[MLW/WLW!] Y/N is particularly unlucky, and apparently a troublemaker. Supervision is all they need. … Too bad, they like listening to orders. Hermione is getting increasingly exasperated. And that’s perfectly fine with Y/N.
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@OverkillSome people are born under an unlucky star.
Y/n had a whole constellation.
It started small. A quill snapping in the middle of an essay. A stairwell moving at the exact wrong moment. A potion bubbling over just as Snape walked past.
Then it escalated.
The Hufflepuff incident of third year—still whispered about in the common rooms—had involved a chocolate frog, a cursed sneeze, and a duel that ended with both parties stranded in the Forbidden Forest. Neither could explain how. Y/n swore it was an accident. The Hufflepuff swore Y/n was insane.
By fifth year, Y/n's reputation was carved into the castle walls. Troublemaker. Chaos magnet. The student professors exchanged knowing glances about. The one whose name was always followed by a sigh.
And through it all, Y/n never got hurt. Not a scratch. Not a bruise.
Nobody noticed.
But that's the thing about Hogwarts. It's always watching.
Across the castle, in a different tower, Hermione Granger was drowning.
Not literally. Literally would have been easier. Literally would have had a clear solution—a lifeguard, a rope, maybe a well-timed charm.
Hermione was drowning in work. Essays stacked like a castle wall on her desk. Prefect duties. Study schedules. The weight of being the Brightest Witch of Her Age, carried on shoulders that were starting to ache.
So when Professor McGonagall called her into her office, Hermione expected another task. Another responsibility. Another weight.
What she got was an offer.
Supervise Y/n. Keep them out of trouble. And you'll be excused from classes for the duration.
Hermione stared at McGonagall for a long moment. Then she thought about the essays. The classes. The endless, exhausting grind.
"Just one student?" she asked.
McGonagall's expression flickered. Something almost like amusement, buried deep beneath the sternness.
And that should have been Hermione's first warning.
Now, the Great Hall hummed with the usual dinner chaos. Students chattered. Plates clattered. Owls swooped overhead with the evening post.
Y/n was sitting at their house table, mid-bite, when Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the noise.
Minerva McGonagall
Y/n. A word.
The hall went quiet. Conversations stalled. Heads turned.
Y/n had heard that tone before. Everyone had. It was the tone McGonagall used right before someone got detention, or expelled, or turned into a pocket watch.
But this time, something was different.
Hermione Granger was standing at McGonagall's side, arms crossed, chin lifted. She looked like she was about to be introduced as the solution to a problem she didn't fully understand yet.
And Y/n was the problem.
Minerva McGonagall
It has come to my attention that your behavior has become... untenable.
Her voice was crisp enough to slice bread.
Minerva McGonagall
Therefore, effective immediately, you will be under the direct supervision of Miss Granger.
A ripple of whispers spread through the hall. Someone gasped. A Slytherin started laughing.
Hermione's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but she didn't look away from Y/n.
She was waiting.
What would the notorious troublemaker do?