Chapter 7

Molly Weasley was not overly pleased with her youngest son. He had ruined his relationship with Hermione, his grades were falling steadily, and he did not sound like himself in his letters home. Molly looked over his latest owl.

Dear Mother,

Ronald

Molly shook her head. The boy always did like Divination class, and now here he was, writing like a Seer. Whatever Ron was up to, though, she would trust Albus Dumbledore to maintain control. After all, the man had handled Fred and George quite well with all their pranks. Whatever stunt Ron was planning on pulling, she was certain the headmaster would manage it.

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The number of times Harry and Ron turned to Hermione for help was lost to Ronald. He wasn't quite sure how often she helped them focus or reminded them of an upcoming assignment. Now that she wasn't readily available to him, Ron's grades were slipping.

In fact, his Potions grade had fallen so low that he was actually asking Neville Longbottom for help. Neville was of no help... Ron's grade kept falling. In fact, he blew up more than one cauldron before Professor Snape decided to put a stop to his reckless brewing.

"Mister Weasley."

"Yes, sir?" Ron said in clipped tones. His recent habit of insubordination threatened to run through his voice every time he spoke to a teacher, and Ronald knew Severus Snape was not the man to cross.

"You will see me after class to discuss the extent of your cauldron-destroying abilities. I will not tolerate any more emergency runs to the hospital wing on your account. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Ron replied, anger beginning to surface. Snape or not, no one had the right to speak to him like that! Still, he sat quietly and waited for class to end.

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Ronald Weasley's persona had hardened considerably over the last few weeks. Ever since his misunderstanding with Hermione, Ron had been on edge. The littlest thing could set him off. He wasn't paying much attention in class, his homework (when he remembered to do it) was less than satisfactory, and his friends were limited to his sister and Rubeus Hagrid.

Hagrid didn't like what Ron had done, but he knew full well that every person, no matter how vile, needed company. Even Hagrid was starting to get annoyed by Ron's short fuse and common outbursts. He chalked it up to guilt and hormones though. Little did Hagrid know, though, Ron had no guilt whatsoever.

In fact, Ronald was planning to further his conquest. He spent hours upon days upon weeks scheming. It was difficult to concentrate on his plan with all sorts of people interrupting him. Every interruption made him more irate than the last. Some nights, he went to bed early while everyone else was at dinner, just to have some peace and quiet to think about his Hermione. Every night, he had the same thoughts:

She was so beautiful. Her honey eyes were deep brown pools of kindness and love. Her face, although hardened by the war, still held a warm smile for everyone she talked to. Her soft, golden-brown hair, which looked so regal and perfect in the candle-light, fell a few inches below her shoulders. Shoulders that he longed to touch, to caress, to rub. To smooth warm oil over her skin and massage it, just to feel her and make her feel good. To slide his hands all over her person, kneading out the knots that stress had created. To run his fingers farther down her body, that body of a goddess. To follow the path his fingers took with his mouth, his tongue and lips playing at every inch of her supple flesh. He wanted to cup her breasts with his hands while his tongue flicked across her hardened nipples. He imagined tasting her skin as he licked, so sweet and divine. He fantasized about suckling on those beautiful breasts while she ran her hands through his shaggy hair, holding him close. His favorite fantasy of his Hermione, though, was of lying between her legs. He would lay lie there for hours, he decided, not stopping his ministrations until she was satisfied. He wanted so badly to take his tongue and lick her there, in her secret place. He wanted to take his mouth and cover her sensitized nub with it, licking it furiously, sucking on it, and perhaps nipping it oh, so gently. He would dart his tongue about her soft folds, tasting her delectable nectar. Ron wanted to delve his tongue into her, to thrust it like he would his manhood. He wished to do so while rubbing her tiny jewel of pleasure with his hand, listening to her mewling cries of orgasm. He wanted all these things and more. Every night, Ron Weasley fantasized about Hermione Granger, and he promised himself that soon he would have her as his own.

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After Potions class had ended, Ron made his way, looking bored as anything, to the front of the room where Professor Snape was waiting. The professor had his typical scowl etched deep into his pale visage. Ron stood before the man, placing his arms akimbo and giving Severus a look of complete disdain. Severus mirrored his expression and began to ream the boy. He scolded him about his lack of caution, his carelessness, warned him about his slipping grades, and then said something completely out of character: "But I'm glad you're doing the work yourself, Mister Weasley."

Ron stood dumbfounded. Had the Greasy Git actually given him a somewhat compliment? Hah. Next thing he knew, the professor would be asking him to tea.

"Come, sit, let's have a spot of tea and discuss how to get your grade up." Ron's jaw dropped, but he snapped it shut to hide his shock. A spot of tea, what? Severus led him into his personal office to two plush chairs. Ron sat, slumping down in an effort to show that he was unfazed by Snape's sudden change of heart. As Severus poured the tea, Ron asked, "So, Professor, why do you suddenly want to help?"

"Well, Mister Weasley, I don't like to see any student of mine fail, even if they are from Gryffindor. The grades and work you are displaying simply do not accurately portray my abilities as a teacher. Besides, I cannot tolerate having another cauldron ruined by your efforts."

Snape's explanation satisfied Ron...there was no way the professor would suggest help merely for the student's behalf. He looked at the teacup before him. The steam rose from the cup and swirled as if beckoning Ron to take a taste. He held the cup gingerly and took a cautious sniff. Chamomile. Hermione. Holding the cup in one hand, he cast Specialis Revelio. Severus cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Checking for poisons, Weasley? I assure you, you'll find none." Of course you won't find them. You're far too stupid, you clumsy dunderhead.

Ron took a deep sip of the hot beverage. It filled him with warmness, the same kind he got when he had snuck some firewhisky from Madam Rosmerta.

"Mister Weasley, I propose that you begin seeing a tutor on a weekly basis. Start perhaps at one or two times a week. I suggest a Ravenclaw." Ron started to interrupt, but Severus raised a hand. "I'll see to it that things are managed financially, so you don't need to worry about that. It's not like you can go to Miss Granger to have her do your work for free."

That did it. Ron's face colored deeply. He quickly drained his tea and stood to leave. "If that is all?"

Severus nodded slightly. "Have a good evening, Mister Weasley. I trust you can show yourself out?"

"I can," Ron stated defiantly as he stormed out.

My, my, thought Severus, I seem to have struck a chord with Weasley. Soon enough, though, he'll see what happens when you mess with another man's witch. Not that she's my witch, of course. His fingers played idly with the small vial in his pocket, the contents of which had just found their way into Ron's tea.

Loads of gratitude go to RobisonRocket for her amazing beta work!