[ It hits light a bombarda right in the ribs: the roses bloom, the moonlight cuts through the windows and dress Wen Qing in silver, and Hermione is left aflutter. Only instead of her usual tongue-tied self around the woman, tonight her courage (or is it a curse? a blessing?) drives her tongue to say: ]

You say 'just you' as if that's not the best possible company. [ Her hold on the railing tightens for a moment, before she descends and meets Wen Qing halfway up the staircase - for protection, obviously. She's going to protecc. ]

I do count myself lucky, you know? To have met you at all has been a revelation in many ways.