Tipsy

Hermione leaned softly against Draco, her breath against his neck sending chills up his spine. He let his fingers splay carefully against her lower back, resting his hand in the crook of her back.

Dancing. It wasn't like Draco was fond of it or anything… but pressed up against Hermione, when she was in a dress that he felt showed more than it covered, how was he to complain? The music was lulling, the glass of blood red wine soothing his concerns. Men could look all they wanted, but she was his. They knew it, though they'd pretend not to. But it didn't matter particularly – because she knew it. And that was what counted most, he knew.

"Mmm." Her quiet contentment as she leaned a little more against him. Draco knew that she'd had one too many of those light and fruity white wines she so liked, never realizing that one or two would cause her to become so tipsy.

"Are you ready to go?" His voice was barely audible, meant for her ears only. The way she had her arms around his neck, the way her body pressed against his… it was hard to remain standing, to say the least. He kissed her neck affectionately.

"Does it have to end?" Hermione's voice was a touch slurred, and she spoke slowly, carefully. The day had worn her out, and Draco knew it.

"Everything has an ending, dear."

"Not love," she replied, faster than he would've thought her processing allowed. He looked down at her, honey eyes a touch glassy from the wine. The touch of a smile curled at her lips, and finally, Draco nodded.

"Not love," he conceded, leaning in to kiss her as he held her tighter.