If he can make her come so hard her knees still feel wobbly ten hours later, he can bother her with emotional stuff - and it isn't a bother. She asked. She doesn't judge him, there is no expression of distaste or criticism.

She watches him as he explains and elaborates, and then finally nods.

"I had an extensible tent and three weeks' worth of food shoved inside my purse for two whole years after the war," she admits, "and every time I argued with my managers I kept thinking this is it, they'll tell me that just because I'm Potter's best friend doesn't mean I'm instantly qualified for anything, and I should just go back to the muggle world."

She never fit, as much as she wanted to (desperately), in the pureblood wizarding world. It has changed since, somewhat, but still.

They're lonely people both, perhaps. She tilts her head and considers his living room, then turns to face him, her legs still tucked under her.

"Have you ever heard of IKEA? We should go."