Hermione wasn't obsessed with high marks. People often assumed that was it, but academic qualifications were never her goal. She had never doubted her own ability. She had grown up among muggles, smart and self-assured - until the letter. Her sudden introduction into the magical world had left her rattled; there, she was starting from the beginning again. She couldn't help but feel disadvantaged compared to the classmates who'd come from wizarding families, and she had been frustrated with the inherent belief that if she'd only been given half the chance that they had, she'd be a brilliant witch by now. At the age of eleven, Hermione had decided she would never settle for anything less than what she was knew she was capable of. She'd got her books. She'd started working.

Now, it was this damn transfigurative potion. True, it was stuff set for NEWT level students, but having read the theory a half a dozen times and assured herself of her sound understanding, she still couldn't seem to make a useable drop. She'd asked permission from McGonagall to use the potions labs in the evenings and the stern house head had somehow managed to get Snape to agree, but after five days straight of working till the small hours she was beginning to think that she might never be able to make the potion she wanted to. Making a low noise of frustration she threw in the Baneberry - again - and stirred seven times anticlockwise. Thirty seconds later the potion turned a horrific shade of magenta and Hermione could feel her own face going in the same direction.

"Bloody-!"

"Such language!" Hermione looked up to see the Weasley twins entering the lab, identical expressions of horror on their faces.

"I think our brother is becoming something of a bad influence on Miss Granger, George."

"Yes indeed, Fred - I think it's probably up to us to guide our darling Prefect here back onto the straight and narrow as soon as possible." If she hadn't still been in a rage about the botched potion she might have scoffed at this. As it was she merely sighed and tried to smooth her hair down, breathing slowly.

"The straight and narrow. Right. A path you haven't even been in owling distance of since you were about five."

"We're deeply offended." Stated George, with a face like blank parchment, and Fred grinned.

"Alright then," she said, giving into her curiosity, "what are you two doing here?"

"Just taking your advice, 'Mione." Fred pulled at the thin air two feet above the corner of the room and revealed a pile of potions ingredients and a pile of notes on - Hermione glanced over - skiving snackboxes. "Harry lent us his cloak." His brother added by way of explanation.

"What are you doing?"

Hermione sighed and held her head in her hands, too tired to even answer. She felt the sudden warmth of Fred's body close to hers and almost stopped breathing as he reached over to angle the book towards him. His other arm was slung over her shoulder now and he was practically embracing her as he read.

Fred looked up and saw the stiffness in her shoulders, meeting his twin's eye from across the desk he dropped his arms immediately and stepped back.

"Please tell me you've not been slaving away over that cauldron on that." He said, half exasperated, half laughing.

"Why?" She asked defensively, "I'm perfectly capable of NEWT level work, Fred-" He held his hands up in surrender.

"I would never dare suggest otherwise," he assured her, "but it might interest you to know that this edition of the book has got several typos-"

"-probably because they hired a half troll to do the editing-"

"-and as a result, this recipe is incorrect."

Hermione gaped at him for a full ten seconds before he leant over again, pointing at the fourth step, where her brew had always violently changed colour.

"I think Snape said that's supposed to be eight times anti clockwise and one time clockwise," He said softly, still waiting for her to say something. When she didn't, he frowned and reached over her to stir her potion once more anti clockwise and once again in the other direction. It began bubbling gently, pale blue, as the book had described, and Fred used his wand to lower the heat under the cauldron.

"Believe me yet?" He asked, a vaguely concerned expression on his face at her continued silence. Hermione shook her head as though to clear it and groaned, falling face-first down on the desk in front of her. The twins glanced at each other, alarmed.

"I don't have any problem believing you, Fred," came her muffled voice from behind the blanket of her hair, even more frizzy than usual from her work over the cauldron, "I have a problem believing that I've wasted five nights in a row on this because of a typo."

"Our condolences," Came George's voice from across the desk.

"At least you know it wasn't your fault," Fred pointed out, "you're not the stupid one." She looked up to see a hopeful smile on his face, waiting for her reaction. She smiled back weakly.

"Yeah." Was all she could think to say.

There was a moment of awkward silence as the three of them looked at each other.

"Well." Said George, in an attempt to get the air moving again, "as much as we enjoy your potion-related crises, Hermione, we've got a couple of our own we need to sort out, so…" He trailed off, looking expectantly at her. For some reason, her first instinct was to check with Fred, but she found him frowning at her now simmering midnight blue cauldron. George had noticed too.

"What're you gazing at, brother mine?"

"Transfigurative potion, brother." He said the words slowly, looking up at his twin with a meaningful glance. George's eyes widened.

"Of course, we've been being so stupid-"

"-all we needed-"

"-for the stability-"

"-and the colour-"

"Baneberry!" They said together, and Hermione looked from one to the other like she thought they'd gone mad.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Fred looked up at her, beaming.

"We, my dear Miss Granger, are talking about why you're our favourite person right now." She stammered as George nodded enthusiastically.

"What?"

"You, Hermione Granger," supplied George, "have just solved one of our biggest problems." He grabbed a roll of parchment from the pile on the ground and threw it to his brother, who caught it easily before laying it flat on the desk in front of her. She looked at what appeared to be a heavily re-edited and reworked recipe for what she assumed was the active ingredient in the skiving snackboxes. Fred pointed at a particularly messy paragraph which had obviously been crossed out and rewritten at least seven or eight times.

"Here," he said in a tone to excited not to be infectious. He didn't need to explain any more as she scanned the passage.

"Oh!" She breathed, and then looked up at him, "you've been-"

"-adding the boomslang, yeah-"

"-but of course-"

"-yeah, the stability basically goes mental-"

"-and then the colour isn't right-"

"-for the next step? No, and then-"

"-you can't add the-"

"Ahem." They both looked up in horror but it was only George, with an impression of Umbridge equal to that of his sister's. He was looking slightly bemused, a small smirk playing about his lips.

"Sorry to interrupt," He said archly, "but I think we can all assume we're on the same page." Hermione felt herself blushing slightly. "Now are we going to try the Baneberry, or…?" To her surprise, his eyes were not fixed solely on Fred, instead including her in the question.

"You sticking around?" Fred asked casually, as he helped his brother pull up the ingredients they needed. She looked between them, wide-eyed. It felt so odd to be so easily accepted into their work, into their team. It had taken a troll to bring her together with Harry and Ron in their first year, after all. She thought that she should feel like she was intruding, or maybe even apprehensive about the rule-breaking, but she didn't. She was flattered, but it was more than that. She felt comfortable. She felt like she belonged. She nodded.

"Okay." She said, and they got to work.