"N-no scars," she whispered and her voice shook and the button popped free, and his strong, elegant fingers drew the zipper down as he stared into her eyes. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, even though she was. Hermione’s hand came up to her chest beneath his shirt, wrist twisting around so she could clutch the shirt closed, and she could feel her heart thud-thud-thudding against the skin and muscle and ribs that encased it. Draco’s hand gripped the top of Hermione’s jeans at her left hip and tugged, and she grabbed the right side and pulled with him, and her jeans slid down, over her bum, down her thighs; crumpling around her ankles. And she was in her cheap blue cotton knickers and his shirt, standing in front of him while his hand gripped the soft curve of her hip, and his eyes were devouring her.