"What's your earliest memory of me, Dean?" Hermione smiles, one of her smiles where he knows she looking for something, but what that something is...
All Dean has is honesty at these moments, and for the most part, with her, it generally works. "Your hands."
She raises an eyebrow.
"I couldn't see them. Your robes were too big. It was funny, looking like you didn't have any and I was giggly anyway that day."
"Nervous?" she asks, but she knows, of course he was nervous, because she would have been nervous too, in her own way.
Dean shrugs. "Why do you ask?"
She's silent for several moments, perhaps deciding if she wants to answer. "Curiosity as to what it is you see when you look at me. Supposed that was as good a place to start as any."
Dean isn't so sure he agrees, but she's still smiling, her hands, perfectly visible, reaching out to curve over his shoulders. He keeps his eyes on them for as long as possible.