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This work could have adult content. If you continue, you have agreed that you are willing to see such content.
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Summary
Hermione can't stop thinking about last night, about her hands on her body. She can't even get through her morning tea without thinking about those quidditch hands on her skin, and how her body was so eager to experience them.
(This is based on an intrusive memory that I have and I'm hoping writing it into a fanfic will help get it out of my system - did without a beta again, so please forgive any typos or weird phrasing)
