"Don't—"

"Let's go. Draco, we're going."

She stood swiftly and dragged him up by the collar. He stumbled against the fireplace, tugging to undo his topmost buttons.

"Accio Floo powder," she whispered, and magic sang in her blood as a small ornate jar shot into her hand. She grabbed a handful and turned to him.

He was sweating, his hair damp and his fingers scratching at the buttons of his shirt.

Over-heating. Drowsiness. Dizziness. Obsessive euphoria at skin contact.

And that was the old version.

"You'll"—her voice shook—"you'll need to take my arm. To take us over the boundary."

He laughed, the sound as manic as his aunt's. "That's not an option, Granger."

She wrung her hands. "Or you can summon your father. Conjure a Patronus?" She winced at the glare he sent her. He didn't have one. "I can't send mine. They'd— they'd know about my magic." Her teeth worried her bottom lip, and his eyes watched the movement with a thick hunger. She looked down the dark hallway. "I can go find them and tell them you're sick." Walking wandless through a Death Eater's manor— "Or I can go back to Flint and Rabastan, and demand they—"

He pushed off the mantle of the fireplace, bracing himself as he stood tall. He loomed over her with black, hooded eyes, and she resisted the urge to step backward.

"Stun me as soon as we're through."

She swallowed at the threat in his words. "I know you won't hurt me—"

"Stun me. Is that clear?" He stepped closer to her, and she could feel his breath on her face.

She knew she wouldn't. She couldn't risk leaving him unconscious in this state.

Hermione tossed the Floo powder, stepped into the fire, and the moment his fingers wrapped around her skin, she yelled, "Malfoy Manor!"

The sound of his gasp as their skin connected was audible even in the whoosh of the fire. His arm slipped around her waist in the transport, gripping her close to him. When she stumbled out of the fireplace into the Manor's entryway, he stumbled with her, his face buried in her hair, his arms clinging to her body.

He moaned against her ear, as if the most delicious meal had been served in front of him, and then a hand was sliding down her spine, roaming over her backside, and gripping her close.

She squeaked, grabbing his shoulders to steady herself, and his wand dropped from her fingertips. She whipped her head to watch it knock against the floor just before he grabbed her face and kissed her.

There was nothing hesitant, nothing gentle about it. His tongue was in her mouth and his hand twisting in her hair, as if he needed her like oxygen. She could feel him hard against her stomach, and the hand on her arse was kneading her, filling his palm with her.

Hermione tore her mouth away, trying to breathe. "Draco—"

His lips attached to her neck as she squirmed, trying to put distance between them. "Need you," he groaned. "Please."