And as they greeted Charlotte, as his hand pressed to her lower back — his fingers inching lower than before — she relished that kind of power. That intoxicating feeling of being desired. Not by someone who'd just take from her. Someone who wanted her to give herself freely.

They spent some time in the Great Hall, with Draco shaking hands and dodging questions about Switzerland. His left hand pulled her so close against him, she was practically straddling his hip. When they finally made their way up to the dining room, she felt Draco's hand drift lower as they climbed the stairs. She batted his hand away with a wink.

Harper opened the door for them, and her stomach swooped when she saw Flint back at the head of the table. His eyes lifted to them, but there was no snarky comment, no lingering gaze on Hermione's legs or chest. He almost looked nervous.

Draco greeted the boys, even patting Theo on the back, and took his seat at the head of the table. Hermione wound herself into his lap while he laughed at something Pucey had just said. His hand was on her leg as soon as she was settled, pulling her body closer, and sliding up her thigh to rest just below the short hem of her dress. She felt her skin flush, and every time he brushed his thumb across her inner thigh, she felt her stomach tighten.

"Marcus," Draco called out. "How was your holiday?"

The table quieted, waiting with bated breath.

Flint swallowed, and looked down at his wine glass. "Fine. Weather was perfect." He rolled his shoulders back and sent Draco a smirk. "Hope you didn't miss me too terribly."

Draco tapped his fingers on the table. "We hardly noticed you were gone." He reached for his glass and drank deeply, staring at him over the rim.

The table was silent. Several boys followed suit and grabbed their wine glasses.

There had been a palpable shift in power. The boys who usually clamored around Flint for his attention or guidance were shifting their focus to Draco. There was no talk of Sharing her, no ribbing Draco for his behavior. As the night dragged on, Flint sunk further and further into the background, his eyes flickering anxiously around the table.

And throughout dinner, Draco kept his hand on her thigh, moving infinitesimally higher and higher. But when she glanced down, he was only an inch under the hem of her dress. She took calming breaths once she noticed his erection against her hip.

When it was time for the Lounge, Hermione felt like she was about to combust. Draco kept her close to his side, his hand wrapping around her hip as they passed through the hallway. The Lounge was packed this time. Draco dropped into the large chair he usually sat in, and she settled against him, curling her legs up into his lap. He took two glasses of champagne from an offered tray, and once he'd handed her one, his free hand rested on her knee.