Even in the faint blue glow of the telly, Hermione could see Neville turn a brilliant puce colour and shoot Dean a half-hearted glare. Draco huffed under his breath at Dean's rebuke but didn't say anything else, just sank back against the couch cushions, long legs stretched out in front of him, his hand drifting to Hermione's feet, kneading them firmly. She hummed a happy little sigh as his thumb pressed into the sensitive arch of her sole, dragging along it and making her feet tingle and the tension run out of her. She sank her head back and watched the movie in utterly boneless, limp, contentment, slowly picking her way through the bowl of popcorn as Draco absently massaged her feet.