Harry continued, teasing a hand along the lace sides of her knickers, "Maybe we’ll want dull, crave dull. But doesn’t mean we shouldn’t make memories to burn us with fucking shame whenever someone gets a papercut at our boring Ministry jobs," he trickled the fingers of his other hand over her clavicle at the base of her neck, watching the movement as he did so. "Or when we are given softness with gentle brushes along our throats we will wish, even for a split-second, they would grip tight. Too tight to move. Too tight to fucking breathe," Harry moved away just before he closed his hand over her and rest his elbows upon on the table instead.