It had seemed a good idea at the time, to take Hermione to get ice cream. They’d been cooped up in their office on a hot summer day with a broken ceiling fan. Hermione had been fanning herself with a manilla envelope, the curls closest to her neck stuck there with sweat. The first three buttons of her blouse had been undone, taunting him with the idea of what lay beneath every time she sighed or scoffed. 