Later that night, Hermione lay awake staring at the canopy of her bed with a dazed look on her face.

Eddie had been nothing but gentlemanly. After the shock of her making the first move and pressing her lips to his, he had kissed her soundly, although too briefly for her liking, before breaking it softly. Hermione's body had been humming pleasantly, and she had noted their closeness, memorized the slope of his nose, the curve of his eyelid as he had held her snugly to his chest. He had placed some slightly more chaste kisses to the corner of her mouth, laughing when she'd turned her head in an effort to catch his lips full-on again.

"I really like you, Hermione. I really do," he had said, finally seizing her in a lip lock again and Hermione had sighed into him. His hands had been clasped at her shoulders but he had moved them, squeezing her upper arms gently before threading one hand into her hair and the other trailing down to her waist to pull her close against him.

The tingles had been... pleasant, of course. But after the fact, she couldn't help but note that it hadn't felt quite the same as when George had kissed her angrily. Perhaps it was because it was in the heat of the moment? She didn't know.

Either way, they had kissed and kept hands to relatively docile areas until breaking for air had become a necessity and when they had finally trailed down to the Great Hall and separated for supper at their tables, Hermione had barely been able to focus on anything that Harry had said.

What was he going to do?

George still hadn't told anyone about the fact that he hadn't found any relief with Angela Sinclair and he was trying not to think about whether or not Hermione had found any with Eddie Carmichael. The thought of her walking around with damp underwear and being the only one capable to help her out was driving him to madness.

George's blood boiled every time he saw Hermione and that Ravenclaw prat about the school. They didn't even do things that screamed dating yet; they didn't hold hands, they didn't kiss in public, but it didn't matter. George was constantly on the verge of jumping the guy and Hermione must have noticed. She made every effort not to let their paths cross whenever she could help it, and George couldn't decide if he was thankful or not.

Every time she came back into the common room after seeing him, every time she waltzed into the Great Hall a little later than normal, her lips would be slightly swollen from kissing. Her uniform might be perfect save for one detail or another and the thought of Hermione being touched - kissed - by someone that wasn't him was infuriating.

As if it wasn't enough that he dealt with it all day long, he also couldn't sleep most nights and ended up stewing over the whole thing when he should have been getting rest. Merlin knew, he needed it. He was snapping at people, his eyes were dark, the circles beneath them darkening along with them and his patience was at about zero.

"George, I swear to Merlin, if you don't get your head out of your arse and stop cocking up that brew and wasting our ingredients, I'll bloody kick you out until you do!" Fred threatened one afternoon just over a week later.

George didn't even have anything to say. He knew Fred was right, and Lee was looking on silently, not willing to add to George's simmering mood.

"Look, maybe if you hadn't gone and done a very stupid thing, I wouldn't have had to step in and rectify the situation. But you did, so I did. I don't know what to do, George," Fred carried on and George shut his eyes, his head aching dully.

"I know," he groaned. "I know."

Fred sighed.

It had been weeks of this now, and George had tried to stop, to not be in a bad mood, to not glare the living shit out of that Eddie bloke. He had tried, for Fred and Lee's sake, not to be a grump all the time. But the fact was, hand holding and brushing fingers wasn't doing it anymore.

"Maybe if you ask her..." Lee started and George dropped his head to the desk in the unused classroom where they were working on a tentative project that induced daydreams.

"Oh yeah, she's likely to cave to my demands, I can see that happening," he snorted in response.

"Well," Fred started, his tone hesitant. "What is it exactly that you need? Like, what does this thing feel like? You haven't actually said..."

He hadn't. George had avoided the subject at all costs, resorting to wanking furiously every night to relieve anything, though it hardly helped.

"It's..." George started, and stopped.

"We won't make fun of you, mate," Lee interjected. "I mean this whole thing is... messed up."

"You have no idea," George gave a bitter laugh, still staring at the table top resolutely. "It's like... this need to be close to her, to touch her, anything... and it never goes away. I want her, all the time. I have no idea how, but I know when she's close. Only her being close makes the -" he motioned vaguely at his head with a waving hand "- go away."

"What's this mean?" Fred mimed the action.

"Confusion? No, it's more like... fuzzy. I can't think straight. I can't concentrate. I also get cold and can't get warm until she touches me again. I can't sleep more than a few hours at best. I have no patience; like this morning I wanted to shove that bloody Tentacula down Sprout's throat when she was yabbering on about those whatever-they-were's..."

"And when you say you want her..." Lee asked.

"I mean, I always want her. I swear to Merlin I can smell her from the other side of the Great Hall, my hands shake and I just want to grab her and - and make her mine - I can't even think about that fucking moron touching her, it makes me so angry. It's like - it's like being led around with my cock in her hand all the time. It's maddening."

"Wow," Fred and Lee echoed each other.

"Mate, that sounds terrible. How do you even -" Lee added.

"Nothing works. Nothing," he looked up finally, meeting Fred's eyes. "The only thing that helps is her."

"This is really messed up."

For the rest of their break the boys remained fairly silent before leaving for dinner. As they walked, he recalled Hermione returning to the common room the night before after spending all Sunday out with her new boyfriend. She had returned flushed and glowing, but something had felt off. She usually stopped to spare him a bit of conversation and some sort of touch before bed so that they could at least get a few hours of sleep, for which he was grateful. But this time she hadn't. She had looked tight, stiff, and she hadn't even glanced at him before disappearing up the steps to her dorm. George had been pondering over this all day, but hadn't seen her at all since to ask if she was okay.

That dickhead better not have done anything to her.

"I forgot how wet virgins get."

George froze at the voice nearby in the quiet hallway, Fred and Lee freezing just as quickly. That couldn't be... No. He better not be talking about Hermione.

"I haven't had one in so long, I forgot how eager they were," Eddie was laughing and it sounded as though it was coming from the boys' bathroom a few steps away down the corridor.

George's blood burst into flames and he gritted his teeth and prayed that it wasn't him, and that he wasn't talking about Hermione - his Hermione, his - and that he just shut up and didn't say anything more because George was shaking, shaking, flaring, heaving.

"Let's go." Fred tugged him into motion again, his eyes panicked and Lee nodded quickly, observing George's face and the vein in his neck pulse. "Let's go before you do something you'll regret."

What had she let Eddie do?

Urgh, the thought of it made her cringe.

By anyone's standards it wasn't much, it wasn't bad, and it had felt good to let him kiss her and trail his fingertips over her stomach, the tops of her breasts, over her thighs. She had barely held control of herself to keep from keening under his hands and letting on just how tightly she was wound and how badly she was shaking with the need for release.

Eddie had groaned deeply, sending shivers over her entire body, when his fingers had found the centre of her underwear the night previously. Hermione remembered how flushed he was, she remembered the feel of his hips and hardness pressing into her inner thigh as his fingers wandered.

He slipped so easily over her when she had nodded at his silent question of whether or not to continue on his mission. The feeling was sublime, so delicious, the feeling of fingers that were not her own gliding over her centre, so limb-shakingly good.

Hermione remembered gripping his upper arm with one hand while the other held her up on the desk as he curved over her, rubbing against her insistently. It was heady, it was humid with hot breaths shared, and it rattled her nerve ending like nails on a chalkboard, but somehow it was relief.

That was - until she realized that no matter how many times he slicked his fingers against her and kissed her deeply, no matter how often he reached to fondle a breast, no matter how good it all felt the whole time - she was not going to come.

It had been a torturous, unbearable realization as he had circled her bundle of nerves with practiced ease, making her want desperately to break apart under him and cry out her frustrations. Lisa Turpin had been right in her recommendation, he was good at it.

But Hermione was never going to know for sure, because Eddie Carmichael could not make her come.

She had tipped her head back and faked an orgasm to the best of her abilities with her centre throbbing for release she wasn't getting, and her limbs tired of holding herself up. Her brain had been foggy and she had felt the prickle of a tear in the corner of her eyes. It had been torture.

Thankfully, Eddie had eased up and when she insisted that she had to return to Gryffindor Tower a minute later, he hadn't seemed too upset over Hermione not reciprocating. In all honesty, she had had to get away from him, to have a minute alone, to mourn a little. To cry and scream and stomp and wail a little, before she had to return to the dorms and pretend as though nothing was wrong. She had showered and scrubbed her skin raw trying to erase the feeling of his fingers against her, feeling dirty, feeling like - like - she didn't know. She had been raised better than that, and she was disappointed in herself.

As she wandered down to dinner after an hour and half of hearing Delores Umbridge spew frustratingly bigoted non-sense, Harry and Ron were ahead of her leading the way.

"She was begging for it, Jack, you should have heard her. 'Oh, please, please, oh please, more, please Eddie'," his voice grew higher and breathier, imitating Hermione with a laugh and George snapped instantaneously.

He ripped his arm away from Fred in a heartbeat and rounded into the bathroom just as the Ravenclaw was drying off his hands and slinging his bag over his shoulder again, his friend smirking widely from where we was leaning loosely against the sinks waiting for him. George could hear Fred calling to him, he could hear Lee running after him, he could hear his heartbeat racing in his ears, a rushing, throbbing, racing feeling.

The Ravenclaws looked up, Eddie's face registering shock at the sudden intrusion before smugness settled into his features and George barely held back a growl at the expression. How dare he stand there and smirk at him, smirk at him over Hermione, that fucking arsehole -

"Did you want to hear all about it too?" Eddie laughed, taking in George's red face.

The little shit.

George drew himself up to his full height, a hard glare fixed on the sixth year, who seemed to momentarily stumble in his cockiness.

"George!" Fred came around the corner.

"Leave it, mate," Lee heaved a breath, stopping at George's shoulder.

"Oh, you don't like that I get to -" Eddie started again, clearly not realizing the extent to which he was taunting George, how close George was to lunging at him and grinding his face into the stone for speaking of his Hermione that way.

And this time he didn't stop himself, and Lee and Fred were not quick enough to seize him before he reached the sixth year. George could hear their yelling in the background, mixed with the yelling of Eddie's friend, but it hardly registered, it hardly mattered at all. Because George was finally seizing the twat by his robes before hauling back, completely forgetting about the wand in his pocket, and slamming his fist into the side of his fucking face with a sickening smack.

Pain reverberated up his arm, but George didn't stop.

"Don't ever -" he drew back again and let his fist fly once more, "-speak about her that way again, do you hear me, you fucking dickhead?"

Hands were tugging at George's arms, trying to pull him away from Eddie who was looking at him with a dazed look in his eye, one side of his face blooming with redness. George shrugged the hands off and Eddie lost his balance, falling backwards, and George followed after him. Pinning the fucker to the floor, he landed another punch, splitting his lip and a burst of twisted pleasure erupted in George's chest at the sight. How dare this arsehole use Hermione like that, and not treat her with the respect she deserved? Did he think that he would get away with that? Not on George's watch.

"I didn't - I wasn't - stop, stop," he was fighting, his hands and arms trying to defend himself but George wrenched them out of the way and brought his elbow back again.

WHAM.

The breath was knocked from George's lungs as he was thrown firmly from his position on his knees over Eddie Carmichael, knocked sideways and gasping on his back.

"Mr. Weasley!" the shrill voice of Filius Flitwick rang clear through the room as George struggled to heave in a breath. He could hear the sounds of Eddie scrambling next to him, trying to get away, the coward -

"What is the meaning of this?" Flitwick demanded largely, in stark contrast to his size.

"Professor, I was just washing my hands and this lunatic comes barging in here and starts beating on me -"

"That was not what happened -" Lee was protesting.

"You were in here saying vulgar things about one of our friends -" Fred continued loudly, his voice ringing.

"You can hardly just expect to get away with that -" Carmichael's friend was insisting with a red face and George finally sat up, raising his hand to clutch his head and hissing. His hand seared sharply and George looked down at his aching knuckles to find them split and still slightly numb considering the shock. That was going to fade momentarily, surely.

"That's enough!" Flitwick demanded, looking around the bathroom at the boys. "Mr. Weasley, Mr. Carmichael, you will each serve a week of detention with me beginning tonight after dinner, and I think fifty points from each house is fair," he said decisively. "Mr. Reed, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Jordan, you ought to escort your friends to the Hospital Wing and get them cleaned up. Do not forget detention, gentlemen, and do not engage in physical brawls again, or it will be much worse."

George and Eddie glared at each other gratingly, chests still heaving, until his friend distracted him and urged him in the direction of Madam Pomfrey.

"This isn't over," he gritted at George, who gave him a darkly derisive grin in return.

"You can bet your arse it isn't," he growled back and Fred stepped between them, pulling George to his feet.

"Get out of here if you know what's good for you," Lee reacted viciously and George felt his chest expand with his friend's loyalness.

The two left, Carmichael reaching up to feel the swelling on the side of his face and the blood trickling down from his bottom lip with disgust.

"Woah, mate, you need to calm down before we go anywhere - you look like you're about to blow another gasket or commit murder maybe -"

"I can't wait - I have to find Hermione," George insisted quickly.

He had to find her before Carmichael did and spun a story of George beating on him for no reason whatsoever; she would never speak to him again if she believed that George had attacked her boyfriend, she wouldn't listen to his side of the story, about how her boyfriend was a giant wanker and speaking about her like she was nothing, with no respect -

"Maybe take a breath first, you've got blood -" Fred started, but George shook his head and brushed between the two of them, his heart beating even faster as he rushed toward the Great Hall.

It was nearly dinner time, she was sure to be somewhere close to the dining hall and George scanned the groups of people inside as he stood at the door and poked his head around. He held his hand close to his side and tried not to jostle it. It was aching and stinging and if he concentrated he was sure he could feel it swelling, but it didn't matter because he had hauled off and punched the satisfied smirk off of Eddie Carmichael's face.

SMACK, the sound had been so satisfactory, especially with that first hit.

Turning when he didn't spot Hermione's head of wild brown curls, George scanned the people coming in droves down the staircases and tried to locate her in the bustle.

"Hey, George - are you okay?" Ron's voice asked from off to the side and George snapped his gaze over, looking for Hermione.

"No, I'm - well, yeah - I don't know, have you seen Hermione, I need to talk to her -"

"She's just behind us," Harry cast a glance over his shoulder and a moment later, pointed a few metres away up the closest staircase. "She's just there - are you sure you don't want to go to the Hospital Wing?"

"Not just yet," George rushed out, locating Hermione's surprised face as her gaze landed on him.

George's insides flared to life, buoying his spirits and bubbling him up at the sight of her as she took in his appearance, pushing through the crowd toward her.

"George?" she asked, stepping carefully and looking down briefly so that she didn't trip in her haste to get to him, his desperation obviously evident to her. "Are you alright?"

"I got detention," spilled out of his mouth before he could think.

"Were you caught in a closet with Angela Sinclair again?" Hermione scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest, her words cutting and sharp, making him shake with frustration. She needed to understand. "Because I can't get you out of it, George, and I wouldn't even if I could -"

"I punched your boyfriend," George interrupted the beginning of her rant before she got going and she looked at him sharply. When he raised his right hand for her to see, he realised Fred had been right. There was blood crusted on his knuckles and smeared down his wrist and onto the sleeve of his uniform, crisp white stained a dark rusty red. Pride swelled in his chest once more and he tried very hard to keep the satisfied smirk off his face for her benefit.

"What?" she breathed.

They had not moved, Hermione standing on the last step of the stairs with people moving around them and George standing a few feet away. They were locked on each other and George could see the steam building behind her eyes as she processed what he was saying, and whose blood must, in part, be coating his fist.

"I don't regret it," he stated clearly and they both continued to breath heavily, their gazes unwavering. Hermione remained silent for a moment, her eyes darting back and forth between his.

"Are you alright?" she settled on asking, breaking the spell and shifting. Was she pressing her thighs together?

No.

She couldn't be... She couldn't be turned on right now, could she? Hermione Granger turned on by George Weasley beating the shit out of her boyfriend? Not in a million years... Except -

"I'm fine," he ground out, his teeth clenched with the effort of not bombarding her with questions, of not lunging also at her, but this time in order to pull her close and crush her underneath the weight of him, to claim her mouth as his, to grip her arsecheek in his hand and squeeze until she arched up for him -

"Let me see," she held out her hand, her stance relaxing and her palm open and facing up for him to place his appendage in it freely for her examination.

"Aren't you going to ask why?" he puzzled, his voice growing quieter as he took a few steps closer to her body. The pleasant humming he associated with their proximity grew more insistent and he sighed.

"I assume you have a good reason," she reached out a little farther in emphasis and George lowered his wrist into her palm gently, not wanting to move his finger if at all possible. "Though I probably shouldn't assume anything with you - uuuurgh!"

George startled, having been relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages, being in her presence and being certain that he was about to touch her and maybe, possibly, get some sleep tonight. He had just settled his palm in hers as she leaned forward to have a closer look when her knees gave out under her and she slumped forward into him suddenly, her weight landing on him without warning.

"Hermione!"

The tone of her voice at the end sent a shiver down his spine as her front collapsed into him and he stepped forward to catch her and hold her upright. His limbs protested, especially his right side, but he held her smaller body tightly as she shook in his arms, limp. Her head found the nook of his neck and shoulder and her hot breath gasped out onto the skin there, making his hair stand on end.

"Ahhhhh," she gave a strangled groan and shook violently before stilling somewhat and twitching in his grasp.

"Are you alright?" he asked urgently, pulling back to observe her face.

It was contorted in something akin to pleasure, or pain, he couldn't really tell. It could be either. The tightness in her expression was gone, the same tightness that he had seen growing since September. Her eyelashes fluttered lazily, tiredly on her cheek before opening again, her gaze unfocused but bright. The most flattering blush spread on her cheeks and George shifted her in his arms again.

"Are you alright?" he asked again, hesitant, his eyes squinting.

Hermione looked satisfied. And content. And at ease. And her limbs were still twitching. She was beginning to hold her own weight again, beginning to straighten languidly.

"I need to sit down," she breathed, sinking to the step below her and slumping tiredly. Hermione gazed up at him with soft, bright eyes, an awkward smile quirking her lips. George could see the haze clearing from her eyes and her grow more anxious in front him on the step as he stood before her.

Did she just...

George's pants grew tighter at the incomplete, totally outrageous thought.

"George, I think - I think touching you just made me..." Hermione inclined her head and lowered her voice to a halting whisper. "I think I just came."

George's jaw dropped open.

Bloody fucking hell, this woman was going to be the death of him.

A/N: I cannot resist a fighting George Weasley.

Call me weak (if you must).

And then leave a review!

Cheers

(Third time's a charm! I tried posting this last night as well but something was up with the site. If you got a handful of emails, I apologize!)