She knew when he put his head on her shoulder and fell asleep on the train back to home, the perfect heave of his chest when he sighed and collapsed onto her, the way his arms circled around her waist.
The way he drummed nervously on her thigh as they sat next to each other on the plush couches of the common room. She stared at the pages of her book; she couldn't even think when they touched. Once most of the younger students were off to bed, he put his arm around her shoulders. When it became clear that the only people left in the room were necking couples, he placed a soft, sweet kiss above her clavicle and she melted into him.
On the rare days when the house is quiet, the chores done, and the light dim, they sit on a patched and magicked loveseat, basking in the proximity. She knits, he reads. Peace punctuated by kisses behind ears, on bare shoulders, cheeks, jaws.