There was a ring of wetness on her dress right above her knee from where she balanced her water between sips. In her periphery, his feet stretched forward as he slouched further down into the cushions. She fixated on the anomaly that was his bare feet. Honestly, there wasn’t a time Hermione can remember really seeing them. Combat boots, dragon-leather dress shoes, dirty socks had always covered them. Surely, she’d felt them before, tucked against the back of her calves or between her own if they shared a shower. Their survival usurped most of her focus at that point. 