He didn't need to ask it - she was. She would be. She had known it from the moment her eyes caught sight of him, back at Hogwarts, only she'd been too young then, and had narrowly avoided death by dragon, so her interest hadn't been fully captivated.

But he's got her now. Hard earned, through blood and sweat and tears - her fingertips whisper across the scar that slashes his face, before curling over the line of his jaw so she can pull him down and brush her lips against the same spot too. How close that had been - and then the war followed, her own sense of guilt haunting her and hounding her for almost a year, and the battle itself. It's either a miracle they've lasted this long, or pure idiocy.

He brings her right back to her senses, though, filling her hip with a sharp thrust that has her gasping for air, her head tipping back against the tree. The sharp bark tugs her sharp little chignon loose, hair falling loose.

"Keep going," she whispers, voice low and raw. "Keep going, William, please..."