"Delicious."

There was stillness, and Hermione thought perhaps Draco had said the wrong thing. Because it wouldn't be necessary to… it wouldn't be something that he'd… that they'd—

"You make her come?" Goyle asked, voicing her concerns with a grimace.

"Usually more than once," he said, as if he'd been asked about the weather. "Not in the beginning of course. And if she's misbehaving I don't bother."

Hermione chanced a glance up and caught the eyes of another Lot before the girl looked down shamefully, as if Hermione had just discovered her own secret. Perhaps it wasn't as unheard of to make their partners orgasm.

"With the potion or without?" one of them asked dubiously.

Her eyes flicked up to Penelope. The potion — the one Marcus Flint had administered to Pansy and Penelope. Before tonight, Hermione only had an idea of what it did. Now she understood.

"Without," Draco sneered. "It's so much more satisfying — no offense, Marcus — to have them moaning and begging for it all by themselves, don't you think?" His hand lifted off her ribs and reached for a curl, twisting it lightly. "And the sounds she makes," he hummed. She could feel his breath on her cheek. Her ribs refused to expand, holding to hear what he had to say. "When she's close, it's just like she's back in class, anxious to get an answer right. Can't stop moving, can't shut her mouth." She stared down at the tablecloth, struggling to breathe. Her stomach was tight as his fingers threaded in the hair behind her ear, tilting her face to him. "I'd rather slide into her when she's wet, and hating herself for it."

She kept her eyes on his collar, unable to meet his eyes. It's just a game, she told herself. He doesn't mean any of it. The wine brought a flush to his neck, the pink splotches attached to his throat as he swallowed.

He'd played his role well. It wasn't until Zabini spoke that she realized the boys were deathly quiet.

"I have to say, I'm the same," he said, an air of levity in his tone, as if he was politely changing the subject from something particularly nasty. "Never been one to use sex for punishment, myself. But"—he nodded to Flint—"I do appreciate that potion some days." Zabini raised his glass. "To Marcus' ingenuity."

They toasted, and Flint grinned. "I'll have a fresh batch next week." He turned a calculated smirk on Draco and said, "I'd be honored if Miss Granger would partake. On the house, of course."

A tense pause. Eyes on her, eyes flickering between Draco and Flint. Draco tilted his head, and she could feel the breath he drew before replying, "You're too kind."

Marcus Flint winked at him, and drained the rest of his wine glass.

"I find that once they've had the potion, they're more amenable the next time," one of them said.

Another agreed.

And she listened to them trade stories about the girls in their laps or girls in the past, as if they were all back in the Slytherin Quidditch changing rooms. The laughter started again. Montague told a particularly nasty story about a girl he'd been with at Hogwarts and he bounced the girl on his lap in a crude imitation of it, jostling her until she spilled her champagne glass.