When Mischief Meets Goodbye
The Gryffindor common room was bathed in the warm, amber glow of the setting sun. Long streaks of light stretched through the tall windows, casting soft golden patterns across the stone floor and over the mismatched collection of armchairs and sofas that had been worn into comforting familiarity over the years. The fire in the hearth was little more than a cluster of glowing embers now, its heat unnecessary in the early summer warmth, yet the occasional crackle still punctuated the room’s quiet hum of conversation. Outside, the vast Hogwarts grounds basked in the dusky light, the lake reflecting the last slivers of day while a few students lingered along the shore, enjoying the rare lull before the frenzy of exams and looming goodbyes.
Near the hearth, Harry and Ron sat hunched over a well-worn wizard’s chessboard, their game reaching what could only be described as its inevitable and utterly predictable conclusion. Ron, as always, was in complete control, his pieces marching ruthlessly across the board, each movement calculated with the precision of a seasoned general. His queen advanced with a sharp command, sending one of Harry’s bishops flying off the board in a shower of splinters. The fallen piece let out a pitiful groan before collapsing into dust, as if it, too, had resigned itself to its fate.
“That was a terrible move, mate,” Ron said with a satisfied grin, lounging back in his chair and stretching his arms behind his head. His confidence was well-earned—Harry’s side of the board was an utter disaster. What few pieces remained huddled together, as if clinging to some last, desperate hope of survival.
Harry let out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know why I even bother playing against you.”
Fred, sprawled lazily on the couch nearby, smirked as he observed the carnage unfolding before him. “Because hope springs eternal, dear Harry. Though in your case, I’d say it’s more misplaced optimism.”
“Nah,” George chimed in from the opposite side of the couch, his grin positively wicked. “I think he just enjoys the suffering.”
Harry shot them both a half-hearted glare, but there was no real venom behind it. He knew they were right. Every time he sat down to play, some small, foolish part of him thought, Maybe this time, I’ll win. And every time, Ron crushed that hope beneath the weight of his sheer, undeniable skill.
Between the twins, Hermione sat curled up on the overstuffed couch, her legs tucked neatly beneath her, a book balanced open in her lap. At least, it had started that way. She had set out with the full intention of reading—truly, she had—but her focus had unravelled somewhere between Fred elbowing her playfully in the ribs and George making an absolutely atrocious joke about the mating habits of hippogriffs.
She had tried to block them out at first, keeping her eyes firmly on the text, but the words had blurred together long ago, and she had resigned herself to the reality of her situation. The twins weren’t going to let her read in peace—not tonight. And, if she were being honest with herself, she didn’t mind as much as she pretended to.
“Alright, Granger,” Fred said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over them. His voice was light, teasing, but there was something beneath it—something thoughtful, lingering just out of reach. He stretched out lazily, his legs extending over the arm of the couch, ankles crossed as if he hadn’t a single care in the world. “Now that we’re officially academic geniuses, what’s next?”
Hermione, who had been absently running her fingers along the edge of her book, rolled her eyes, though a small, reluctant smile played at the corner of her lips. “Academic geniuses might be a bit of a stretch,” she said dryly, flicking her gaze up to him before returning to her book, feigning disinterest.
“Excuse you,” George cut in, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense, his expression one of exaggerated hurt. “We got an ‘O’ in Transfiguration. McGonagall practically wept with pride.”
Hermione didn’t even glance up as she turned the page. “She sighed,” she corrected smoothly. “Very heavily.”
Fred grinned, his amusement evident. “Same thing, really.”
The air around them was light, playful, filled with the usual banter that had become second nature over the years. And yet, beneath the teasing, beneath the easy grins and sarcastic remarks, something else simmered. The reality of the moment—of what was coming—had begun to sink in. Graduation was a mere week away. The last chapter of their time at Hogwarts was drawing to a close, and soon, the familiarity of these evenings, of this room, of this life, would be nothing more than a collection of fond memories.
For the twins, the future lay ahead in a way it hadn’t before—full of possibility, of risk, of the unknown. For Hermione, it meant staying behind, watching them—and Harry and Ron, soon enough—step forward into a world she wasn’t quite ready to join.
“What’s it going to be like without us next year, Granger?” George’s voice, though still laced with his usual mischief, was quieter this time, more thoughtful. He didn’t look at her directly but rather stared at the fire, its dim embers glowing faintly in the hearth.
Hermione’s fingers instinctively tightened on the edges of her book, but she forced herself to maintain an air of neutrality. She had been trying not to think about it—about how different things would be when they were gone. She wasn’t one for unnecessary sentimentality, and yet, the thought of Hogwarts without them… without their endless energy, their pranks, their ability to drive her to the brink of madness only to make her laugh moments later…
It was going to feel emptier.
“Quieter,” she admitted after a moment, her voice softer than she intended. She finally glanced up, meeting their gazes, and for once, neither twin was smirking. “Less chaotic.”
Fred arched an eyebrow, waggling it in a way that might have been comical if the moment weren’t so heavy. “Less fun, you mean.”
She huffed, shaking her head in exasperation, but there was a warmth in her eyes that she couldn’t quite disguise. “Yes, alright. Less fun.”
“I’ll be too busy with my studies to miss anyone,” Hermione replied primly, lifting her chin just a fraction, as if the very idea of missing them was simply preposterous. But there was something in her voice—something just a little too rehearsed, a little too carefully measured. As if she was trying to convince herself of it as much as she was trying to convince them.
Fred, ever observant despite his usual carefree demeanour, smirked knowingly. “Right. Because studying is so thrilling that you won’t even notice the glaring absence of Weasley charm in your daily life.”
“Exactly,” she said, tilting her nose up in what she hoped was an air of confidence.
But the way she was gripping her book, fingers curled just a little too tightly around the leather cover, betrayed her.
The twins exchanged a quick look, one of those silent, wordless conversations they had perfected over the years, and then, without warning, Fred casually slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in slightly. His warmth seeped through her robes, grounding, familiar.
“Well, don’t worry, love,” Fred said smoothly, his voice as light and teasing as ever, but underneath it, there was something else—something softer, something almost gentle. It was rare, but when it happened, it always caught Hermione off guard. “We won’t be gone forever. We’ll be back to haunt the place soon enough.”
George, ever his perfect counterpart, nodded in agreement, the same easy confidence in his grin. “We do have a joke shop to establish, after all. Can’t let Hogwarts forget about us entirely.”
Hermione hesitated, her carefully constructed walls wavering just a fraction. She had known, of course, that they wouldn’t just disappear from her life the moment they stepped off the Hogwarts Express for the last time. She knew they would write, that they would visit, that they would still manage to cause trouble even from a distance. And yet, there was something unsettling about it all—something strange about imagining a Hogwarts without them.
It wasn’t as though she relied on their presence in the same way she did with Harry and Ron, but the twins had been such an integral part of her experience at Hogwarts, their mischief woven so deeply into the very fabric of this castle, that the thought of them not being here next year felt wrong. The Gryffindor common room wouldn’t echo with their laughter in the same way. The hallways wouldn’t be quite as unpredictable. There would be no spontaneous explosions of bright pink smoke from an unknown source, no hexes unleashed just to see what would happen, no ridiculous pranks that made even the most serious professors sigh in exasperation.
It would be… quieter.
And her final year was already going to be different in more ways than one. She would most likely be made Head Girl—something that, under normal circumstances, should have filled her with pride, excitement even. It was something she had worked toward for years, something she had always thought she wanted more than anything. And yet, now that it was almost within reach, she could only focus on the fact that a good portion of her time would be spent confiscating the very products the twins would undoubtedly be selling to the younger students.
It was almost comical how predictable they were.
“I suppose I’ll allow you both to visit,” she conceded at last, finally closing her book and resting it on her lap. “Someone has to make sure you don’t accidentally blow up Diagon Alley before your shop even opens.”
George let out a triumphant laugh, throwing an arm lazily over the back of the couch. “That’s the spirit, Hermione. Knew you’d come around.”
Fred, still leaning close, gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before finally letting his arm drop. But the warmth of his presence lingered, an invisible reminder that they were still here, for now. “Don’t worry, Granger,” he said with a grin, though something about it was softer than usual. “We’ll make sure you survive your last year without us. Might even send you a prank or two, just so you don’t get too comfortable.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind the gesture. Instead, she smirked, shaking her head at their predictability. “How generous of you.”
“Oh, extremely,” Fred replied, placing a hand over his heart as if deeply moved by his own benevolence. “We are nothing if not selfless.”
George’s eyes gleamed mischievously, already several steps ahead. “And as Head Girl, we know you’ll be keeping a very close eye on our products next year. All those innocent students wandering the halls, eager for a little harmless mischief… Who better to provide for them than us?”
Hermione groaned, already picturing the absolute headache they were going to cause her. “You do realize that as Head Girl, I’ll have to confiscate every last one of your ridiculous concoctions, don’t you?”
Fred let out a scandalized gasp, clutching his chest as if she had physically wounded him. “Confiscate? Our carefully crafted, highly innovative, completely harmless products?” He shook his head in mock sorrow. “Granger, I’m hurt.”
“Truly wounded,” George added, pressing a dramatic hand to his forehead.
Hermione crossed her arms, unimpressed. “You won’t be wounded until I have to write to McGonagall about the inevitable chaos you’re going to cause.”
Fred’s smirk widened, utterly unbothered. “Oh, c’mon, Granger. You’ll miss the excitement. What’s Hogwarts without a little Weasley-brand mayhem?”
Hermione gave him a long, scrutinizing look, as if debating whether or not to dignify that with an answer. But after a beat, she let out a soft sigh, one she hoped they wouldn’t notice sounded just the tiniest bit reluctant. “Fine,” she admitted, “I suppose it will be a little dull without you.”
George grinned victoriously, throwing his arms up in exaggerated triumph. “See? Progress!”
Fred nudged her playfully with his elbow. “Took you long enough to admit it.”
She shook her head, exasperated but, despite herself, smiling. She hated how easy they made it—how effortlessly they pulled her into their world, made her laugh, made her feel lighter. She hated that she was going to miss them.
The three of them fell into an easy silence, the kind that didn’t need filling with words. The fire in the common room crackled softly, its embers glowing faintly as the evening wore on. Across from them, Ron let out a triumphant cheer as he obliterated another one of Harry’s chess pieces, followed by Harry’s groan of inevitable defeat. The room was alive with the warmth of familiarity, the quiet hum of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter from a group of younger students gathered near the windows.
A week from now, the twins would be walking across that stage, saying goodbye to Hogwarts, stepping into the next grand adventure of their lives.