Wide eyes watched him as he settled himself on the sofa, looking at home and his simple presence making her feel more comfortable and secure than she had in quite a while. Whatever life threw at her, here was the constant; the friendship she’d had for more than half her life and loyal and dependable to the core. “We look fantastic and dashingly fashionable.” Voice just a little hoarse as she gave him a look from lowered lashes and debated.
Just for a moment. It was easy enough to slide over, tuck her feet underneath her onto the couch and curl into those warm, strong arms. His pajamas smelled of him, the bran of scent she associated with Oliver and as it flooded her nostrils. Comforting.
Tilting her head slightly, seeking out the spot on his chest where she could tuck her head underneath his chin and sighed softly. Breathing in and out, the familiar rhythm flowing through her veins to try and chase away the nightmares and the thought that every time she opened her eyes she would see the grim, damp bricks that formed her cell. She didn’t - wouldn’t - talk about what had happened in Azkaban but the stories about those incarcerated were pubic domain and the presence of the dementors common knowledge. It haunted her. How easy would it be for Society to slip back down into segregating the world again?
“Don’t go.” Hand sliding over his stomach to anchor herself closer to him. “Please.”