A/N: This chapter is a bit longer than the others, so I hope you like it. For the record, know that I'll be more inclined to update if your reviews tell me I should. Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Botched Brew

Grumbling in exasperation, Hermione stormed after Fred, slamming the screen door behind her as she came into the kitchen. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to begin a heated rant, but Mrs. Weasley beat her to it.

"I cannot believe you two! A pig?! Your own brother?! It's absolutely inexcusable!" She groaned and threw up her hands. "To your room! NOW!"

"But mum!" George complained. "We haven't had any supper yet!"

"I DON'T CARE! GO!"

Begrudgingly, the twins slowly made their way up the stairs. Hermione was disappointed that she didn't have the opportunity to tell Fred off, but then she realized that depriving the twins of a meal was almost punishment enough. Almost.

"And you are NOT to leave that room until I say!" Molly shouted up after them. She shook her head and sighed heavily, then turned to the rest of the family. "Well then, let's eat, shall we?"

Hermione, Harry and the Weasleys had a fairly uneventful dinner that night, thanks in large part to the absence of the twins. Conversation was limited because Ron was still grumpy, and no one wanted to risk upsetting him further by enjoying themselves too much. They ate and dismissed themselves one by one, retreating to the living room to digest their food.

After the enormous feast, Hermione and Ginny returned to the kitchen to help Mrs. Weasley clean up. They found her pacing back and forth, carrying dirty dishes to the sink, and muttering to herself incoherently.

Hermione glanced to Ginny, then asked, "Mrs. Weasley?"

"I just can't do it," she announced in reply. "I can't let them go hungry."

"They're fine, mum," Ginny consoled.

Molly shook her head. "Take a tray up to them, will you, Ginny?"

"Fred and George will survive one night without dinner," she protested. "Besides, locking them in their own room is hardly a prison sentence. They've got tons of stuff to do and eat up there."

But Mrs. Weasley wasn't convinced. The guilt had begun to weigh too heavily on her motherly soul. "Hermione, dear?"

Hermione sighed, but took the towering plate of sandwiches anyway. She agreed with Ginny, but she couldn't possibly say no to Molly, who had always been such a kind and generous host.

"But make sure you tell them I'm still furious," Mrs. Weasley added, trying her best to actually sound that way.

Hermione climbed the stairs carefully so that she wouldn't upset her tray or lose her footing. When she came to the landing outside the twins' room, she grew suspicious immediately. There were no sounds coming from inside—no chaos, no laughter, not even whining. It was eerily quiet.

She used her foot to knock, as her hands were full, and listened. Nobody beckoned her inside, but she wasn't deterred. Cautiously, she balanced the tray on her hip and freed her hand to try the doorknob. Not surprisingly, it was locked. Her wand was only inches away, tucked safely in her pocket. If she could just reach it…

Unfortunately, Hermione wasn't that coordinated. The tray slipped from her grip and crashed to the floor, scattering the sandwiches everywhere. She groaned in frustration.

Just as she pulled out her wand to clean up the mess, the door before her opened. Fred was on the other side, smiling curiously as he noted the fallen tray and Hermione's flustered expression.

"Hello there," he greeted cordially. "Can I help you?"

Hermione sighed. "Your mother wanted me to bring you sandwiches—so there they are."

"Well, we can't eat those!" he said with fake disgust. "They've been on the floor!"

"I guess that's too bad, then," she replied, shrugging. "Why didn't you answer the door when I knocked?"

"Didn't hear knocking. I heard thumping, but I figured it was a poltergeist or something. Was that you?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and didn't answer. She was too full and content to begin another argument with Fred, or even continue the one she had saved from earlier, so she started back down the stairs.

"Wait, Hermione, come back," Fred called after her. He stuck his head out the door and peered around, as if making sure there was no one else in the hall. "I want to show you something."

She lifted a brow. "No thanks. I'm still angry at you."

"Come on! Forget that you're angry for five minutes. You'll love this."

"I highly doubt that."

"But you were the inspiration for it. You can't not love it." With another smile, he disappeared inside his room. Hermione looked after him, wondering if she should dare enter the mad scientists' laboratory. What could she have possibly inspired him to create? She was too curious to let it be, so she followed Fred into the room, stepping over the tray of forgotten sandwiches.

"Okay, what is it?" she asked, trying not to show too much interest.

"Close the door, will you?"

She pushed the door shut and turned around again. It was then that she noticed something strange. Fred was huddled over a tiny, black cauldron, stirring a bluish liquid. There were boxes of various items and creations strewn across the room—but something important was missing.

"Where's George?"

Fred glanced over his shoulder. "He went to pick up some more supplies."

"Mrs. Weasley said you weren't allowed to leave," she reminded condescendingly.

"Yes, well," Fred answered with a wave of the hand. "This was important. I'm on the verge of a breakthrough."

"Of what?"

Using a ladle, Fred poured some of the blue liquid into a tiny vial and swirled it. The color changed from blue, to emerald green, to soft pink, and back to blue. Fred smiled victoriously.

"Here," he said, "give it a try."

Hermione's eyes bulged. "I'm not going to be a guinea pig for one of your abominations!"

"But you gave me the idea. You have the right to test it out." Hermione glared at him, mind unchanging. "Fine," he said. "I'll do it."

He uncorked the vial and guzzled the potion down, scrunching up his face unpleasantly. He and Hermione waited several minutes for something, anything to happen.

"Well?" she finally prompted, tired of the anticipation.

"It tastes horrible," he said. "I'll have to work on that."

"But what's it supposed to do? Does it work?"

Fred suddenly narrowed his eyes at Hermione and his tone changed dramatically. "What do you mean, does it work? Of course it works!"

"What's it doing, then?" she pushed.

"Exactly what it's supposed to!"

Hermione sighed. "Which is?"

"Ugh!" Fred grunted, tossing his hands up. "You just don't understand my genius. You never have!"

Blinking in utter confusion, Hermione stared at Fred. He was acting—weird. It must have been a side effect of the potion he'd just ingested.

"Fred, I think your potion's gone wrong," she said calmly.

"My potion!" he exclaimed angrily. His voice had jumped two or three octaves, and the sound was grating. "It has nothing to do with my potion. It's about you always disrespecting me!"

Hermione was at a loss. "Disrespecting you? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, just forget it," Fred spat. "I've got enough to worry about without you judging me."

She almost wasn't able to restrain her laughter. What was wrong with him? Fred was usually so carefree, so laidback. Hermione watched as he started pacing nervously, stirring the contents of his cauldron with anxious fingers.

"Blimey, I wish George would get back," he mumbled quietly.

Hermione approached him slowly, amused with his odd behavior, but concerned all the same. She didn't know what was in the potion, and she didn't know what kind of effects it would ultimately have on its drinker.

"Fred?" she began.

He jumped almost a foot in the air, knocking over a bottle of lacewing flies. As he hurriedly began cleaning up after himself, he scolded Hermione over his shoulder. "Don't do that! I'm trying to concentrate!"

This was downright bizarre. Hermione had never seen Fred so tense. His shoulders were set rigidly, and his entire body looked ready to spring. She didn't know what to do.

Luckily, before Fred could hurt himself or yell at Hermione any further, George Apparated with a pop into the room. His hands were full of jars and bags of assorted items.

"Hermione?" he asked, more surprised than upset at her presence. "What are you doing here?"

She pointed at Fred, simply perplexed. "Your brother needs your help."

George looked at Fred curiously. "What's she talking about?"

"Don't ask me!" Fred countered defensively. "Where have you been? I need those ingredients NOW!" He crossed the room and ripped two or three bags from George's hands, then returned to the cauldron.

George blinked and glanced to Hermione. "He drank some of that potion over there," she explained. "And he's been acting really strangely ever since."

"Oy, you dolt!" George exclaimed. "It wasn't finished yet!"

"What's it supposed to do?" Hermione asked. "Fred told me I inspired it, but I don't see how."

With that, George allowed himself a small chuckle. "Well, you did inspire it. We were going to call it 'Hermione Granger's Bottled Euphoria.' Or something along those lines. The drinker is supposed to feel insanely relaxed and calm— totally stress-free. But I guess without a few ingredients, the result is…the opposite."

Hermione didn't know which part of that sentence to react to first. "Is that supposed to be ironic?"

"A little bit," George laughed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Can you reverse it?"

"It's best to let it wear off," George replied. "Could be ten minutes, ten hours, ten days—it's hard to say how long it'll take."

With a groan, Hermione made her way toward the door. "You two are such idiots."

Fred whipped around and gawked at her with wide eyes. "How dare you!" he yelped.

George laughed. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell mum about this, Hermione. She's mad enough as it is."

She shook her head and walked out, closing the door behind her. She wouldn't tell Mrs. Weasley. She figured the effects of this botched brew would serve as enough of a punishment.

Hermione had no idea just how right she was.