'Are all your socks black, Draco?' Luna sounded as astonished as he had ever heard her.
Draco glanced up at his new wife in surprise, and then down at his own feet, on which were a perfectly ordinary pair of black socks. 'Er – yes, I think so,' he said cautiously. Perhaps she was going to tell him that there was some invisible toe-nipping creature that was especially fond of black socks. He braced himself for it.
'All black…' she said again, rooting through his sock drawer. 'Every single one!'
His gaze slipped down to her legs. She was wearing pale yellow socks up to her knees, with patterns of blue seashells around the tops of them.
She turned round then, dancing over to where he was lounging on the bed, and curled up next to him, slipping her arms around his waist. 'You poor darling, only black socks,' she said. 'I'll knit you some more colourful ones.'
But she glanced up at him with the glimmer of mischief through her eyelashes, and the corner of her mouth was going all curly and kissable, so that he couldn't help catching in a sharp involuntary breath.
He pulled her closer and took her chin gently in his thumb and forefinger. 'Oh – no – you – will – not, my lady. I refuse to wear socks with rainbows, or spots, or stripes, or – or Crumple Horned Snorkacks. Nor seashells,' he added with another glance at her legs, which were now draped over his own. 'In fact, I refuse to wear any socks but plain black. Or perhaps very dark green.'
And he kissed her, very long and hard, to stop her from giggling.