The brisk air had been enough to cause her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and various other visible and non-visible parts of her body to flush red, and Mr. Crouch was not at all helping her skin return to its normal coloring by the way he was touching — and kissing — her. Letting his hands and lips wander was wrong; she was acting like a no-good harlot, and she knew that, yet her brain was capable of coming up with a million excuses in the moment.

She'd never received real affection from anyone, not since she was a child. The Scrimgeours never praised her, and even her identical twin conformed to the upper class' idea of what an "affectionate" sibling was (which was, in her opinion, not a very affectionate one). She just wanted to be loved, even if it was only for a night—was that really so bad? It wasn't like wizards flocked to rural muggle villages, so they wouldn't be caught. It's not like she was losing her virtue!

Except Mr. Crouch didn't seem to be on the same page about that, especially with how he was touching her bosom.

Perhaps it was embarrassment, or perhaps it the fear of what would happen if she rejected him, but she didn't slap his hand away as she would have normally. Instead, a nervous giggle escaped her lips, but it didn't sound nervous. He was joking, she reassured herself, noting that his tone was still teasing even as he explained why it wouldn't be safe for her to walk home alone. He was a gentleman... even if he was a gentleman who kissed his lady acquaintances.

"I ought not to floo directly home," she explained, chewing on her lower lip. "Knowing my aunt—" Or worse, her father if he were to find out. "—she'd find a way to trace my steps back to here," she continued, taking hold of his arm. She motioned for him to lead her towards the nearest floo with a nod of her head before gently smiling.