A Dream Team, Apparently
Hermione stormed into the Gryffindor common room, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess. The familiar warmth of the room—the soft glow of the fireplace, the gentle murmur of voices, the rustle of pages turning as students studied—did little to calm the storm raging in her mind. She was consumed by the events that had unfolded only minutes earlier in Professor McGonagall's office. Every step she took toward the couch in front of the fire felt heavy with the weight of what she had just been tasked with. The very idea of it—tutoring Fred and George Weasley—was incomprehensible. There was no way it was going to work. They didn’t care about their grades, about school, about any of it. The idea of trying to make them do something they didn’t want to do was enough to send her into a spiral of frustration.
She sank into the cushions, her hands running through her thick hair, fingers digging into her scalp as if she could physically pull the tension out of her. She let out a sharp exhale, her breath shaking slightly as she tried to collect her thoughts. Her eyes scanned the room, but her mind was elsewhere—already replaying McGonagall’s words, the cold, matter-of-fact tone of her voice as she’d assigned the task. You’re the only one who can do this, Hermione. I have complete faith in you. How could McGonagall believe that? She couldn’t even make Fred and George take their work seriously when they were in the same room as her, let alone spend hours tutoring them, trying to coax them into actually learning.
As she slumped back into the couch, she let out another heavy sigh, hoping that talking about it to Harry and Ron would somehow make her feel better. Or at least make her feel less alone in the madness of the situation. Her gaze found Harry first—he was slouched in his usual armchair, his legs stretched out in front of him, a thick book in his hands. He glanced up, sensing the shift in the air as soon as Hermione entered. His brow furrowed slightly at the storm of emotion swirling around her. His eyes met hers, and she saw the flicker of concern flash across his face. He set the book down on the table, his full attention now on her.
Ron, who had been sitting cross-legged on the floor and playing with his broomstick, immediately noticed the tension in her posture. He paused mid-spin, his gaze locking onto her. It wasn’t hard for either of them to tell something was very wrong. After all, it wasn’t like Hermione to look so thoroughly defeated, so weighed down. She had always been the one who rose to every challenge, the one who could do everything, and now she was slumped in front of them, looking as though the weight of the world had just crashed down on her shoulders.
“Hermione?” Ron asked, his voice rising in concern, his eyes softening. “What happened? You look like you just fought a troll in the hallway.”
Hermione’s lips curled into a wry, humorless smile as she took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter. She met Ron’s eyes, then Harry’s, and knew she couldn’t avoid telling them what had just transpired. There was no escaping it, no pretending like she hadn’t just been handed a nearly impossible task. They were her best friends—they deserved to know what was going on.
“I’m... I’m going to be tutoring Fred and George,” she said in a low, incredulous voice, as if she still couldn’t fully process the reality of it. The words hung in the air between them, like an unexpected gust of wind that had knocked the breath from her lungs.
Ron’s face twisted in confusion. “What?” he asked, his voice clearly struggling to understand. “You’re tutoring Fred and George?”
Harry, who had initially been caught off guard, blinked a few times, processing the information slowly. His lips parted as though he were about to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Finally, after a moment of stunned silence, he managed, “Wait... You’re tutoring Fred and George? You’re the one McGonagall decided should help them?”
Hermione buried her face in her hands, exhaling sharply through her nose as frustration began to claw at her again. “Yes, I’m the one she picked,” she muttered, her voice muffled by her palms. “Apparently, I’m the only person who can make them care about their grades.” She let her hands fall into her lap, glancing up at them. Her face was flushed with frustration, and her eyes were wide with disbelief. “She said—I quote—‘You’re the most capable student in your year. I have complete faith in you.’ Like that somehow makes sense. As if I can somehow get Fred and George to sit still for an hour and learn anything.”
Ron’s eyes were as wide as Hermione had ever seen them. He stared at her, momentarily speechless, as if trying to wrap his mind around what she’d just said. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said finally, his voice low with incredulity. “Why on earth would McGonagall assign you to do that? They’re impossible. No one can get them to study. Let alone... let alone tutor them.”
“I know, Ron,” Hermione said, her hands pressing against her forehead as if to stifle the headache building there. “I have no idea why she thinks I can do this. They’re Fred and George. They don’t care about school. They care about pranks, and jokes, and causing trouble. What am I supposed to do? Chain them to the table and force-feed them facts about transfiguration and charms?” She stood up abruptly, her feet restless on the cold floor as she paced a few steps before turning back to them, her hands in the air in exasperation. “They don’t care about anything other than their jokes. And now I’m supposed to be the one to make them care about grades? How?”
Harry glanced over at Ron, then back at Hermione, his expression thoughtful but serious. “That’s... that's insane. But Hermione, you’re not wrong about one thing,” he said, his voice steady, “McGonagall does trust you. And—well, I hate to say it—but maybe you’re the only person who could make them see sense. If anyone can get them to do their work, it’s you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Hermione muttered, her voice trembling slightly as the weight of the responsibility crashed over her once more. “It feels impossible. They won’t listen to me. And if they don’t pass... McGonagall was very clear. If they fail again, they’ll be expelled.”
Ron’s eyes widened even more. “Expelled? I thought they were just behind on their work. But expelled? That’s... huge.”
“I know!” Hermione said, her voice dropping, the tension in her shoulders tightening as the seriousness of the situation set in. “I’m their last chance, Ron. They’ll be sent home if they don’t pass. I’m the one who has to make sure they do.” Her voice quieted, and she sank back into the couch, her head tipping back as she stared at the ceiling. “And to make it worse... McGonagall basically handed the responsibility to me. I’m the one who has to fix this.”
Ron and Harry exchanged a glance, both of them trying to find something comforting to say, but they knew better than anyone that sometimes, no amount of comforting words could take the weight of responsibility away. Hermione was right: this was huge, and she had no idea how to even begin tackling it. And that uncertainty? It was something she wasn’t used to feeling.
Ron opened his mouth to say something, but just as he began to speak, the familiar creak of the Gryffindor common room’s portrait hole interrupted him. The sound of footsteps and muffled voices drifted through the air, and when Hermione looked up, she saw Fred and George strolling into the room. The usual sense of mischief in their expressions was more prominent than ever, the pair already deep in conversation, no doubt plotting some new prank or scheme. But as soon as they noticed Hermione sitting on the couch, their heads turned in unison, and those mischievous grins broke out across their faces, as if they’d just discovered the most delightful of secrets.
“Well, well, well,” Fred said, his voice carrying across the room, loud and confident. “If it isn’t Hermione Granger, the new head of the Weasley Academic Assistance Program.”
Hermione’s heart sank, and a surge of heat flooded her face. The last thing she needed was them turning her tutoring sessions into another one of their jokes. But, of course, that was exactly what she had expected. The twins were practically experts at turning any situation into a comedy routine, and she was all too familiar with their ability to make light of even the most serious moments. She wasn’t in the mood for it now, not after everything that had just transpired in McGonagall’s office.
Fred strutted over toward her, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, his smirk widening at the sight of her already irritated expression. George trailed behind him, his gaze never leaving her, his grin almost as wide as Fred’s.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at them, silently warning them not to make things worse. “Don’t you two start,” she said sharply, her voice low but edged with a clear sense of warning.
Fred raised his eyebrows in mock innocence, his hands dramatically lifting in the air as if he couldn’t understand why she was upset. “What? We just wanted to say hello to our new tutor,” he said, putting on his best attempt at a syrupy sweet voice, the sarcasm dripping from every word. “It’s an exciting new chapter for us, isn’t it, George?”
“Absolutely,” George chimed in, nodding solemnly with a look of exaggerated seriousness, though his eyes sparkled with the usual gleam of mischief. “We might even take notes. Imagine that, Granger—notes! We’re a changed pair of students.”
Hermione let out a long, frustrated breath and crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying to maintain a semblance of control. She could already feel the frustration building in her chest, knowing full well that they weren’t about to take any of this seriously. The very thought of tutoring them—of trying to get them to do something they had no interest in—was overwhelming enough, but dealing with their antics on top of it? She wasn’t sure if she could keep it together for long.
“You’re not taking anything seriously, are you?” Hermione asked, her voice tight as she glared at them, trying to remain stern, but knowing it probably wouldn’t do any good.
Fred and George exchanged a dramatic look, their faces twisting into expressions of mock shock and disbelief, clearly enjoying the opportunity to wind her up. “Us? Not serious?” Fred asked, his voice dripping with exaggerated sarcasm. “How could you think such a thing, Granger? We take everything seriously. Everything.” He paused, letting the words sink in for a moment before adding, “Especially our pranks.”
“Especially pranks,” George echoed with a smirk, his voice conspiratorial.
Hermione’s fingers pressed against her temples, and she closed her eyes, trying to stave off the headache that was rapidly building. She knew this was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier to handle. She had hoped for just a little bit of respect, just a tiny bit of sincerity in their approach, but no such luck.
“You’re impossible,” Hermione muttered, letting her shoulders slump in resignation. She could already feel the weight of this task bearing down on her, and it hadn’t even started yet.
“Oh, come on, Granger,” Fred said, his tone softening just slightly as he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice as though he were trying to soothe her. “Don’t be like that. We’ve got this. We’ll try our best to behave. It’ll be fun. You’ll see. Who knows, maybe we’ll even come up with a new invention during study breaks. Might even help you with your essays, eh?”
George leaned in slightly, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “And don’t worry, Granger, we’re good at getting things done when we need to. We’ll pass, no problem. You’ll see. It’s in our blood, after all.”
Fred leaned a bit closer, his grin turning even more mischievous. “And you’ll be there to cheer us on, won’t you, Granger? We will succeed with your expert help. I have faith in us. We’re practically unstoppable.”
Hermione shot him an exasperated look, feeling the absurdity of the situation wash over her. The more they spoke, the more she realized they were genuinely convinced that they could somehow pull this off with their usual antics. Unbelievable didn’t even begin to cover it.
“You two are unbelievable,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief, though despite herself, a tiny part of her wanted to smile at their ridiculousness. It wasn’t much, but their sheer audacity almost made it seem like this was just another one of their pranks. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
Fred’s face softened a little, and before Hermione could react, he slung his arm casually around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer than she had expected. She stiffened in surprise, her body tense for a moment before she relaxed slightly, but she couldn’t suppress the surprised flush that crept up her neck. George mirrored Fred’s actions, draping his arm around her other side, as though they had all been best friends for years, completely oblivious to the fact that Hermione’s mind was in a whirlwind of stress and confusion.
“Oh, come now, Granger,” Fred said with a grin that was a little too innocent for Hermione’s liking. “Don’t you think the Weasley charm will help you through this?”
George leaned in even closer, his grin widening. “The Weasley charm and the Hermione Granger brainpower. A perfect combination. Together, we’re practically unstoppable. You’ll see. We’ll make a team out of this. It’ll be brilliant.”
Hermione couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of her lips despite herself. She was certain they were only making this more difficult, but something about their enthusiasm—however misguided—was almost contagious. Almost.
Ron and Harry, who had been watching the exchange in silence from a distance, clearly tried to hold back their amusement. Both of them could see exactly how this was going to play out, and neither one of them was under any illusion that this would be anything less than chaotic. Ron was trying his best not to laugh at the absurdity of it all, his hand still clutching his broomstick, while Harry looked at Hermione with a raised eyebrow, his lips curling in an amused yet sympathetic way.
Hermione finally pulled herself out of Fred and George’s embrace, her body still rigid with the weight of what was ahead. She shook her head in disbelief, the exhaustion creeping back into her bones as she sank back into the couch.
“This is going to be a nightmare,” she muttered, the frustration rising again as she looked from Fred and George to Harry and Ron. “I can’t even begin to imagine how this is going to go.”
Fred’s face lit up with another grin as he straightened up, holding his hands out in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, Granger. We’ve got this under control. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Right, George?”
George, still smiling like a Cheshire cat, nodded. “Right. Nothing to worry about at all. It’ll be a breeze. A fun breeze.”
Hermione sighed deeply, slumping further into the couch, the weight of the task ahead settling heavily on her shoulders once again. She wished she could escape, even for a moment, to the library or somewhere quiet where she could think. But instead, she was here, caught between her friends’ ridiculous confidence and the very real pressure of making sure Fred and George passed their classes.
She almost wished she could escape to the library and hide in a corner, away from the madness that was about to ensue. But deep down, there was a tiny part of her—small, quiet, and buried deep—that wondered if maybe, just maybe, she could make this work.