And even though he and George had been doing things without each other for ages, despite popular belief, it was the first time he'd ever changed one of their joint products for his own personal gain without his brother's knowledge. It felt wrong on every level he could imagine, but if it worked - it had to work - it was all going to be worth it.

Unless, of course, it worked and it all blew up in his face.

He knew the second he thought of it, which was about five seconds after they came up with the idea for the charm itself. Not even George knew what he was thinking and how long he'd been thinking it, especially since in his saner moments, he tried desperately to pretend he wasn't thinking it at all.

But the truth of the matter was that he was desperately in lust with the girl most likely to end up shagging his younger brother and he had to see if he even stood anything close to a chance. Which is why, when she actually bought a daydream charm, he traded the one she brought to the counter for the one he'd had tucked away for just such a moment, slipped it in her bag and, ever since then, had hovered on the edge of nervous despair and desire in anticipation.

"You're bloomin' mad," he reminded himself as he paced his bedroom. "You know she's going to use it at some point and she's going to daydream something absolutely disgusting like shagging Ron or shagging Krum or not shagging at all and you'll have wasted a perfectly good spell on kittens frolicking in the meadow or something." He kicked the side of his bed then resumed his pacing. "Or, worse yet, it's all going to backfire and you're going to find out she knows that you're spying and she's going to kill you with every curse that isn't unforgivable before she even works her way up to that." He sighed and sank down onto the chair opposite his bed. "Or she's never going to use the bloody thing and you're going to drive yourself to drink."

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about?" George stood in Fred's doorway with his eyebrow raised knowingly. "And why are you doing it to yourself? Pretty soon you're going to be as bad as Moody, all wild-eyed and paranoid."

"Just thinking out loud."

"Very loud. Keep it down, would you? I'm going to be entertaining."

"Don't tell me you actually got that girl to say yes?"

"That girl, as you so kindly put it, and her friend." George licked his lips. "So, do me a favor and pretend I don't have a twin for the night, would you? I'd hate to have to share the bounty."

"The bounty's all yours." Fred pulled his wand free and cast a silencing spell on his room. "Shut the door and it's like I don't exist."

"I wouldn't go that far," George shook his head. "They might be too much for me. I may need you to bail me out and take the morning shift."

"Despite popular rumors…"

"Which I probably started."

"I don't need your cast-offs, twin o' mine."

"You need something." George's said gravely. "You've not had a proper shagging in months."

"Desperate times."

"You're hung up on someone." George's voice flattened. "No doubt someone unattainable and incredibly wrong for you, so do give it up and find yourself a nice, easy girl who'd be more than happy to shag one of the most eligible bachelors…well, probably ever."

"Right. I'll get right on that. Assuming, of course, that you haven't shagged 'em all already."

"There's one or two out there." There was a loud knock and George grinned. "Wish me luck."

"I wish you stamina."

"Hardiman's Happy Hardener will more than take care of any problems, should they not arise."

"That's for hard candies, you idiot."

"So I'll be sweet to suck on." George let out a laugh and headed down the stairs. "Say goodnight, Fred."

Fred got to his feet and shut his door. "Goodnight, Fred." He slid an extendable ear under the door and listened as George led the girls almost immediately to his room. As soon as the door was shut, he slipped out into the kitchen and reached up to the tallest cupboard, pulling free a Muggle bottle of scotch Lupin had given them. He opened it and poured himself a glass when a shot of searing heat coursed through him and he fell to his knees. "Oh fuck," he gasped as the leather cord around his neck jerked hard against him, an invisible hand dragging him by it to his bedroom. It released him once he was in the room and the door slammed shut behind him. He stared up at the ceiling, his hand at his throat, fighting to breath. "Fuck."

"I've been meaning to talk to you."

The voice was slightly distorted, the image in front of his eyes soft at the edges. He sat up and it moved with him, staying in front of him just a few feet away. The colors were muted, but it slowly sharpened until it was almost real. "About?"

"Well, this." She leaned against the wall of what he knew to be the storeroom downstairs. His heartbeat accelerated and his brain kicked into overdrive along with his cock. He reminded himself that he was likely to find himself subjected to her talking about the way they were running the business or, worse still, talking to George. His cock took the hint and simmered down, but heart didn't seem to care as she ran a finger along the collar of her shirt just down to the button that masked the hint of cleavage he knew to be there.

"This?"

He growled in his throat, the monosyllabic answers not giving him enough opportunity to tell if she was talking to him, to George, or if she was daydreaming about talking to someone else in their storeroom. If it was Ron or Bill or Charlie or, God help him, Percy, he was going to have to burn the place to the ground.

A lock of hair fell into her eyes and she looked at him coyly. Fred's brow furrowed - the daydream should be from her point of view - until he realized the heat flooding his body was his residual reaction to how she was feeling with him watching her. She unbuttoned the top button and her smile widened slightly. "This."

A heavy bolt of lust shot through him and suddenly he was seeing things through Hermione's eyes. He let out a half-groan, half-sigh as he recognized himself opposite her, leaning casually against one of the racks of shelves. His shirt was unbuttoned and opened, tugged free from his jeans. His hair was mussed slightly as if he'd had a hectic day and run his hands through it repeatedly. The storeroom was hot and Hermione was hot and he could feel a trickle of perspiration run down her spine as she stared at the ginger hair that peppered his chest, her eyes dragging down to the darkening triangle that disappeared into his unbuttoned jeans.

Fred watched himself push off the wall and take a slow, casual step forward. It looked predatory and hungry to Hermione's eyes and she inhaled, her breasts swelling with the breath and heat pooling between her thighs. She started to unbutton her shirt when he reached out and stopped her, one finger behind her shirt, between her breasts. "This," his voice rumbled low, "I do."

His fingers undid Hermione's shirt slowly as he bent down and followed every loosened button with a fleeting kiss against her skin. She shivered and grasped at his shoulders, her nails scraping his skin. He caught her hands and pinned her to the wall as her shirt fell open. He raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Now, now, Ms. Granger. A good little girl like you not wearing a bra?"

"Maybe," she replied huskily, "I'm not as good and little as you think."

He released her arms and caught her breasts instead, cupping them with calloused hands and squeezing the soft flesh gently. "No. Not so little."

Hermione tilted her head back, arching up to meet his hands. His thumbs swept over her nipples in agonizingly slow circles before he bent his head and wrapped his tongue around one of them. She gasped, the sound melting into a groan as he caught the hard tip between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, rolling it gently. Her hands fisted in his hair and she clung to him, her hips undulating forward.

Fred moved his mouth to the other breast, bathing it in the same attention. One hand held her waist while the other snaked down to the hem of her skirt, catching the fabric and inching it higher. Heat surrounded his hand as he parted her legs, easing his long fingers between her thighs. He brushed the damp material of her knickers and pulled it aside, letting his fingers barely brush against the wet, tangled hair.

"You feel good," he assured her as she buried her head against his shoulder, her breath fanning over his bare chest. "Wet and hot and good." His fingers pushed inside her slowly, easily, ignoring her clit as he parted her flesh. Hermione gasped and shivered, her nails digging into his skin as she clung to him, her heated pants ebbing and flowing with every thrust.

"Fr…ed."

He shook his head and kissed her skin - her neck, her chest, her shoulder - anywhere he could reach. He bit at the milk pale flesh of her neck, his thumb finding her clit as she moaned in response. "So good."

"But not little," she panted. "All…all grown up…"

Fred released her and reached down, undoing his flies and easing his cock free. He caught one of her legs with his hand and lifted it, sliding his body against her, his fingers guiding his cock against the pull of the fabric of her knickers, sliding against the edge as he pushed it aside and thrust into her.

"All grown up," he agreed breathlessly as she wrapped her leg around his waist, lifting herself up against him. He used one hand to grasp the shelf behind her for balance as the other cupped her arse, pulling her against him with every thrust. They both fell silent, unable to form words between the rapid, shallow gasps that punctuated his movements, the frenzied pace that kept his hips colliding with hers until he felt her shake, her hands clutching at him as her heel dug into his arse and the hot flood of her orgasm coursed around him. He groaned and stilled, his body pressing hers into the shelves as he fell into her, against her, his own orgasm buffeted by the aftereffects of her own. He buried his face in her neck and kissed her, licking the salty glow of perspiration from her skin.

"Hermione…"

Fred jerked upright at the sound of someone else's voice breaking into the daydream. Hermione's image disappeared and he was alone in his room, his cock in his hand, and a mess on the floor around him. He was lightheaded and panting hard as the room slowly focused. He released the base of his cock and reached up, tugging the leather band from around his neck. The amulet at the end of it held a residual glow that faded as he watched, and he carefully set it on the table next to his bed. He swallowed hard and quickly did a cleaning spell as he got to his feet long enough to sink down onto his bed.

A hard flash of triumph overwhelmed everything else as the realization he'd actually managed to do what he set out to do - spy on Hermione's daydream. Even more heady was the fact that, without influence, she'd been daydreaming about him. The thought alone was enough to send another surge through his cock. He lay back on his bed with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth until George flung his bedroom door open. He sat up quickly. "What's the matter?"

"Bloody soundproofed room and you can't hear a fuckin' thing." He was wearing a sheet and had lipstick stains on various parts of his anatomy. An owl flew in over George's head and glared balefully at Fred. "I think it's for you."

Fred took the parchment off the owl's foot and unrolled it slowly, warily. He didn't even hear George leave as he saw the immediately recognizable handwriting. He groaned as he scanned the short note. "Enjoy yourself?"

Looking at the owl, Fred smiled and offered it a biscuit from the plate beside his bed. The owl munched happily as he dug a quill from the pile of papers on his desk and scratched out a reply. He rolled the parchment and gave it back to the owl, carrying it to the window. He took a deep breath of the night air as he watched the large bird wing its way back to Hogwarts.

He'd slipped her two of the specially prepared daydream packets. He couldn't help smiling as he glanced at the leather band beside his bed and wondered what Hermione would do when she opened the note and saw his scrawled "Yes". If he was lucky, he might find out for himself.