When he slipped to his knees on the floor in front of the sofa, Hermione didn't know what to think. This was a different man than he'd been the night he was drunk. Carefully pushing the long skirt of her witch's robes up over her legs, he stopped every few inches to tenderly press his lips against the exposed skin. Certainly there had been other instances in the past when his face ended up between her thighs, but rarely had he been so calm, so gentle. Rodolphus" fingers slid under her knickers, tugging them slowly down her legs. Most encounters with the fearsome wizard resulted in ripped knickers that couldn't always be repaired. She was unsure what to make of the change.