When she awoke the first time, she opened her eyes to a familiar ceiling, frowned, and then looked around for a moment before she recognised her own bedroom. Her cheeks flushed hot as she remembered the events of the past few days. Her awareness had been fading towards the end, but she remembered very well the feeling of him pressing his flesh into her body. In multiple ways. Oh, she had felt so thoroughly possessed, so completely... well,  fucked, she couldn’t believe it had actually happened – it had seemed the stuff of her naughtiest fantasies, and yet, so much better. He had touched, seen, and heard her more unguarded and intimately than anyone in her life. He had given her such a level of pleasure and abandon that she couldn’t really believe that it had really been her. The sounds that floated into her memory sounded more raw and animal than anything she thought she could even produce. Oh god, and the desperation she had felt for his touch... The things he had done to her... the things he had said... Hermione grabbed the pillow from behind her head and pressed it into her face, screaming in mortification into the smothering fabric. It had felt so good, so  right, so amazing, and yet, she was terrified of how he must think of her now. Would he look down on her? Would he pity her? Oh god, would he hate her for pestering him to do those things with her?