Cheering Charm Gone Wrong
The return to Hogwarts after the holiday break was both a relief and a return to routine for Hermione. As much as she had enjoyed her time at the Burrow—well, most of it—there was something comforting about the structured nature of the castle, where things (mostly) made sense. The rigid schedule, the predictability of classes, the quiet solace of the library—those were things she could count on. She had buried herself in her studies almost immediately upon arrival, hoping to push aside any lingering thoughts of enchanted mistletoe, teasing grins, and the particular warmth that had settled over her during Christmas. Unfortunately, forgetting about Fred and George Weasley was proving to be more difficult than she had anticipated.
“Come on, Hermione,” Fred groaned dramatically, letting his entire upper body collapse onto the wooden table in the empty classroom they had commandeered for their tutoring sessions. His quill slipped from his fingers and rolled onto the floor, but he made no effort to retrieve it, as though he had completely resigned himself to the burden of academic suffering. “Do you really think we need to know this?”
Hermione let out a slow, measured sigh, rubbing her temple as though trying to stave off an impending headache. She had known tutoring the twins would be a challenge, but she had underestimated the sheer theatricality they brought to the table. “Yes, Fred, I do,” she said firmly, fixing him with a stern look. “If you want to pass your exams, you need to understand the properties of magical ingredients and how they interact in potion-making. It’s not just about tossing things into a cauldron and hoping for the best.”
Fred, still face down on the table, lifted his hand weakly in protest. “Hope is a powerful thing, Hermione.”
“Just imagine,” George chimed in from beside him, his quill twirling lazily between his fingers, “two brilliant minds, daring innovators, and a whole world of unexplored potion possibilities. Who’s to say we won’t revolutionize the field one day?”
Hermione folded her arms, unimpressed. “Well, considering you nearly melted your cauldron last time, I’d say you have a long way to go before ‘revolutionizing’ anything.”
Fred suddenly sat up, clearly deciding it was time for a different approach. His face was alight with mischief, but beneath it, there was something calculating, as though he had been waiting for the perfect moment to spring a new idea on her. He rested his chin in his hand, looking at her with an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression. “You know, Hermione, I’ve been thinking.”
She raised a sceptical eyebrow. “That’s dangerous.”
George chuckled, leaning back in his chair as though thoroughly enjoying the exchange, but Fred pressed on, undeterred. “Maybe we’d learn better if we had some practical application. Something hands-on. You’re always saying we should engage more with our studies, right?”
Hermione regarded him warily. “And just what do you propose?”
George grinned, leaning forward conspiratorially, his voice dipping slightly as though they were planning something far more devious than a simple tutoring session. “A challenge.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “A challenge?”
Fred nodded, his expression turning smug. “You teach us a potion, and we’ll brew it under your watchful, ever-so-clever supervision. If we manage to do it correctly, you have to admit that we might not be completely hopeless.”
Hermione hesitated, fingers tapping against the edge of her parchment. This was dangerous territory—giving Fred and George free rein in potion-making was just asking for disaster. But then again, if they actually took it seriously, it could be beneficial for them. And if there was one thing she was confident in, it was her ability to keep them in line. Even if they didn’t take their other studies seriously, they always seemed oddly determined to get her attention—whether it was through exasperation or, on rare occasions, actual effort.
“Fine,” she said at last, setting down her quill with finality. “But if I see even the slightest hint of you trying to turn this into a joke, I will hex you both so thoroughly that Peeves will seem tame in comparison.”
Fred clutched his chest dramatically, eyes wide with mock horror. “You wound me, Hermione. Do you really think so little of us?”
She simply gave him a pointed look before gathering her books, completely unamused by his performance. “We’ll meet in the Potions classroom tomorrow evening. And you’d better be prepared.”
George smirked as she turned to leave, exchanging a glance with his twin. “Oh, don’t worry, Hermione. We’ll be ready.”
As Hermione walked away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever the twins had planned, it was going to be more than just a simple potions lesson.
The next evening, as Hermione pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the Potions classroom, she half-expected to find chaos. Perhaps Fred and George would be launching ingredients at each other like they were in a food fight, or maybe she’d find that one of them had already caused an explosion, sending plumes of oddly-coloured smoke spiralling toward the ceiling. But what she didn’t expect—what she had never expected—was to walk in and find them already there, workstations meticulously arranged, cauldrons at a gentle simmer, and ingredients laid out in neat, careful rows.
She hesitated in the doorway, momentarily thrown off by the sight before her. For once, they weren’t making a show of themselves, weren’t slouching or tossing quips back and forth. Instead, they appeared... focused. That was perhaps the most shocking part.
“Well,” she said after a pause, setting her books down on the front table and eyeing them with a mixture of suspicion and reluctant approval. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. You actually managed to follow the setup instructions.”
Fred, standing beside his cauldron with his arms crossed, shot her a wink. “We aim to impress.”
George, mirroring his brother’s stance, leaned just slightly against the table, his smirk never fading. “And you never know, Hermione,” he mused, “maybe we’ve been taking this a little more seriously than you think.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” She had been around them long enough to know that any time they appeared well-behaved, it was usually a precursor to something ridiculous. But for now, she had no choice but to proceed.
Pulling open her textbook, Hermione cleared her throat and straightened her posture before beginning the lesson. “We’ll be brewing an Invigoration Draught this evening,” she announced, her voice steady and authoritative as she cast a glance between the two of them. She half-expected them to be making faces at each other or engaging in some silent, mischievous game, but instead, she found them both leaning forward ever so slightly, their attention fixed on her. It was an unfamiliar sight—Fred and George Weasley, sitting quietly, listening with what seemed to be genuine interest.
Encouraged, she pressed on. “If done correctly, this potion should enhance alertness and mental clarity, making the drinker more focused and energized. However,” she added, fixing them both with a meaningful stare, “if done incorrectly, well… let’s just say you’ll end up in the Hospital Wing with an uncontrollable bout of jittery energy. Imagine a Cheering Charm gone wrong, but much, much worse.”
Fred and George exchanged a look—one that Hermione had seen too many times before. It was the kind of silent communication that spoke volumes, the kind that usually meant they were already contemplating what might happen if they intentionally brewed it wrong. It was the same look they shared before setting off one of their infamous pranks or slipping something highly questionable into someone’s goblet at breakfast. She braced herself.
“Sounds fun,” Fred quipped, rolling up his sleeves as he reached for the first ingredient, his expression far too innocent.
Hermione exhaled sharply but chose, for once, not to lecture them about the importance of taking their studies seriously. Instead, she moved between their workstations, guiding them through each step, watching them like a hawk for any signs of trouble. To her great surprise, they actually followed her instructions. Their potions steadily turned the correct shade of deep blue as they stirred counterclockwise at the right pace. Their measurements weren’t careless, and—perhaps most shockingly of all—they weren’t actively trying to sabotage their own work.
It was so unexpected that she almost forgot to remind them to add their final ingredient. For the first time, Hermione wondered if maybe, just maybe, they had taken this tutoring seriously after all. Perhaps they did want to succeed, to prove to her that they weren’t as hopeless as she always accused them of being. And yet, just as she was beginning to believe in this newfound focus, Fred decided to test his luck.
“You know, Hermione,” he mused, his voice deliberately smooth as he carefully stirred his potion with the kind of precision that almost seemed like he was showing off, “I’m starting to think you might have underestimated us.”
Hermione, who had been closely examining the thickness of George’s potion to ensure he hadn’t accidentally overboiled it, looked up with a sceptical arch of her brow. “Is that so?”
George, never one to let his brother do all the talking, leaned on his elbow, his smirk widening. “Absolutely. In fact, I think we deserve some sort of reward if we pull this off.”
Hermione crossed her arms, giving them both an exasperated look. “Your reward is passing your exams,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Which should be motivation enough, considering how much you need the help.”
Fred clucked his tongue in feigned disapproval. “Oh, come on, Hermione. Surely you can think of something better than that.” His lips curled into a grin, his expression nothing short of devilish. He was enjoying this, she realized, enjoying pushing her buttons just enough to see her reaction. Then, with an almost lazy nonchalance, he added, “How about another kiss under the mistletoe?”
Time seemed to freeze.
Hermione’s mind barely had a chance to process the words before her body reacted first. Her face burned instantly, the heat creeping up her neck and spreading across her cheeks like wildfire. It was the kind of warmth that was impossible to ignore, and she felt betrayed by her own reaction.
“Fred Weasley!” she hissed, scandalized, her voice echoing slightly off the stone walls of the dimly lit Potions classroom.
George, who had just taken a sip of water, promptly choked, coughing violently as he thumped his chest and burst into laughter. His potion nearly sloshed over the sides of his cauldron as he wheezed, barely able to contain his amusement. “She used your full name, mate. That’s when you know you’re in real trouble.”
Fred, meanwhile, simply leaned back in his chair, entirely unfazed, his grin only widening. He held up his hands in mock surrender, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Alright, alright! Just a suggestion, no need to hex me.”
Hermione, still trying to recover from the shock, huffed in frustration, gathering her composure as best she could. She had half a mind to dump an entire vial of armadillo bile into his cauldron just to see him panic. Instead, she settled for glaring at him as she tried to ignore the way her pulse had inexplicably sped up, her mind replaying the brief moment from Christmas break that she had tried so hard to forget.
“Honestly, you two are impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head as she turned back to her book, flipping through the pages with a little more force than necessary.
Fred chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “Ah, but you love us for it,” he quipped, his tone teasing, but there was something underneath it—something softer, something that lingered just a little too long.
She refused to look at him, refused to let him see the way her lips threatened to twitch upward in response. But even as she buried her nose in the textbook, as she pointedly ignored their smug expressions, Hermione couldn’t quite suppress the small, amused smile that ghosted across her face.
Fred and George might have been trouble, but she had to admit—they certainly made life at Hogwarts a lot more interesting.