"I'd like that," she says, mimicking his own hopeful, tentative answer from before with not even a trace of mockery. It's a gentle ribbing, because she can't help herself, because Malfoy brings this out in her, and isn't it better to be friendly rivals over a good cause than enemies in a war?
She knows why he doesn't go out to restaurants, she gets it; the eyes follow even her around; in the three years after the war, they'd been relentless; the year directly after, when the crime tribunals were still ongoing, they'd been merciless. There were many people out there who would have loved to rake her over hot coals (literally) because she committed the offense of testifying in a few cases (Draco's, namely) . The idea of the whole world having an opinion about what Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger possibly get up to in their free time fills her with the same sort of dread as Skeeter slutshaming a fourteen-year-old.
She won't drag him to one to be mean, but she will show him that she's not ashamed of him in this way. Whatever else some people might think, and they'll draw their wrong conclusions regardless of how discreet they are, Hermione's rather pleased they have come to this.
"I'll enlarge it if you piss me off," she says airily, dismissing his concerns about the duvet. She rolls properly onto her side now, somewhat recovered, and props her head up. "Are you a cuddler, Draco? Or should we share the bed like we're currently debating, internally, if we're going to regret this?"
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She knows why he doesn't go out to restaurants, she gets it; the eyes follow even her around; in the three years after the war, they'd been relentless; the year directly after, when the crime tribunals were still ongoing, they'd been merciless. There were many people out there who would have loved to rake her over hot coals (literally) because she committed the offense of testifying in a few cases (Draco's, namely) . The idea of the whole world having an opinion about what Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger possibly get up to in their free time fills her with the same sort of dread as Skeeter slutshaming a fourteen-year-old.
She won't drag him to one to be mean, but she will show him that she's not ashamed of him in this way. Whatever else some people might think, and they'll draw their wrong conclusions regardless of how discreet they are, Hermione's rather pleased they have come to this.
"I'll enlarge it if you piss me off," she says airily, dismissing his concerns about the duvet. She rolls properly onto her side now, somewhat recovered, and props her head up. "Are you a cuddler, Draco? Or should we share the bed like we're currently debating, internally, if we're going to regret this?"