            He ignored her. With one arm beneath her knees, and the other behind her back, he scooped her into his arms. Her face pressed into his shoulder. Smelled like...fire whiskey and books. She drank him in, blushing furiously when her attention shifted to his hands on her bare skin. Crook of her knees. Curve of her spine. "I’d rather you not break a bone in my house, Hermione," he scolded, as he carried her down the hall. "I imagine your friends might start to take issue with you coming here."