Hermione stood there rather dumbly in the snow, letting the silence of the field surround her, letting his voice echo a little. She grabbed the knitted fabric in her hand and with no one watching, inhaled deeply and without restraint. Her head swam a little, and from behind the safety of the fabric, she allowed herself a rare, girly, giddy grin. She ran the rest of the way to the safe house, the wards parting for her once she was on the front stoop to show the actual building.
By tomorrow morning, after sleeping off the wine, she was half-already aware she'd regret getting so stupid. She'd be kicking herself for becoming an immature, babbling twit. However, it wouldn't change the fact Octavius Lovegood had been a very pleasant surprise.