"Oh Godric..." A tiny, whimpered gasp of mortification too low for Malfoy to hear properly escaped Hermione's lips as she heard Karl Milngavie chuckling at them, the git, and she was so hot-cheeked she thought she might spontaneously combust. Malfoy's chair slid back with a too-loud grating squeal as he steadied them both awkwardly, and desperately tried to separate them, his hands on her shoulders now and hers gripping his upper arms, feeling the muscles shift beneath his skin. Her breath caught sharply again.