Draco could absolutely believe Pansy had, but he didn't answer.  He just inhaled.  Hermione used some kind of rose lotion and the heat of her skin made it stronger than usual.  Her hands were wrapped around him and she swayed into him and he wanted her. He'd watched her dance with Blaise.  He'd watched her talk to that Veela.  Through it all, she’d had eyes only for him and she was so beautiful and he wanted her, he wanted her, he wanted.  Oh, Salazar, he wanted her.  He ached with how much he wanted to tear her skirts off, how he wanted to press her up against one of the steel beams wrapped with fairy lights and take her right there in the middle of this ridiculous party. She had to know.  She wasn't a naïve child, and when she looked at him through lashes he’d never appreciated, he knew she did.  She felt him pressing into her – how could she not – and she didn't shift away from him.   Her tongue licked at her bottom lip and when that lip curved up into a smile that invited, he tightened the fingers he had on her back with such force it had to hurt.  She just pressed herself more firmly against him.  He wouldn't have thought that was even possible but space bent as she fit herself into every line of his body as though she has been made just for him.  Only for him.  She shifted her hips as she moved to the hypnosis of the music.  It threatened to pull them into its thrall and he couldn't stand it.  Everything was her, and the blood pounding through him, and how much he needed her.  She was going to drive him mad and, as thought fled, he buried his face in her neck.  She smelled even better as he got closer.  Rose, and sweat, and her. When his lips met her skin, she sagged and that weight brought him back to reality with a slap.