"She's been less heinous more recently, but I still wouldn't trust her as far as I could... I'd say throw her but I'm strong. Kick her maybe?" That was also a terrible comparison given how strong her legs were, more so than might be expected, but it worked. "Sadly the Prophet has good lawyers. And Skeeter's slippery. I'd admire it if it wasn't directed so maliciously." She recalled something about Harry Potter before the war which suggested he might have had a little luck there, but mostly people didn't.
Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip and she smiled. Just where she wanted him. Or almost. "Not while they've been ex-Quidditch players," she mused. Her breath was coming a little shorter and she considered how exactly to play this. He was clearly willing, and rather more sober thanks to the juice too, she thought. "I think you might just be changing your luck," she said, voice dropping as one of her hands dropped below the table and found his thigh. She let her hand brush against it, keeping near to his knee for now. Above the table she nonchalantly sipped at her juice, although her eyes never left him. "If you'd like it to, of course." The opportunity for refusal was always open. He could pull away from her, or just plain say no, it was no skin off her nose.