightly when their inelegant struggles had knocked it off the shelf. She was lush and wriggling, and smelt like he wanted to eat her; if she hadn’t been trying to claw his arms, Draco would have had an entirely inappropriate reaction to being squashed up against her like this. He finally captured both her wrists in an awkward but secure hold, and Hermione realised that she wasn’t going to be able to get out of Draco’s hold and subsided reluctantly.