"I..." Hermione lifts the cloak out of the paper wrapping, and marvels at how soft it is. She looks out the window at the gardens, stained in reds and pinks by the setting sun, and then at Malfoy, standing there tired and pallid in the evening light, watching her hopefully, all anticipation. He looks nearly sweet, if exhausted and worn, and that he noticed how claustrophobic she is feeling and wanted to do something about it is sweet, inasmuch as anything in this situation is sweet. "I – yes. Yes, I'd like that."