He ignored her and lifted her up to sit on the podium, positioning her so that she was precariously perched on the edge of the stand. He got down on his knees and began to untie and remove her trainers, slowing his pace and taking his time. He trailed his hands up and down her calves and leaned forward, firmly settled between her thighs as he bit down on the fabric of her jeans. Hermione dug her hands into his hair, tilting his head back so she could look into his eyes. Her lips were swollen and bruised, hair escaping from her carefully constructed plaits, shirt askew, and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on.