Hermione finds herself planted against the wall with Malfoy kissing a trail of fire down her skin.

“We could have that,” he croaks.

Hermione shakes her head vehemently. “They love each other. We despise each other.”

He pulls back and Hermione flinches at the expression he’s wearing. He looks like someone who has seen something terrible — eyes unfocused and face taking on a sort of stricken expression.

“We don’t need to love each other,” he says in a strangled whisper that holds the weight of words unspoken. And then in a sort of desperate plea, “We don’t even need to like each other…we just need to…conceive.”