Her lips parted before Draco could take a breath. "One measly kiss?" She lifted a brow imitating the boy beneath her and said, "That's an easy bet to take. Hardly fair for you, though."

Flint winked at her. "You sell yourself short, Granger. Perhaps that's just how madly I desire you."

Draco tensed, about to jump in, about to end this.

"How could my master refuse?" she quickly replied. "It costs him nothing if he loses."

The hand on her back lifted, and she heard the arm of the chair creak under the strain of a hand squeezing it.

The boys were silent, watching the unspoken tennis match between the two heads of the table. But the match was won, and Draco knew it. She could feel the anger radiating off of him even as he said, "Of course. An excellent wager."

All eyes turned to the cards as Draco and Flint played, pulling new hands and rolling the dice. She judged Draco's success off of Theo, who had no poker face. The more disappointed he looked, the better Draco was doing.

When they both finally laid out their cards, the entire table released a breath. Hermione waited.

"Fuck," Montague whispered, running a hand through his hair.

"It's a draw, sweetheart," Flint said to her from across the table, his lips twisted in an arrogant smile. "Such a shame. I would have liked to have tasted you just once." He made a show of licking his lips at her as the boys laughed and Draco stoically cleaned up his cards. Flint leaned closer, schooling his features in a mock pout. "And I'm sure you desperately wanted to know about your Weasley. Such a pity."

Flint tapped his chin, as if deep in thought.

"I'll tell you what," he said, shifting Penelope off his lap. "I'll still reveal my secret if you give me that kiss. Good and proper, now."

She felt her pulse in her fingertips. Then Draco scoffed and plucked up his wine glass, draining the contents and preparing to excuse them from the room.

She thought of warm blue eyes crinkling at her. A booming laugh, freckled skin, and the smell of fresh grass. She had barely seconds. But she had to know.

Hermione stood swiftly. The room was still. They watched her as she moved to Flint, who was smirking at her with hungry eyes. She didn't spare a glance at Draco as she sat in Flint's lap, draped across his knees, and pulled his neck down to kiss him squarely on the mouth.

She heard the table erupt in cheers and groans. She felt Flint smile against her lips before returning her kiss with a vengeance, his mouth cold and rubbery against hers. She was just pulling back when his hand slipped into her hair, and his other dropped to her thigh, rubbing the skin. His lips moved under hers, his hand gripping her curls to hold her still, and then his tongue was against her mouth, pressing forward to get inside.