Hey guys! I'm back with another smutty story – this time with a plot! So read, review, and make suggestions. This might go on for a while.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter kingdom nor any of its minions.

George Weasley was in a right pickle. A deep pile of dragon dung. Screwed. Whatever you wanted to call it – he was fucked. Who was able to claim the prize for messing with the head of the cool, calm, collected (and dead sexy) prankster? Hermione Granger.

She was gnawing away at his insides, all because she had ruined one of the few things that made him different than his twin brother, Fred. George, even though he shared his twin's DNA, was always initially attracted to a girl because of her personality, the way she treated others, that sort of thing. Fred liked to call him a pansy for it – Fred, the notorious womanizer, who had a different girl in his four-poster dormitory bed every other night.

You couldn't blame the girls; the Weasley twins had striking features, Quidditch-toned bodies, a killer sense of humor, and that indescribable bad-boy attitude that had girls swooning as they walked by in the halls. George knew that, because they were identical, he could have everything that Fred had. All he had to do was let the girls who wanted to throw themselves at him do just that.

But George wouldn't have it. Maybe it's because he put more stock in what their mum said than did Fred, but he always felt somewhat unclean when he fancied a girl simply for her body. Yes, he was a seventeen-year-old hot-blooded human male, but he found it sexier when a girl was taking care of, say, younger siblings, or helping younger students out in the hallway, than when a girl was doing a strip show. Mind you, he had had offers for strip shows, but he had always redirected the desperate females toward his twin brother. He engaged in romps and the like only after having gone on several dates with a girl, becoming emotionally invested. George always thought that he would make a great father someday.

That is, until today, when he stepped into the aforementioned pile of dragon shit by walking in on Hermione in the prefect's bathroom. She hadn't noticed – thank Merlin, because neither of them would ever be able to face the other again if she knew that he saw her (gulp) pleasuring herself. Wanking off. What did girls call it, anyway? A lot of the penis metaphors commonly used obviously didn't apply here.

Anyway, he had had a few seconds' glimpse of her creamy, full breasts, topped with good-sized, peachy nipples; her toned, flat stomach and her flared hips; her long legs, one propped up on a bench near the shower as the warm water ran over her body; and, most jarringly, her plump, delicious, bare quim, rosy petals glistening with her own arousal as she worked her fingers in and out of herself. Her facial expression – a small "o" of pleasure, eyes screwed shut – was what haunted him the most (besides, obviously, her tantalizing center).

So here he was, having sprinted all the way back to his empty dormitory, lying face down on his four-poster and trying to forget what he had just seen. For Merlin's sake, she was his little brother's best friend! Practically his sister! Walking in on Ginny doing… that… would have been scarring and unpleasant. It shouldn't have been so easy for George to think of Hermione that way – but it was. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen her as a sexual being before this.

Well, yes he could. It was because he didn't know enough about her as a person. He couldn't be attracted to her personality because he didn't have a full picture of it; he mostly knew her as the bookworm (and the reason his younger brother was still in school). He hadn't really ever talked to her, and yet here he was, thinking about her in the most unholy of ways, just like Fred would. He loved Fred, but he also cherished the small things that separated them as people. He felt like he was losing his bloody identity!

And still, upset as he was about it, he couldn't stop the flow of images to his mind. After having just one glimpse of her, his imagination had gone into overdrive, thinking of the two of them in compromising positions all over the place.

"Oh," he whimpered helplessly, lightly thrusting into the mattress to try and alleviate some of the tension present in his solid erection. It only added fuel to the fire, however. Now he was imagining thrusting into Hermione – in his dormitory – while she writhed underneath him on his bed, wrapping her lovely legs around his waist and pulling him closer to her. George moaned as he became light-headed.

Admitting defeat, he flipped over onto his back and took his length out of his trousers. There was a wet spot on his boxers from the pre-cum collecting at the tip; he spread the fluid around with his thumb, groaning as he imagined Hermione swirling her tongue around the head of his penis.

So wrong… so wrong…he thought as he began pumping his hand up and down, using the pre-ejaculate as lubrication. He gripped tightly, working his hand along his solid length, now imagining Hermione riding him, he could feel her around him, the tightness of her pulsating walls. He started to thrust upward with his hips as he coordinated them with the movements of his hand. "Oh, gahh, fuck yes," he groaned as he used his other hand to pull his shirt up and tweak his nipple – in his head, wild Hermione had bent down to take that nipple into her warm mouth, moaning around it as he gave it to her, sending vibrations down straight to his balls.

"Merlin! Hermione!" he yelped, giving a strangled cry as he came, shooting creamy strings of his release onto his bare stomach, his hands. It was definitely the best orgasm he had ever had while wanking, that was for sure.

Mildly disgusted with himself but also very sated, he grabbed his wand and murmured, "Scourgify." After pulling up his trousers and flipping onto his side, he closed his eyes and mulled over his situation.

'I'm George, the nice one, the one who's good to girls,' he thought firmly. 'Fred and I are both successful in the bedroom, but it's because we go about it differently. I can't just go and ruin – '

"Hey, Forge," came a voice from the doorway. It was, unsurprisingly, Fred, who had come to turn in for the night.

George considered sharing his problem with his twin. Why not? They told each other everything. "Gred, have you ever thought – "

"Not now, I'm beat. Let's talk about it tomorrow," said Fred, throwing himself onto his bed. Within a minute, soft snores were coming from his direction.

George shrugged and pulled the covers up over himself, hoping that his problem would have gone away by the time he woke up. "Night, Lee," he murmured, seeing through half-closed eyelids Lee Jordan enter the room.

"Night, Fred," said Lee.

"You git! I'm George!"

"I know, I know, I was only joking," laughed Lee. "You think I haven't figured out now where you two sleep?"

He laughed and climbed onto his four-poster. George, unsettled, wondered if that was the only way Lee could tell them apart. He was probably just being paranoid, but he was worried that the lines were beginning to blur even more between him and his twin.

'Damn Hermione!' was his last thought as he drifted off into sleep.