The Summons
Hermione Granger had always prided herself on being a model student—punctual, diligent, and completely devoted to her studies. Her days were often filled with meticulous planning, careful note-taking, and an unrelenting desire to excel academically. So when a note, scrawled in Professor McGonagall’s familiar sharp script, was passed to her at breakfast, she assumed it was nothing more than a routine request for some prefect duty or perhaps a suggestion for additional coursework.
The parchment felt crisp as it landed in front of her, and Hermione unfolded it without much thought, already bracing herself for the usual academic request. But as her eyes skimmed the brief, no-nonsense message—Miss Granger, please report to my office after breakfast—a sense of unease prickled at the back of her neck. There were no details, no pleasantries. Just a stark command to meet the Professor. It was the kind of note that made her wonder what on earth McGonagall could want at such an early hour.
The odd feeling gnawed at her as she sat in the Great Hall, watching the chatter and laughter of her fellow students blur into a distant hum. She barely noticed the steady clinking of silverware or the rustling of robes as her mind replayed the note again and again. Something didn’t sit right. McGonagall wasn’t the type to call students to her office unless it was important, and Hermione couldn’t shake the sensation that whatever awaited her was not going to be pleasant.
Ron, ever the curious one, leaned over from across the table, his mouth full of toast. He barely noticed as crumbs fell onto the table. “What’s that?” he asked, his voice muffled.
Hermione shook herself from her thoughts, looking down at the note still in her hand. She folded it carefully, slipping it into her robes with a sigh. “McGonagall wants to see me.”
“Probably something about extra credit,” Harry said lightly, his voice carrying a grin as he took a swig of pumpkin juice. He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the idea.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “I highly doubt it. I’ll find out soon enough,” she muttered, her thoughts lingering on the possibilities. The more she thought about it, the more she dreaded the idea that it might have something to do with her involvement in the current year’s challenges. Or worse, perhaps a reprimand about how her grades might be making others look bad. McGonagall, after all, was not someone you kept waiting.
As breakfast wrapped up and the students slowly began to clear out of the hall, Hermione rose to her feet, her mind racing. The air around her felt thicker somehow as she left the warm, comforting atmosphere of the Great Hall behind and stepped into the cold stone corridors of Hogwarts. The walls seemed to echo faintly with the sounds of students’ footsteps, their voices blending into the distance. Each step she took toward Professor McGonagall’s office made her feel increasingly nervous, her stomach doing uneasy somersaults as the inevitable confrontation loomed closer.
The corridor was quiet as she approached McGonagall’s office, the heavy wooden door standing imposingly before her. Hermione hesitated for a moment before she rapped her knuckles against the door twice, the sound sharp in the stillness. She stood there for a beat, her heart thudding in her chest, before hearing the familiar voice from inside.
“Enter.”
Taking a deep breath, Hermione pushed open the door and stepped inside. The sight that greeted her wasn’t quite what she expected. Professor McGonagall, as always, sat behind her desk, her hands folded neatly in front of her, her expression as stern as ever. However, seated across from her were two very familiar faces—Fred and George Weasley. Hermione’s stomach dropped into her shoes.
The twins turned toward her as the door creaked open, their faces breaking into identical mischievous grins. Fred winked at her, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mischievous spark. “Morning, Granger. You’re looking particularly studious today,” he said, his voice oozing playful sarcasm.
George, ever the one to follow suit, nodded solemnly as if he were making a profound observation. “Indeed. Positively brimming with intellectual authority,” he added with a smirk, clearly relishing the idea of her reaction.
Hermione’s jaw clenched involuntarily. “What are you two doing here?” she asked, her voice sharp despite herself. The twins didn’t even try to hide their amusement. Of course, they were the ones involved in this. She could hardly believe it.
Before either of them could respond, McGonagall cleared her throat with that sharp, no-nonsense sound that made it clear she was about to speak. Hermione quickly turned her attention back to the Professor, who fixed her with a stern gaze.
“Please, sit, Miss Granger,” McGonagall instructed, her tone brooking no argument.
Hermione hesitated for just a moment before she took the seat beside the twins, her gaze lingering on them warily. Fred and George exchanged an amused look, but neither of them said anything. Hermione folded her arms across her chest, trying to maintain her composure.
McGonagall wasted no time getting to the point. “I will get straight to the matter at hand,” she began, her voice brisk and commanding. “As you are well aware, academic excellence is a cornerstone of Hogwarts and a standard we uphold for all students.”
Fred, predictably, yawned loudly and exaggeratedly, making a show of rolling his eyes. George elbowed him gently, but Fred’s expression was one of complete boredom.
McGonagall’s lips tightened, but she carried on with a trace of impatience. “Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley, however, have failed to meet the necessary requirements to advance to the next year. As such, they will be repeating their coursework.”
Hermione blinked in shock. She hadn’t known the twins were in danger of failing—failing? It seemed completely impossible to her. Fred and George were always clever, always full of potential—at least when they weren’t causing chaos. How could they have ended up in such a predicament?
“We prefer the term chosen to linger,” Fred said, his voice dripping with a casual air of indifference, as though the idea of failing out of Hogwarts was nothing more than a temporary inconvenience. He leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head, grinning lazily at Hermione.
“Or academically detained,” George added with a straight face, his tone equally flippant, as though they were discussing nothing more important than what to have for lunch. His posture mirrored Fred’s, relaxed, though his eyes were twinkling with mischief.
Professor McGonagall didn’t so much as blink at their comments. She stared at them with the kind of steady gaze that made even the most unruly students quail. The twins, however, seemed impervious to the weight of her scrutiny. Her attention swiftly shifted back to Hermione, who was still trying to process the absurdity of the situation.
“I am assigning you, Miss Granger, as their tutor,” McGonagall said without preamble, her voice firm, cutting through the air like a knife.
The words hung in the room, thick and suffocating. Hermione’s mind was momentarily blank, her breath caught in her throat. The thought of tutoring Fred and George Weasley—who had spent the majority of their school years causing chaos—was a joke, wasn’t it? Surely, this was some kind of misunderstanding.
Silence stretched across the room. Hermione’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. She glanced from McGonagall’s unyielding face to Fred and George, who were watching her with varying degrees of amusement. The air was heavy with the realization that this was not, in fact, a joke. McGonagall’s eyes were stern as ever, and there was no mistaking the seriousness of her tone.
“I—what?” Hermione finally stammered, trying to make sense of the words that had just been spoken.
McGonagall’s gaze remained impassive, unwavering. “You will ensure that they meet the necessary requirements to pass this time around. If they do not, they will be expelled.” The finality of the word expelled resonated through the room, and for a brief moment, it felt as if time had stopped. The weight of it—the gravity of her responsibility—hit Hermione all at once. The twins’ futures hung in the balance, and she was being asked to carry that burden.
Expelled. The word echoed in her mind like a cold, unforgiving bell tolling, and it sent a ripple of unease through her chest. She glanced at Fred and George again, who, for once, were not smiling or making wisecracks. Their expressions had become more serious, their usual bravado faltering under the weight of the situation.
Hermione’s breath hitched, but she quickly steadied herself. She was nothing if not capable. But this—this—was something else entirely. “Professor, with all due respect,” she began, her voice hesitant, “I don’t think I’m the best choice for this. Surely someone else—someone with more experience—could help them.”
“You are exactly the best choice,” McGonagall interjected, her voice cutting through Hermione’s objections with the precision of a sword. “You are the most capable student in your year, and I have no doubt that you can handle this challenge.” Her eyes softened for a split second, but the firmness in her tone made it clear that the decision was final.
Hermione’s stomach churned. She resisted the urge to groan aloud. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in her own abilities—she did—but the idea of tutoring Fred and George was... overwhelming. The twins weren’t exactly known for their dedication to academics, and Hermione knew better than anyone that they had a tendency to focus more on pranks than on their studies. This was a recipe for disaster.
“Professor, they don’t want to study,” Hermione protested, frustration creeping into her voice. “I can’t force them to care about their grades. They’ve never shown any interest in schoolwork. This is going to be impossible.”
Fred, who had been sitting in silence, leaned forward suddenly, propping his elbow on his knee with an exaggerated frown. “That’s unfair, Granger,” he said, his voice mockingly solemn. “We care deeply about our studies.” He gave her a look that was a blend of innocence and mischief, though there was a flicker of something else—something she couldn’t quite place.
“Oh yes,” George chimed in, nodding dramatically. “We care so much, it practically hurts to be here.” His voice was laden with sarcasm, but there was a softness in his tone that hinted at something more serious beneath the banter.
McGonagall, however, was unfazed by their antics. Her gaze never wavered, and the slightest narrowing of her eyes made it clear that she wasn’t buying their act. “Miss Granger will be tutoring you both, and that is final. You will meet three times a week. You will cover all core subjects. You will do whatever is necessary to ensure that you succeed. This is not a request. This is an expectation.” Her voice grew firmer with each word, and Hermione had no doubt that there was no room for negotiation.
Fred and George exchanged a glance, their smiles fading slightly as they processed the gravity of the situation. The playful atmosphere in the room had evaporated, replaced by something more sober—though, of course, it was still laced with their usual irreverence.
Hermione clenched her fists in her lap, fighting the urge to snap at them. “And if they refuse?” she asked, her voice dripping with frustration.
McGonagall’s eyes snapped to the twins. “Then they can pack their bags and leave Hogwarts,” she said coldly, the finality in her voice leaving no room for doubt.
For a moment, there was silence. The twins, once so confident, exchanged another glance—this one laced with the barest hint of nervousness. Fred’s cocky grin faltered for a moment, though he quickly masked it with a shrug. George let out a long breath, like he was deflating.
“Alright, Professor,” George said, his tone finally serious. “Looks like we’ll be Hermione’s star pupils.” He threw a teasing glance in Hermione’s direction, though it lacked its usual playful edge.
Fred, still grinning, added, “Lucky her.” There was a flicker of something in his eyes, though, something she couldn’t quite place.
Hermione rubbed her temples, feeling an overwhelming wave of exhaustion wash over her. She wasn’t sure if it was from the sheer absurdity of the situation or the sheer impossibility of it, but she could already feel the headache creeping in. This was going to be hell.
Professor McGonagall stood, effectively signalling the end of the meeting. “You will report to the library for your first session this afternoon,” she said, her tone final. “I trust there will be no further issues?” she added, her gaze sweeping across the room, landing on the twins.
Fred and George, now subdued but not beaten, stood up, offering her a sheepish look. “No issues here, Professor,” Fred said with an exaggerated wink, though the playful glint in his eyes had dimmed.
McGonagall nodded once, her expression softening just slightly, before she turned and walked out of the office. “Dismissed.”
Hermione stood as well, her body stiff with the weight of the situation. As the door clicked shut behind them, she could feel the sinking feeling in her stomach deepen. Fred, ever the joker, slung an arm around her shoulders as they left the office. His grin was wide and cheeky.
“You and us, Granger. A dream team,” he said, his voice laced with mock enthusiasm.
George followed suit, smirking. “Don’t worry, we’ll go easy on you.”
Hermione let out a long, exasperated sigh. This was going to be a nightmare.