"I'm not going to bop you, Harry." Hermione shakes her head, her lips turning up into a barely there smile. She's exhausted, if she's been honest, holed away where no one can see her and look at her face, question her about the why and whats of her duel. Once the dust has settled on the matter she supposes she can step foot out again, but for now she's more than happy to step up and take her mantle as the Marchioness, to be the figurehead that the Seelie want her to be.

Her own clothing is a little better, a set of leather clothes with armour, a corset around her. Her servants - and she had servants! - wanted her in dresses more often than not but she just wasn't comfortable. She couldn't do it.

Breathing out, she looks over at Harry and feels her expression drop, her eyes lifting high and low, her heart on her sleeve before she swallowed back her emotion.

"Harry... I barely recognise you anymore."