After dinner, she licked a stripe up his throat, beginning at his clavicle. Her fingers carded through his hair as she worried his earlobe between her lips, embarrassed to catch her breath hitching right in his ear. She listened to him swallow a large gulp of red wine, and when she wiggled closer, he shifted beneath her with a "That's enough, Granger," before tossing back the rest of his wine and removing her from his lap.

On Thursday, she drained her wine, took a deep breath, and folded herself against his body as close as space would allow.

"Okay?" she murmured. His arm wrapped around her back in reply, giving up the pretense of eating altogether. She listened to his throat click as he swallowed his wine, then tried turning her chest to face his, pressing closer.

"You should eat," she said quietly. "We're going to Edinburgh tomorrow, and we have to act normally." A long pause before he nodded, picking up his fork and knife. She watched as he began cutting his steak, then slowly leaned forward to brush lazy kisses over his throat and jaw.

A sharp intake of breath, and Draco dropped his cutlery. His hands moved to her hips — still turned to the side — and slid her slightly away from him. She bit her lip as she wobbled, feeling off-balance. She wound her arms around his shoulders to steady herself, suppressing the urge to squeak as her breasts grazed his chest through her thin shirt — and another shift from under her, pushing her even further down his thighs.

Hermione frowned, still unsteady and now irritated. She was just pressed up against him a minute ago, and now he was being stubborn. Determined, she scooted closer again, and his legs jumped under hers. A sharp exhale, a squeeze of his hands on her waist—

And then she was promptly upended, falling over his knees in a heap on the floor. She yelped.

"Fucking hell, Granger—"

"Ow! That hurt, Malfoy!"

He glared down at her, furious and oddly hunched in his chair. "You're a bloody idiot," he growled, before racing out of the room and away from her.

~*~

On Friday, after taking a light dinner in her room, Hermione washed and wrapped herself in a fluffy robe. She examined the utensils and brushes, trying to remember how she'd used them a month ago.

She sat at her vanity, preparing to apply something gooey to her eyelids, when a tapping at her door paused her. Tugging at the tie to her robe, Hermione padded across her room and cracked the door open.

Draco stood there with his hands in his pockets, an anxious expression on his face. His eyes roved over her robe once.

"Are we leaving already?"

"No," he said, voice scratchy. He cleared his throat. "You have a visitor. If you'll allow it."

Hermione blinked at him. "A visitor?"

A voice from behind Draco — "Everyone is so fucking polite in this house."