A/N: Hi all - please mind the tags. This story is primarily paired as Ron/Hermione because it is a story about Ron/Hermione.

Tags :

Dark Hermione Granger, Love Potion/Spell, Love Triangles, Dubious Consent, Infidelity, Rope Bondage, Nightmares, Daydreaming, Lust, Desire, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Content, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Amortentia, Lust Potion/Spell, Recreational Potion Use, Hurt/Comfort, disorientation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma

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Hermione held up a small glass perfume bottle between her fingers and looked at Ron, his eyes wide.

"'Mi," he said slowly, recognizing George's messy scrawl on the label. "What have you got that for?"

Hermione shrugged and tilted it through the small bit of sunlight peeking through the blinds. She stood before him in the new shadows, dressed in nothing but a small black sleep-dress Ron could almost see straight through. He shivered lightly, and the hairs on his bare chest began to prick up against his skin in goose pimples.

He reached out to pluck the vial from her, but his hand didn't move. When he looked down, he noticed the ropes that bound him to the arms of the wooden chair he was sitting on. He didn't remember sitting. He didn't remember being tied up. When his eyes flicked to Hermione's, he wondered if she could see the apprehension reflecting out at her.

Her eyes glimmered as his own echoed in understanding, in his lack of control.

"I've always been so curious about these potions," she started, her sharp fingernails glinting in the light. "Ever since I smelled Amortentia for the first time, really. It's consumed me, Ron. I've always wanted to try them — haven't you?"

Ron shook his head slowly, tentatively, a deep crease in his brows.

"Right," she said slyly, luring him in. "You've already tried it before. Do you remember how it felt?"

She looked at him playfully, with interest, like one would a pet.

"Why are you asking me these questions, love?" he asked, his heart thumping. He couldn't imagine what had gotten into her. She was never like this, never this forward or this brash with him. His muscles tensed as her nails dinged against the glass, instantly fearing the misted aroma.

Luckily, nothing sprayed from the nozzle, and he suddenly felt embarrassed of flinching.

"Relax," she said sternly, and Ron felt himself harden at the way her eyes raked over him carelessly, the slight bite of her lip. "I just want to know if it felt good."

Ron gaped. "Yeah," he admitted. "Felt like my whole life was someone else's."

"Romilda's?"

Ron nodded, eyes still transfixed by the bottle. He could almost smell it, it was so close to him. Just a spritz and he'd be done for — the smell of rhubarb pie and warm vanilla already tempted him.

"Did you know George was experimenting with it?"

Ron licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara, his eyes darting to Hermione's for a brief moment. Her lips curled into a dark smirk. Of course he'd known what his brother had been toying with the past few months. After all, they shared a business together, and Ron knew better than to let anyone, even Hermione, expose either of them to it. It was still a wildly uncontainable potion, and George's own exposure still threatened his marriage. Angelina hadn't even let him back into the house until he'd carefully been quarantined. Ron couldn't be sure what it would do to his own.

"How would you like to be someone else's again?" her voice slipped across his skin in small beads of sweat. He shivered lightly, the heavy ropes slipping against him, tying him to his chair. She dragged a finger against the scratchy cord slowly, the closeness of her skin unbearable as he strained against his boxers.

"Whose?" Ron asked, his breath shaking as Hermione pulled her sleep-dress up around her thighs and stepped toward him. Dipping down gracefully, she straddled his legs, and he could feel the slight wetness of her knickers against his soft thigh hair. He bit his lip and groaned as she rocked forward on his lap.

Leaning in, Hermione gently nuzzled against the crook of his neck, melting into him.

"Mine," she whispered, and Ron's eyelids drooped as his head tipped back. "You can be all mine, Ronald. I can consume you, your every thought. I could give you everything."

Nodding, Ron looked up to her hesitantly.

"Put the potion down, first," he countered. He tried to be firm — he knew she'd responded to that before. Once.

Her eyes narrowed again as she looked down at him, a smile still curled against her lips.

"You don't understand," she breathed, slight irritation pinching at her eyes. "You need this."

"No," Ron said. "I don't. I'm here already, I want you already. I don't need it to be fake—"

"You haven't always."

"I was a fool then, 'Mi. You're all I want now."

Her eyes brightened at his words and she bit her lip again. Ron sucked in his breath as she rocked her hips across his lap.

"You chose someone else once," she said. "I won't let you choose someone else again."

"There's no one else in the world that could compare to you," he breathed, and she leaned down slowly to brush her lips against his. He could just taste their sweetness, and imagined she was made of honey — thick and sweet, dripping all over him.

"I choose you now," he tried, but she didn't look at him.

Instead, she held the bottle between them, smirking as he struggled against the restraints.

"Just one pump," she promised. "That's all it'll be, and you'll be mine."

Ron's eyes widened as he opened his mouth to protest, but her hand clamped down over his as her finger clenched down against the bottle's nozzle. A fine mist sprayed out around him, and Ron's mind instantly fogged over as the scent invaded his senses.

He moaned loudly, his neck straining as his chin pushed back in ecstasy. Hermione laughed and inhaled deeply, breathing in the potioned air, and pulled her knickers aside to touch her hot flesh to his naked thighs.

Ron gasped, his breathing hitching and becoming erratic as she ground against him. He could nearly burst from all the tension, and tears began to drip from his cheeks onto her tan skin, the shine so delectable he could kiss her whole body.

He felt a slight jostling, and his brows furrowed.

"Ron," someone said, not Hermione, and he turned to see the voice's owner, but nothing was there.

Another jostle caught him off guard and he blinked, suddenly aware that he was no longer sitting but lying down in his bed. Light golden hair danced across his skin and he flinched, recoiling at the difference in texture from Hermione's curls.

He blinked again, and the hazy form of his wife kneeling above him slowly resolved, her eyes wide and hurt.

"Ron," she pleaded, her voice becoming clearer. "Ron, she's not here. Why—"

He looked around him, ignoring her words. He could still feel the tightness of the ropes against his wrists, but the painful redness was gone, as if it had never been there at all.

"Why do you keep doing this to me?" Lavender cried, and Ron's heart began to ache.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked, touching his wrists and holding them to his chest.

"She's gone!" Lavender yelled loudly "You know this! You need to see a therapist, Ron, something is wrong."

Ron looked around himself in panic. "Lavender," he said firmly, pulling her to him by her wrists. "Tell me where Hermione is now."

Lavender's eyes swam with tears as she gaped at him, the hurt etched into every line of her face. Her every emotion flickered through her eyes as she looked up at him.

Finally, she stopped struggling against his hard hands.

"Ron," she whispered, trying to get through to him. "Baby, she's in Azkaban. After she broke in last year… after what she did… We both testified."

Ron dropped her wrists and raked a hard hand through his hair, scraping against his scalp.

"She's gone?" he asked, startled to find relief flooding through his veins. The anxious beating in his heart began to subside, the panic dying down. "And George?"

Lavender's eyes narrowed. "Him too. What he made… what she did… they took you away from me. Don't you remember anything?"

Ron took a deep breath and raised his hands to his face, rubbing it aggressively.

"She's really gone?"

Lavender's face softened.

Sitting down beside him once more, she placed a careful hand over his.

"She's gone," she said reassuringly, brushing her hand against the damp sweat on his forehead. His hair clung to it, falling aside in clumps, and he knew he ought to shower. He could already smell his sweat, and he nuzzled his forehead against Lavender's hair.

He breathed her in, the soft smell of something warm wafting off her.

"Have you been baking?" he asked, a familiar grin pinching at his lips.

She leaned her head against his.

"Rhubarb pie," she answered, a tired smile in her voice pulling at the scars that ran down the side of her face. "Your favourite."