the walk to the restaurant where pansy had made reservations for their lunch was long enough for hermione to consider the plan and observe him. his pace was leisurely, his shoulders had grown broad. she’d seen bits and pieces of him over the years, and she was familiar enough with quidditch to know he was the captain of the falmouth falcons, which made it easier to populate her preconceived notions as to what kind of man he’d grown into. at the very least, he was far from the sniveling teenager she once knew him as, and the more she studied him, the more she saw what pansy did: he was laid-back, far more easygoing by his walk alone, and his hair was just long enough for her to card a hand through—