You knew you failed the Transfiguration test before McGonagall even handed it back. Still, seeing the bold D scribbled in red ink felt like a punch to the stomach.

You tried to shove the parchment into your bag before anyone saw—

But Hermione saw everything.

Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. And then—

“Oh, absolutely not,” she muttered, marching over with that determined, bossy, Hermione Granger energy that never meant anything good for your free time.

“Hermione, it’s fine—”

“It is not fine,” she cut in. “You can’t go on like this. Your fundamentals are completely off. You need help.”

“I’m… working on it.”

“No. You’re not.” She grabbed your wrist. “Come on. We’re studying.”

“Hermione—!”

“You don’t get a choice.”

She dragged you straight to the library, plopping you into a seat as if you weighed nothing.

Her eyes were blazing with determination and something… softer. Worry. Care.

Hermione spread out textbooks, parchment, quills, diagrams, and color-coded notes.

“We’re going over everything,” she declared. “All of it.”

You groaned. “Hermione, this is supposed to be punishment, right?”

She leaned in, narrowing her eyes. “This is me caring about you. Stop complaining.”

You blinked.

Hermione’s cheeks pinked. “I just… don’t want to see you struggle. It matters to me.”

Your heart did a weird flutter.

She scooted her chair closer—too close. Close enough for your shoulders to brush. Close enough to smell her shampoo.

“Now,” she said, flipping open a book, “Transfiguration is all about intent and precision. Watch.”

She demonstrated the wand movement: slow, controlled, elegant. You tried to follow.

Your wand flick was… sad.

Hermione sighed dramatically, but she was smiling. “Honestly, Y/N. You have the coordination of a flobberworm.”

“Ouch.”

“Oh, hush,” she teased. “You know I don’t mean it.”

She reached out and covered your hand with hers, guiding your wand in the proper motion. Her touch was warm. Gentle. Confident.

“Like this,” she murmured, her breath brushing your cheek.

You swallowed hard. “Right… like that.”

“Good,” she whispered, still guiding you. “Much better.”