Harry gave a benign shrug, "We fuck, then-" he brushed Hermione's hair off her shoulder and adjusted her collar, the moment captured by hundreds of camera clicks. He met Moody’s glare and Dumbledore's discerning blink with an irreverent salute. "After the inevitable interrogations from the Aurors and Dumbledore, we visit Dolohov. He's been threatening our girl." He and Malfoy shared a possessive look. An understanding. They could have her, but no one else. Not unless they allowed it.