And she dreams things she shouldn't, things that drive her fingers between her legs, her eyes closed, her stomach clutching with heat and hunger.

Her lashes flutter against her cheek as she slips two fingers beneath the waistband of her knickers, her nightgown bunched around her waist. Anticipation has left her tangled curls damp and she brushes at them, shivering.

It started second year, when Ron had been so scared for her, when Ginny had been afraid everyone would blame her. The first dreams came over the summer after, Ron holding her, his relief turning to warm kisses. Some nights it was Ginny she imagined on the edge of the bed, worried about forgiveness, finding comfort in crushing hugs.

Back then the dreams ended there with being needed, warmth stretching through her limbs, heat pooled in her belly as she slept.

They changed as she got older, every new month layered with more kisses, touches, strokes, tastes. The night she accidentally walked in on Ron, naked in his room, at the Burrow was the first to send her fingers down, to press against the heat until relief flooded through her, her limbs weak and trembling.

After that, every night meant more, new and different. Touching Ron, feeling him, tasting him. She imagined the spread of ginger freckles against her flesh, the feel of his hair against her forehead as he kissed her, slid inside her.

Later, days or weeks, she doesn't remember anymore, she'd walked into the girls' bathroom, heard noises she recognized and didn't. She moved silently, climbing on the toilet, watching in awe as Lavender kissed Padma, touched her. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw colors littered the floor as skirts lifted, shirts opened. Hermione pressed her thighs together, trapping the heat. Padma's fingers sliding between Lavender's legs and the heady echo that was nothing and everything like the sounds she made when she touched herself.

That night, it wasn't Ron she dreamed of but Ginny. Shining hair disappearing between her thighs, the brush of lips instead of fingers; tongue instead of thumb. She'd gasped out loud when she'd lost control, her entire body flushed and shaky and she hadn't been able to look at Ginny for a week.

She'd alternated after that, occasionally wanting, needing, the thrust of her fingers, mimicking the remembered glimpse of Ron's cock; other nights using the bare tips to simulate the thrust and flicker of Ginny's tongue. Liquid coated her fingers, warmed her thighs as she shuddered with orange tinted orgasms.

Then she'd gone to meet Ron at the Quidditch pitch where he was waiting for Harry and she'd stumbled across Fred and Angelina beneath the bleachers, her pants unlaced, lowered till they bunched above her knees, his hands on her hips as he knelt before her.

She watched in fascination as Angelina grasped the metal railing, her body slumping, unable to support herself as Fred tasted her clit, his fingers moving fast and hard inside her. Her back arched, her breasts jutting upward as she gasped out his name, his hair a stark contrast to her dusky skin.

She'd continued staring, unable to slip away as he'd unlaced his own pants, groaned hotly as Angelina reached for him, stroking his long, hard shaft. She'd shivered, her fingers edging under her skirt as she'd leaned back against the piling, finding her own wet flesh as Fred lifted Angelina, sliding her down onto his cock.

She'd lost track of everything as she'd watched, fingers against her clit, rubbing desperately as Angelina gasped and begged her way to another orgasm, Fred's low voice coaxing it from her. Hermione had closed her eyes for a second's time, the image in her head changing from her to Angelina as Fred's voice, honey-thick, coated her, drowning her as she came.

She'd forgotten about Ron until she'd literally run into him and Harry. She'd excused herself and hurried back to the tower, missing dinner that night, dreaming without sleeping, Angelina completely erased from her mental picture.

She ached pleasantly, painfully every morning, slightly sweaty, skin still slick. She would whisper the scourgify spell before she left her bed, but she always woke early and luxuriated in the spent sensation of satiation.

She cycled through them, revolving Weasleys, all pale and warm and sweet, the shock of ginger enough to cause the heat to begin anew.

When she went home, she snuck into the restricted sections of the libraries, thumbing through books for ideas and positions to fuel her imagination. She snuck into one store and stole a magazine, the red-haired man/model/actor on the cover nothing like any of them, but when she almost closed her eyes, he was Ron or Fred and he was naked and she'd wake up with damp sheets, her knickers tangled around her ankles, her nightgown trapped in a thick roll between her legs.

She went back to the Burrow charged and tense, muscles practically pulsing. She made sure to wake Ron every morning, catching tented glimpses of his erection before he learned to hide it.

When Ginny woke her, she'd keep her eyes closed as the younger girl's breath feathered over her, her fingers already between, pressing harder and harder, holding still until Ginny would leave the room then allowing her orgasm to flow over her.

The day before Harry arrived, she'd snuck out of the house, needing time alone after she and Fred had collided on the stairs, both of them tumbling to the floor. He'd landed on top of her, his legs between hers. They'd scrambled apart and she'd rushed from the room, needing peace and quiet, solitude.

The wind rustled through the trees and she heard it, the sound second nature to her now. She spelled her feet, moving silently to the small clearing. Pictures hung in the air, moving slightly. Naked bodies turned and posed, muscles pulling skin taut. She stared in awe at them for a moment until the telltale flash of red caught her eye.

George lay back against the tree, his cock in his hand, his eyes on the pictures. His hand moved with a frantic grace, the other wrapped around the base. His face was flushed; pulse pounding at the base of his throat, the head of his cock shiny with moisture, milky with the threat of his orgasm.

She stepped back slightly, afraid of being seen, though nothing seemed capable of drawing George's eyes away. He tilted his head back and licked his lips and Hermione felt a fresh wave of desire course through her. She cursed her jeans silently until she shifted on her feet, the hard seam sliding over her clit neatly, nearly making her gasp aloud.

She clutched the nearest tree, using it for support as she continued to watch George, her eyes captivated by the flushed skin of his cock, the speed of his hand, the slick wetness of his arousal. He was bigger and smaller than she'd imagined, her fantasies mingled with remembered glances of Fred and Ron. George's body tightened and she wrapped one arm around the tree, her chest tight against it, the rough bark scraping against her sweater, against her hard nipples as she snaked one hand down, beneath the waistband to the hot pool of heat, needing more pressure, more pleasure.

George's breath echoed to her on the slight wind, panting and hungry and so close. She shivered, her orgasm building between her clenched thighs as George moaned low and deep, his orgasm falling on the warm grass. His body jerked and shuddered and Hermione's moved in unison, wracked with shivers of heat and need until she could barely stand, leaning on the tree to keep on her feet.

She felt liquid and rubbery, watching him as he stood and dressed, gathering his things without looking around. She waited until he was gone and rushed back to her room, pleading not feeling well to Mrs. Weasley, her flushed, heated body lending credence to her words. She spent dinner ignoring the sounds from below, her fingers touching her body, naked under the covers as she imagined George masturbating in the silent little grove, day after day, the pictures dancing around him all images of her.

The following morning was a rush of excitement, Harry's arrival sending them all scurrying from room to room, looking for things and moving beds, arguing and laughing. Hermione hurried through her shower, wishing she had the luxury of being at home, an only child, taking her time as the heat coursed over her skin, her fantasies surrounding her like the steam. Instead, she rushed and dressed, her hair wilder and frizzier than normal as they all greeted Harry with hugs and stories and belated birthday celebrations.

There were only a few days left before school, each seeming longer and longer as Harry and Ron spent every minute with her, discussing everything and nothing, staying up late with whispers of Voldemort and past adventures. Ginny flushed whenever she saw Harry, keeping Hermione awake with sighs, whispers and questions.

Finally, they went to Diagon Alley, shopping and laughing and then the next morning they were rushing toward the train, hurrying to get aboard. Hermione quivered with tension as she shifted in her seat, greeting old friends and enemies, watching Ron and Fred and George and Ginny all stumble around the train with good-natured joviality, one of them occasionally forcing her into the conversation, forcing her out of her own reverie.

Innocent touches from out of nowhere fueled fantasies behind her closed eyes; Fred's breath was warm against her ear, Ginny's hand touched her knee, George's fingers accidentally grazed the side of her breast, Ron idly fingered the sleeve of her sweater, her wrist. Hermione pursed her lips together, forcing her heartbeat to slow, inhaling long, deep breaths that did little to hold back the flood of heat that seemed to engulf her.

The ride to school was unbearably long, the sorting ceremony like torture. Days worth of pent up frustration churned in her stomach as she shifted on the long bench, watching students file to their tables, clapping surrounding her. Ron leaned forward to talk to Harry, his chest brushing her back and Hermione pressed her thighs together, willing the sorting over, dinner over, the night to end.

Dinner began and dragged on, plates passed, fingers brushing. She watched as Fred leaned over to whisper something that made Angelina blush then slap him playfully, stared as Ginny leaned forward to talk to Neville, her breasts curving tightly against the black of her robe.

She muttered softly under her breath as George got up a few moments later, slipping between her and Ron to argue Quidditch with Harry, his body pressed against hers as he leaned forward intently. She arched her back slightly, pressing the wave of heat between her legs hard against the bench.

She forced herself to listen to the welcoming speeches, to pay attention to repeated warnings and whispers from the Gryffindor table as to what fate might befall them all; her entire body aching from need.

Finally they were dismissed and she slowed her steps as Ron teased her, falling in with him and Harry as they headed toward the tower. Students rushed past them, eager to get to the common room and talk, catch up and fall prey to the latest Weasley twins' tricks. Hermione clenched her hands into fists and walked slowly, her over-sensitized skin dancing with shockwaves the entire way.

The password barely registered as she hurried through the common room, waving to the calls of her name, begging off any revelry with muttered excuses of studying. She ignored the comments as she reached her room, closing the door behind her and leaning against it, her sigh of relief loud to her own ears. She locked the door then sealed it with a spell, shrugging out of her clothes to collapse naked on her bed, the shuddery chill of the castle like heaven against her skin.

She ran her hands over her breasts, fuller and tighter than before, her nipples already hard and dark. Her stomach was smooth despite the flutterings she felt, the hair between her legs damp as her fingers moved through it, tracing the swollen flesh, prolonging the agony for a few moments more before finding her clit and gasping hotly in the cool air.

Her mind clamored, Weasleys dancing through her head, all sly smiles and ginger hair. She bit her lip, her hips moving in slow thrusts, searching for the fingers she pulled back, unwilling to give in to the need awash in indecision.

Fred, she decided, his eyes flashing before he bent his head, his mouth warm around her nipple as he teased it with his tongue. She pressed her fingers to her clit again, her eyes closing. George, she allowed, another hot mouth at her breast. Fred sucking lightly as George nipped the taut skin, both of them teasing like laughter against her skin.

Hermione groaned, moving her fingers up to her mouth, tasting the heated liquid on her tongue. Her hand snaked back down, tugging lightly at the dark hairs, sending sensation dancing along her spine before finding her clit again, imagining Ginny's mouth over hers. She darted her tongue out and licked her lips, Ginny's parting in return. Tongues warring and surrendering as hands stroked her hair, the promise of other warm, honeyed, wet flesh.

Muscles contracting, Hermione let her fingers drop lower, the head of Ron's cock sliding from her clit down to her eager opening then back up again, teasing her. She moaned, Ginny's tongue sliding deeper, Fred and George's cocks pressed against her legs, thrusting, grinding. Her knees lifted, feet flat on the bed, legs open as Ron pushed inside her, his quick, shallow strokes causing her breath to catch in her throat.

Her fingers found her clit again, her hips angling up off the bed, willing Ron deeper. He grasped her hips and held her, sliding inside and she froze, hot and cold all at once, a shiver wracking her entire body. Everyone froze until Ron began moving again, slow and steady as Fred's hand left the swell of her breast down to her clit, George's moving in unison, two sets of fingers teasing her, brushing her skin as Ron's thick cock filled it.

Ginny's mouth left hers, peppering kisses on her skin until she reached Hermione's ear, her voice husky as she whispered promises, licking at the lobe, nipping it as she breathed about her tongue moving over Hermione's clit, fingers inside her, tracing and teasing and thrusting until Hermione couldn't move, couldn't breath, couldn't beg for more.

Hermione gasped, her hips off the bed, body arched as she came, fingers and flesh wet with her orgasm. She spilled back to the bed, saturated and sated, awash with overwhelming sensation. She lay there, unable to move, completely spent. Slowly, the sounds of the party down below filtered back to her, all laughter and loud, raucous Weasleys. She moved off her bed to the long mirror and stared at herself. Hair wild, body flushed, nipples hard and dark. She pinched one lightly and felt the shiver slither down her spine, the jerk of the nerves of her clit.

Smiling, she returned to bed, sliding beneath the covers, glad to be back at school for reasons that, for the first time, had nothing to do with learning.