“Daphne Greengrass didn't want to feel the things she felt for Theo Nott. She was never more breakable than when she was in his hands, never more fragile, and it was a sensation she positively loathed. Most of the time she could convince herself she felt nothing. Numbing herself was a reflex she'd perfected at a young age. Other people, people who weren't Theo Nott, were safe. They couldn't hurt her, certainly couldn't break her, and”
“You're the girl I'm going to marry," Theo Nott said to Daphne Greengrass on the occasion of their first kiss, a statement that was hardly preceded by anything else. Maybe there had been a joke here and there, maybe a laugh. Maybe she'd been in some particularly flattering pose and he'd let himself get carried away. But in the moment, he'd said the words and she'd looked up at him and felt her heart twist and lurch and in that instant, she'd thought, my god, you idiot boy, you might be right.”
“Pans," Harry said with a sigh, stroking a hand over her hair and resting his chin atop her head. "Did it really never occur to you that perhaps I might want The foot massages," he explained, and she stared at him, utterly bewildered. "For when your feet swell? Those, you know the ones—I want them. I want the doctor's visits. I want the trips to the shops when you can't do without some sweet, or “Marry me and I'll fuck you," Harry said with guttural certainty, his voice buried in fabric. "As often as you want. However you want me to."
She shuddered. "You really think I'm just another of your randy conquests, then?"
"No." He shook his head. "You're the conquest, Pansy. You're endgame." He rose up slightly, fingers toying with the buttons of her blouse. "You're the one I've been waiting all this time to win."
"I'm not a prize, Harry," she reminded him with an irritable groan, though she leaned her head back for the kiss he bestowed on her neck.
"No," he said, "but you're mine to earn, and I will spend a lifetime doing it.”