Hearing Nick joke about something that sounded horribly romantic and sweet was a kick in the stomach for Lavender. How utterly oblivious Nick was her to misguided feelings. Lavender supposed that was a good thing. If he actually knew how she felt about him he would have to let her down gently and that would be awful. Lavender smiled instead and watched Nick set up an adorable picnic on her living room floor. It wasn't the first time she'd dined on the floor. Normally it was because she didn't have a table.
"I think we'll be fine just just the lamps and our own voices," she said and tucked her hair behind her ears. Lavender never hid her scars with Nick. She had to wonder if he knew what a big deal that was and how much it meant to her that she didn't have to hide who she was in his presence.
"You were brilliant," she said. "I think I screamed so much I lost my voice." Lavender had been at his match, of course. She was in the worst of the seats, her view partially obstructed by the luxury boxes, but she'd been there and she'd been cheering for him. Maybe it was wrong to cheer for France when she was English through and through, but England didn't have Nick.