“No spells, no charms, no potions,” Hermione said, idly twirling the curl that always fell down first from her chignon. It wasn’t lost upon him, as she’d intended and he’d understood, based on the gleam in his grey eyes.
“O ye of little faith,” Draco said.
“I don’t need faith, I need proof-of-concept. Evidence,” she replied.
“You won’t when I’m done,” he said, one hand cupping her cheek gently, the other possessive at her waist. “I don’t need fucking magic to make you come, Hermione Jean.”
“God, don’t stop,” she gasped a little later.
“Now you’re a believer,” he murmured.














