"You apologized then?"

Hermione opened her eyes to find Ron standing tall over her, the fire shining behind him. She was immediately aware of the dull throbbing ache between her legs. Squeezing her thighs together, she tried to keep from making a face.

"Pardon?" she adjusted herself on the couch. She didn't even remember falling asleep. It had felt like heaven. Why did he have to wake her up?

"George - he apologized, by the looks of it, or you wouldn't have fallen asleep on him," Ron snorted and Hermione startled, remembering the details of her evening with George on the couch in the common room. Casting her gaze up, she could see he was limp with sleep, his head hanging back and his mouth open, a gentle snore coming from him as he slept.

"Apologized... apologized for what?" Hermione turned back, still sleep dazed and distracted by the ache low in her belly.

"For doing whatever he did to make you fight after the Quidditch game," Ron answered offhandedly, moving away to sit in one of the single chairs.

Ron had seen them fight?

"Oh. Yes," Hermione nodded, going along with it.

Logic and previous experience dictated that if he had seen George accost her and drag her into that alcove, he would have probably said something sooner. That or punched George in the face, which she couldn't blame him for considering sometimes she wanted to do the very same thing.

"Tired, Hermione?" Harry appeared out of the corner of her eye, laughing. "You too look like old fogies on a Friday night."

"Urgh," George groaned from behind her, lifting his head wobbly. She shifted, making to move away now that they weren't alone but his fingers moved to grip her arm and stop her. "Urrrgh."

The second noise from his throat was far more guttural and Hermione froze. He had made that noise in the alcove, when he was straining so hard against her it felt like he wanted to crawl inside of her. The thought sent a jolt of electricity through her, zapping her nerves.

"Rise and shine," Harry laughed, and neither of the boys seemed to sense the shift in the air between Hermione and George.

"Oh, right," he rumbled sleepily. "Sorry, Granger." He released her and Hermione tamped down the urge to keen for contact again.

"S'all right," she mumbled in response, reluctantly sitting up and moving away from the warmth of George. Looking up at him as he blinked his eyes blearily, Hermione saw that he looked less pale, there was pink in his cheeks, and the hair at the back of his head was sticking lightly to his neck as he leaned forward.

She took stock of herself for comparison. The heat from the fire was actually penetrating her bones after their brief contact, her head was less fuzzy, and she had actually taken a nap. Of course, the urge to pull the pillow away from him and sit in his lap was maddening still, but it was the price to pay, she supposed.

Professor Sinistra finally let them go after their Astronomy lesson the following week and Hermione trudged back up to Gryffindor Tower tiredly behind the boys.

It had been less than a week since she and George had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the fire, and they hadn't had any time to relieve the symptoms more effectively than hands brushing in the hall on the way to or from class or ankles touching in the library under the table as they studied.

At first, those little touches had helped. They helped break up the monotony of the day, and the steely concentration she had to master to pay attention in class and not slip into a daydream. Now it was getting ridiculous though. Every touch of his, as momentary as it was, flared the throb she had felt into life, the very womanly feeling of wanting to spread her legs and find some friction. And that embarrassed her. She had always been able to keep control of herself, and as a teenager that was quite an accomplishment. But when they touched she couldn't help herself.

Hermione would feel her cheeks heat up, she would feel the tingle of George's touch zip and skip over her skin heading straight for her abdomen, and the unbidden feelings would crash into her stressed mind.

And the flashbacks!

She could be sitting in History of Magic first thing on a Monday morning taking diligent notes until Professor Binns cleared his ghost-y throat and reminded her of a noise George had made when she had felt his fingers clutch her hip tightly, pinching, and the thought that she'd very much like him to grip harder still -

Hermione shook her head to try and rid herself of the thoughts and fuzzy brain, knowing it wouldn't work regardless of how much she wanted it to. She would need to make a concerted effort to find a solution tonight because tomorrow there was a Potions quiz and she could hardly bear the thought of scoring lower than she was capable of.

"I'm going straight to bed," Ron groaned as they climbed through the portrait hole.

"I'm going to finish this before I sleep," Hermione sighed.

They boys turned for the dorms and Hermione rounded the corner to see that Fred, George and Lee were all still up working on something. The embers were starting to burn low as she approached.

"Hey, Granger," Lee piped up and Fred looked surprised to see her, however George looked perfectly expectant.

But of course, she also had a knack for knowing when he was about to round a corner or walk into the Great Hall, a talent she had been aware of for only a few days. Of course, he would be experiencing the same thing.

"Hello," she greeted meekly. "I have to brew an Invigorating Potion tomorrow..."

George gave a tiny nod and moved his books from the spot next to him automatically. They had somewhat awkwardly agreed over the weekend that if one person had something big or important coming up, the other would make every effort to make themselves available beforehand. It was an agreement of convenience. It did make it rather hard not to notice the way George's uniform shirt would be open at the top few buttons at the end of the day, like tonight, and when he craned his neck, or stretched it tiredly, that muscle was taut - what was that muscle called? - it didn't even matter because the shirt was loose under his chin and she could see a good bit of neck - that muscle -

"Are you going to sit?" George asked, looking up at her. "Here I've gone and cleared you a spot, Granger, and you aren't even going to take it even though I've been a perfect gentleman -"

"Are you capable of such a feat?" Hermione asked lightly, innocently, and saw Lee crack a grin.

"You're alright, Granger," he voiced and gave her a nod when she sat down. She couldn't lie and say she wasn't pleased with his reaction, but it hardly mattered as she was here for George's company. Hermione toed off her shoes and socks and sat in the middle of the couch beside George, pulling her legs up between them and pushing her toes gently into the tiny space between his back and the sofa.

"Cold?" he laughed, a knowing look in his eye that he tried to play off lightly. He shifted to adjust his position and slyly reached behind himself to tug his uniform shirt out of his pants and Hermione refrained from mewling in pleasure when the tops of her feet came in contact with the skin of his lower back when he reclined again.

Warmth spread happily into her toes and she wiggled them deeper. It wasn't just body heat, of course. It was also that thing between them. The thing that was completely insufferable.

Hermione pulled her book from her bag and flipped it open to the instructions for tomorrow's brew, reading over them carefully and making notes of things to remember. She ignored the boys completely and carried on with her work, the night drawing to a close quickly.

"I'm off," Lee slapped his thighs loudly, jolting Hermione out of her now lazy reading.

"Me too," Fred echoed. "See you lot tomorrow."

Silence filled the space stiflingly after the two of them lumbered up the steps to the boys dorms and the door clicked shut behind them.

"How are you feeling?" George broke it.

How was she feeling?

Warm and relaxed and tired and drowsy and happy and tingly and w -

"I'm alright," Hermione croaked out in the low fire light, her voice hoarse from disuse. "You?"

"Erm... Better now that you've - you know..." he tipped his head back onto the sofa and over to look at her for the first time since she'd sat down. As soon as she could see the colour of his irises, she felt a zing ripple down her spine. Tipped just so, his neck was taut again, the curve of it enticing her deliciously -

But that was unproductive, thinking like that.

She ought to stop it.

"Are you feeling as good as you possibly can?" George asked. "Is this working for you?"

"Well, I - uhm," Hermione stuttered as his attention focused solely on her, and under his gaze she felt rooted.

"You have to mix a complex potion tomorrow so... you should tell me if you - if you ... want anything," George asked delicately and Hermione was so shocked that her book slid from her lap down and thumped to the floor. Flustered, she bent to reach for it, but George caught her wrist.

He had it cinched securely just as he had before, when he had tugged her to him and crushed his lips to hers.

"Hermione," he breathed.

"Uhm, no," she answered, snapping out of her reverie that he had caught her in. She retreated, pulling her feet out from behind him and rising, gathering her things and bending to pick up her school shoes so that she could pad barefoot up to take a shower and go to sleep.

"Are you sure?" George pressed.

Her gut flared and she felt the familiar tug, the pull of her body to his but she resisted.

Did he not know how much she wanted him to disregard her words entirely and just pull her into his lap and grind his hips up into hers?

Well, that was a point of debate.

Her body wanted that, craved it desperately, but her mind did not.

"Yes, I am," she turned and made her way up to the girls' staircase, pausing only to say a short thank you. "Thank you, for... you know."

"Yeah," George sighed, breaking eye contact and looking back at the fire.

Hermione turned back again and raced up the stairs, eager to find herself in the protective cocoon of her bed, where she could hopefully sleep through the night and have a fresh start in the morning.

George didn't know what he was going to do.

She came in and tucked her feet behind him, wiggling her toes and soaking up their companionship and closeness, so innocent, demure blushes blooming on her cheeks from time to time. He longed to know what caused those flushes.

In comparison, he felt completely depraved.

In his desperation, he caught himself thinking thoughts she would probably smack him for if she knew about them at all. For example when she had curled up beside him on the couch, her skirt had been sitting halfway up her thigh, and his immediate overwhelming need had been to slide his hand up, up, up and see if she was wearing cotton or lace underneath. His pants twitched at the thought.

Sighing, George rose and adjusted himself before summoning his things and heading for the stairs. Another cold shower, then.

Because those were the things he thought of.

He caught himself aching for a glimpse of flesh beneath her uniform top whenever she unbuttoned the first button without a pullover on. Just the briefest of glimpses would help, he was sure, just a tiny snippet of private, creamy skin, and perhaps just the faintest hint of cleavage -

He opened the door to the seventh year dorm and shuffled quietly to dump his things on his bed and -

And if her shirt was untucked and loose around her, he could surely get at least one hand up it, maybe two, two hands - sides, belly, up to her rib cage - and even if she grabbed his wrists and forced them back down again, he would have touched skin, skin, always closer -

Shutting the bathroom door behind him, George leaned against it for a moment and exhaled. This was eating his patience up, day by day, but he would rather go crazy than force her to do anything, ever. Of course that would be heinous and George Weasley was not heinous.

He started the water and pulled his shirt, still buttoned, over his head with one hand and tried in vain not to aggravate the situation in his boxers as he removed his belt and trousers economically. Boxers and socks too, and he stuck a hand under the water to see what the temperature was like. It was warm, and heating up -

Like the languid heat that flowed between them when they touched, tingling, unfurling - hot tongues and rough hands - leaning down and leaning into her - she'd mewled, mewled -

He stepped into the shower and stood under the spray, willing his mind to just stop, to go blank, to let him go to sleep tonight, to not think of her anymore -

Closer, always closer -

George leaned against the tiled wall of the shower, cold against the underside of his arm, so cold, cool down George, with his fist clenched and leaned his head against his arm. Hunched over, he let the water run, thanking Merlin that Fred and Lee were already out cold and oblivious. The bathroom was filling with steam, foggy like his mind when he hadn't been able to touch Hermione all day, it was just taking a day now, she was like a drug that he needed more of and more of every day -

But he'd never force her, no, he'd never force her to do anything because he had forced this situation on her and that was wrong and she was right - so right - it was warm and wet and she, she would be warm and wouldn't she? Because the sounds she made in the alcove implied that she was warm and wet and the sound of that made his fingers want to wrap around himself and the warm water was wet and her mouth would be warm, surely, and wet, most definitely. And wouldn't that be the most wonderful thing, really, because her lips were warm too, he knew that, he knew they were because he had kissed her, he had kissed her a lot - not enough - and her tongue was sweet, so sweet -

George shuddered as his resolve broke and he reached down, the hot water dripping from his hair and his eyelashes and his nose and chin, and rolled down his neck and over his shoulders, and was it right that he was imagining her kissing down his stomach, was that allowed? Of course not, this was wrong, but so right just like her, she was so right, and she'd kiss so right and tickle and smooth and grope just right -just right -

And he swore he had never been this hard, ever, in his whole life, even when he had seen that muggle girl in town, the one with the longest legs he had ever seen, the one with the white dress on a windy day and not a stitch of underwear on, not one stitch. Opportunistic, he'd reasoned, he was just opportunistic, and she'd uncrossed and crossed her legs and he didn't blame her for going bare because it was so hot -

And did Hermione ever do that? George groaned lowly at the thought. Had she ever done that in the summer when she was over at the Burrow, had he ever noticed if she had been wearing a dress?

Well yes there was that one time, with the blue, the prettiest shade of blue, "from France", she had said when his mother had asked where she had gotten such a beautifully made garment, but that didn't matter - faster mattered, faster - and he wasn't going to take much more of this, not much more at all - especially when he had seen her lounging on the sofa with a book, her knee propped up, it had been propped up and if he squeezed his eyes shut tight, maybe he could see something there that he hadn't seen before. Bare thighs, just parted slightly, bare and smooth - and if she would just shift - yes like that - it was just a dream, a fantasy of course, because Hermione Granger probably always wore underwear - but not now, not here in his head, with her thighs hardly touching, not touching at all, and just a bit more, Hermione - yes, yes finally - there she was, glistening for him in the summer heat and he -

"Hermione," he groaned jerkily, coming violently into his hand, so unexpectedly that he heaved humid air into his lungs and shook even though the water was very warm. George fell limply against the arm still braced against the tile and raised his head wobbily.

This was going to be more difficult than he had thought.

Bugger.

A/N: Bit shorter than usual but worth it I think, yes?

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