            "I would expect nothing less, my devious little witch," he said, giving her another delicious smirk. Hermione flushed, then her cheeks burned brighter as his eyes dropped to her wounded knee. With the tightness of her jeans, she knew he’d be unable to pull the stiff fabric far up enough to reveal the cut. She could heal the wound herself, of course, but with a flutter in her belly, Hermione realized she didn’t want to do it herself. She didn’t want to transfigure the jeans into something easier accessible, either. She wanted to see what he’d do. How he’d react.