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Story Notes:
It’s arousing when Harry covers her body with his and presses her down into the mattress. Hermione is the one who actually suggests he try binding her, thinking it will be similar but maybe better because it’ll let him use his hands for things other than holding her down. Only it isn’t better at all. She doesn’t like the way the magic tugs on her wrists when she tries to move. She doesn’t like not being able to get free no matter how much she struggles. She doesn’t like the memories of a dark night nearly a decade ago that flash through her mind as she writhes against the blanket.

Harry is above her, licking at her neck and kneading her breasts. She tries to focus on his dark hair, but she keeps confusing it with the black hair that brushed against her skin as she was cursed over and over. Unable to move, unable to do anything but scream. Hermione can feel a sense of panic starting to spread through her, and she can’t stand it. Not a second more.

“Fluxweed,” she says, her voice a hoarse whisper as she struggles to get free.

Harry immediately sits up and pushes his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. He reaches for his wand, quickly releasing her bonds. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t like it,” she tells him, not bothering to tell him about the flash of frightening memory. She wouldn’t have enjoyed being tied up that way regardless of her past experience. “I felt like I was going pull my arms off, trying to get free. I don’t like being secured that way, Harry. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Harry scoffs, moving up the bed to sit beside her. He tugs her over onto his lap and rubs her wrists, as if there’d be someone tangible binding her instead of just magic, and she feels silly for having tears in her eyes over something so silly. “We have that word for a reason, Hermione. I don’t enjoy doing anything that you don’t get pleasure from, you know?”

“I know. It’s just…I can’t believe I’m the one who actually used it. I thought I’d enjoy that.” She sighs as she leans into his chest, grateful for his warm arms around her.

“If you’ll think back, I actually stopped you when you were using that toy on my arse a few years ago,” Harry reminds her, petting her hair in a comforting way that makes her snuggle closer. “That was when we decided to actually come up with a word, remember?”

She smiles slightly. “I do remember that. I’d forgotten. It’s not a competition anyway, even if I sometimes think about things as if I’m failing at them.”

“You can’t fail at this, Hermione. It’s a relationship. I already know all the most horrible things about you, just like you know the worst things about me, so stopping shagging because you feel uncomfortable isn’t going to be much of a problem,” he says, kissing her forehead. “Why don’t we just cuddle a bit and then pretend we’re Muggle teenagers making out while our parental figures are away?”

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, laughing softly before she tilts her head back to kiss him. “But I like that idea.”