Hermione-scarf aside, he's appreciative of the warmth at his back, even if it's imagined. It could be the wine in his belly with only a few biscuits or the fact that his best friend is curled behind him, her hands toying with the hair at his nape causing him to break out in goosebumps. His feelings for Hermione feel so tangled and complicated, and it just feels so good that it's the pair of them here. He kind of doesn't want to finish the task at hand because it means they'll have to move.

"It might not have been my responsibility, but I'd have felt worse if I hadn't." Leaving so many without knowing how to defend themselves hadn't sat right, even putting all his previous experiences with defenselessness into a dark recess. He quickly makes another bullet point and scrawls Dumbledore's Army next to it with what Hermione said. It had felt good teaching everyone and seeing their progress, watching them gain confidence in what they could do.

He'd gotten so lost in his head that Hermione's voice close to his ear startled him, his heart jackrabbiting against his ribcage. Turning toward her, he wets his lips trying to gather those scattered thoughts as he takes in how pretty her hair looks today. He hadn't mentioned it earlier. Looks nice.

"Erm.." Harry clears his throat. "I've got nothing at home. Takeaway fine?"

Smooth, Harry. Real smooth. King of smooth, even.