One afternoon after losing soundly, he had stripped off his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead and unwittingly distracted Hermione enough that she had walked into the doorframe. The next day, he turned up in combat leathers, his grey sweats, and nothing else. The soft brown leather pads strapped to his arms and torso only accentuated his body. She could see the defined contours of his arms, and the breastplate hid none of the platinum hair disappearing into the waistband of his pants. As they circled each other, her eyes followed the ripples of his muscles, completely distracted. He smirked at her, watching her eyes dance across his body, and then took no quarter. 