'I will not suggest myself. I abhor Quidditch,' Hermione reminded herself at once, crossing her arms over her chest to keep a bit warm. The cold had finally begun to nip at her, but she was loath to go back in where she knew that half the family wanted to see whether or not she and Ron would ever kiss again. "Well, Harry would be happy to go, I'm sure. He does enjoy the sport," Hermione suggested, her breath puffing on the air like a wisp of cotton. She was red in the cheeks, but it had little to do with the weather right then, and everything to do with how close Ron was. She could almost smell him, and at once she was transported into potions class sixth year. God had she been embarrassed to realize what that potion smelt like.