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Hermione would say one of her most valued types of love language would be quality time. She cherished the one-on-one time she and Draco shared together, since really their daily lives were quite busy with things to do and people to see. It was sometimes difficult to find time to have an evening exclusively alone.
She enjoyed things like going to get ice cream together, or take a walk through Muggle London at sunset and maybe stopping by a bar because she heard their espresso martinis were to die for.
One of her favorite ways to enjoy each other’s company was the times they were settled nicely in their home library reading in comfortable silence.
Sometimes, when she’d glance up from her own readings, she’d lock onto the way Draco’s large hands delicately held his book. She’d watch his long, nimble fingers slide down the crease to separate unruly pages at a leisurely, almost lethargic pace. His middle finger would bend ever so slightly and hook against the page he was ready to turn. His hand would splay out to smooth the paper down, which highlighted the two rings he always adorned. Gods, they were tantalizing…and a swell of possessiveness ached in her chest when she eyed his wedding band.
She’d bite her lip and cross her legs tighter. Then, she would return to place on the page. She refused to get distracted, for she really did want to learn more about the history of the—wait which line had she been on? Her efforts would ultimately be in vain, as not only a few sentences later would her eyes wander back to those beautiful hands…
And as Hermione’s back would be pressed firmly against her husband, legs spread wide to straddle his own, those same fingers would be dancing rhythmically against her core. They’d glide through her wet folds with the same patient ease. He’d work her perfectly, using his finger pads to draw tight, light circles against her clit. And when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he’d plunge his middle digit into her depth. She’d feel his signet ring push against her clit, sending shockwaves down her spine. He’d massage her walls expertly, whispering filthy praise into her ear. He’d remind her that he would always take such good care of her—his perfect, sweet girl. And when he’d find that perfect spot, pushing against it with the perfect amount of pressure—Hermione would have no choice but to tumble into star-lit ecstasy.
So yes, quality time was definitely one of Hermione’s favorite love languages.