Hermione was frowning. She was probably tired. He wasn’t surprised. She’d been going back and forth for over an hour selecting books, her arms raised to trace the titles embossed onto the countless spines she had inspected. That, and the quick but intense fuck they'd had in the bookshop had likely aided in wearing her out. She was pliant in his arms as they walked slowly. Most of the crowds had gone by now, and he was glad—he suspected she would be in no mood to continue her performance had they all remained.  