A/N: Here's another fun one for you, my faithful readers. It's extra-long for your reading pleasure (tee hee), and I tossed in a couple chuckle-worthy moments.

Thanks a billion if you feel frisky enough to leave me a review!

Chapter 5: Role Reversal

Hermione never thought that doing something so wrong could be so exciting.

It had been an impulsive decision to kiss Fred, but she didn't feel guilty, disgusted, or ashamed at all. Instead, she was experiencing an intense and rather enjoyable adrenaline rush. Not because it was Fred that she'd kissed, but because she'd done something completely irrational and foolish. Something totally unlike her.

Ironically, she thought that if Fred hadn't been under the influence of his potion, he would have been proud of her.

Deep down, Hermione knew she was a devious and cunning witch. She had to be if she wanted to keep up with Harry and Ron—the three of them had broken so many rules together it was almost sickening. Through all of that, though, Hermione only disobeyed laws out of necessity. She was mischievous because she had to be, not because she enjoyed the reactions of other parties involved. Not because she liked the risk of getting caught, and especially not because she loved to tease, torment, and shock her friends.

But as she walked away from Fred and returned to the house, Hermione couldn't help but feel exhilarated for those exact reasons. She had enjoyed Fred's reaction. She knew she'd be in trouble if anyone else found out. And she loved that she had discovered a new way to torment the twins. She was, after all, the only other person who knew about the potion. She understood what it did to Fred, and what it was consequently doing to George. Those poor boys; they had no idea that she planned to milk it for all it was worth.

Hermione smiled impishly. She wanted to prove to herself and to everyone else that she was perfectly capable of relaxing and having fun. It seemed that the opportunity for revenge and personal entertainment had suddenly presented itself in a single, convenient package.

Fred Weasley.

Hermione didn't see Fred at all that afternoon. He may have been avoiding her, or he may have just been too caught up in his work to socialize. Either scenario was funny to consider. Fred Weasley, avoiding her? Fred Weasley, too busy to socialize? She laughed every time she thought of it.

When George came home, he collapsed into a kitchen chair and leaned heavily on the tabletop. Hermione and Ginny were helping Mrs. Weasley prepare dinner, so they were the first to hear about his hectic workday.

"It was unbelievable!" he moaned. "People were all over the place. I didn't even have time to eat lunch, I was so busy!" He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Please tell me Fred is acting normal again. I don't think I can go another day without his help."

Hermione bit her lip to hide a smile. "I'm not sure," she fibbed. "I haven't seen him around."

"His mood hasn't improved much," Ginny added. "He was yelling at me and Harry all morning."

George sighed. "Fantastic."

"I'm starting to worry," Mrs. Weasley said. "Fred doesn't usually skip meals just to work. I'll be he's starving. That's probably why he's been so cranky. George, make sure he comes down for dinner."

"Yeah," he scoffed, standing up slowly. "I'll see what I can do."

It was with obvious reluctance that Fred finally left his room and joined his family for dinner. George had to shove him all the way down the stairs and into his seat. He took the chair across from his twin and released a long, exasperated breath.

"Fred!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed jokingly. "Good to see you again!"

Fred didn't respond, but helped himself to a small pile of mashed potatoes. His gaze darted around the table nervously until he met Hermione's inquiring stare. She offered him a coy smirk, and his eyes widened marginally before he turned his attention back to his mashed potatoes. She giggled quietly and carried on with her meal.

Only a few minutes into the feast, Fred pushed his plate away and stood. "I'm getting back to work," he announced.

"Fred, what in the world have you been doing up there?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Business. There are a lot of forms and things I need to fill out. Tomorrow I'm going to—"

"Tomorrow you're coming back to the shop," George finished.

Fred rolled his eyes. "I get a lot more done here—even with all the distractions." He flashed a cold, brief glare in Hermione's direction.

"I don't care about paperwork. If we get another rush like we did today, I won't be able to keep up. I need your help."

"It's always something," Fred mumbled in irritation. "Fine. If you can't handle it on your own, I'll pick up the slack." He turned his back on his family and climbed the stairs, slamming his bedroom door a few moments later.

The next day, Hermione discovered that Fred and George had left for the shop at the crack of dawn in order to get a head start on stocking shelves and organizing records. She was troubled by this because it limited her time to begin her new scheme. The potion could wear off at anytime, and once it did, Hermione wouldn't be able to take advantage of it. She had to act quickly if she was going to have any fun at all.

The solution came to her while she ate breakfast with Harry and Ron. The boys were busy stuffing their faces, so Hermione was able to speak uninterrupted.

"We don't have anything planned for today, do we?" she asked, innocently enough so her friends wouldn't get suspicious.

"Not that I'm aware of," Harry answered.

"I think we should take a trip to Diagon Alley. I want to stop at Flourish and Blotts—it's been almost two whole weeks since I've gotten a new book—and then maybe we could see what your brothers are up to, Ron."

Ron shrugged his shoulders. "I don't care much about what they're up to." He wouldn't admit it, but he was obviously still bitter about the Ronny Piggykins incident.

Hermione sighed. "Well, with the way Fred's been acting, I wouldn't be surprised if they're killing each other by now. You'd like to see that, wouldn't you?"

When he paused to picture it, and a slow smile spread across his face, Hermione knew she'd won her argument. She was devastatingly good at persuasion.

"Okay," Ron finally said. "I'll go. Harry?"

"Sure," Harry added.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Hermione, Ron and Harry had arrived at Diagon Alley with the help of the Floo network. They wandered down the bustling street, peering into windows and admiring displays. On most other days, Hermione would have been content to meander lazily with her best friends, but today held a sense of urgency. She didn't really want to go to Flourish and Blotts, but it was necessary to make the trip believable. They only shopped for ten minutes before Hermione informed the boys that she couldn't find anything she wanted. They left without protest from Harry or Ron.

Over the course of the previous night, Hermione had come up with numerous ways to get under Fred's skin. By the time she'd stepped into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, she was itching with anticipation to test one or two out. Honestly, she couldn't remember exactly when she became so diabolical. Spending time with Fred and George all these years must have been rubbing off on her. She was getting wound up and taking absolute pleasure in driving someone else bonkers. What had the world come to?

She approached the counter and saw that only George was standing there. Ron and Harry noticed, too.

"Aww, don't tell me you've murdered him already?" Ron bemoaned.

George glanced up, eyebrow lifted. "No, not yet. Why? You want to do it for me?"

"No. We just wanted to watch," Harry tossed in.

"Well, I may not have to after all."

Hermione's stomach fell. Did that mean the potion had worn off and Fred was back to normal? That she couldn't get him flustered with a few well-chosen words?

"Why's that?" she tried to ask subtly.

"He's locked himself in the back room to 'sort out my mess.' Haven't seen him in hours," George answered with a shrug.

"He seems to like locking himself alone in places," Ron commented, fiddling with a box of Skiving Snackboxes.

"I guess so," George replied. "It's lucky for him we haven't been too busy today. He'd probably be missing a limb or two if he was still out here badgering me."

Ron chuckled. "I can't say that'd be a bad thing." He turned to Hermione, almost disappointed. "It looks like we're not getting a show today. Want to head over to Quality Quidditch Supplies?"

Hermione gave him a skeptical look. "Do you really need to ask me that question?"

"No," he said, grinning sheepishly. "Me and Harry are going to go for a few minutes, then. Okay?"

"Sure," she replied offhandedly. With a wave, she bid them farewell and watched as they left the shop. Hermione stayed by the counter and leaned on it, glancing back to George.

"So," she began casually, "the Bottled Euphoria still not working out?"

"Well, you would know," he replied with a halfhearted smile. "I think you're enjoying my pain a little too much, Hermione."

She laughed. "That's what you get for experimenting so recklessly."

"Hey, I wasn't the idiot who drank the potion. Why do I have to be the one paying for it? I think Fred actually likes being the bossy-boots. He's insufferable!"

Hermione sighed. She couldn't recall the number of times she'd been referred to as a bossy-boots; the insufferable know-it-all. It looked like Fred was prepared to give her a run for her money in that department.

"How long do you think he'll be like this?" she eventually asked.

George rolled his eyes. "That's the thing. I was looking into some of the ingredients we used for the potion—you know, seeing how they interact with each other, duration periods, things like that. The best I can tell, I've got a week, maybe two of this new and improved Fred." He shook his head. "I'm going to lose my bloody mind."

Hermione was surprised. "But he only drank a little vial of the stuff. How could it affect him for so long?"

"Something about the way the powdered moonstone reacts to scurvy-grass. It's gonna be a long haul, Hermione. Help me? Please?" he pleaded.

She laughed. "Sorry, George. You're on your own." Just as she said this, a small boy approached the counter, a Pygmy Puff clutched in his hand. Hermione ambled away so George could make his sale. While she searched through the aisles, she considered their conversation. A week? Maybe two? That was plenty of time to develop some fun little mind games for Fred. She could start jotting her plans down as soon as she got back to the Burrow.

But for now, Hermione had another idea. She stopped at a towering display of Canary Creams and smiled. It was at least eight feet tall, built in an upside-down pyramid shape. The spell keeping it vertical must have been weak, since the entire structure looked to be wobbling unstably. Oh, this was perfect. Hermione lifted her toe inconspicuously and swiped the bottommost box out from the rest. The display wavered hazardously, then crumpled to the floor in a thundering crash. Canary Creams filled the aisle, and Hermione was left standing in the middle of it.

She flushed with embarrassment, even though creating the disarray had been her intention. George peeked around the corner to see the cause of the noise and sighed tiredly. He may have been amused, he may have been annoyed; Hermione couldn't quite tell.

"Clean up on aisle two," he announced to no one.

Before he could take another step, the door of the stock room burst open. Fred came storming out, craning his neck to see what had happened. When he finally discovered Hermione amid the scattered Canary Creams, his eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open.

"Look at this mess!" he screeched pathetically. "Hermione, what did you do?!"

"It was an accident," she protested lamely. Over Fred's shoulder, she saw George retreat backwards and mouth, "He's your problem now!"

"An accident," Fred repeated, rushing forward. He stooped to the floor and picked up the fallen products one by one, placing them in tidy stacks of ten. "It's always an accident when you don't want to face the consequences."

"It was an accident," she began, amazed at how easily the lie flowed from her mouth. "And what consequences are you talking about?"

"I could ban you from the shop," he said firmly. "And on a more personal note, I could decide to never speak to you again."

She almost lost it at that. "Oh please, Fred. I don't think either of those punishments would upset me too greatly."

He snorted irritably and stood up again to face her. "Do you enjoy making me angry? Do you think it's funny that you've just given me another hour of work to do?"

In her mind, Hermione replied yes and yes, but she couldn't bring herself to say it aloud.

"You're overreacting," she said instead. She even added a carefree chuckle just for fun.

"Don't tell me I'm overreacting! I'm taking my life seriously, and this is the kind of treatment I get for it? What happened to respect, Hermione? Doesn't everyone deserve respect?"

She rolled her eyes and bent to the ground, picking up a Canary Cream box and pretending to read its label.

"Fred," she began lightly, "do you need a hug?"

He stared at her through squinted eyes. "No, I don't need a blasted hug!"

"I think you need a hug," she went on. Dropping the box again to the floor, she took two giant steps forward and nearly tackled Fred in a tight embrace. She didn't know if she could call it a bear hug, since she was much shorter and slighter than Fred, but that was what she was going for.

He struggled against her briefly, but her iron grip was impossible to break. Besides that, Hermione obviously wasn't letting go until he gave in. He sighed loudly, his breath just wafting over her hair, and stood there while she squeezed the life out of him. He wouldn't hug her back, but she didn't expect him to, either.

After thirty long seconds of the pointless exchange, Hermione released Fred and smiled up at him. He looked completely fed up with her, and she knew she was starting to push her luck.

"See? Hugs make everything better." With another smile, she patted him lightly on the shoulder and exited the shop. Sometimes it felt so good to be bad.