Hermione reached up and brushed her lips against Draco’s, ignoring Bellatrix as she lifted the knife at them in warning. Hermione tasted like the first bite of a ripened strawberry, warmed by the summer sun. The juices leaking from its plump red flesh glistening, luring you in. The coarse texture of her tongue brushed his lips, begging to be let in, he obliged greedily, in complete and utter reverence for the woman in his arms.