Hormone Induced Happenings

It was one of those extremely dull evenings in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ron Weasley sat by himself in the Gryffindor common room with only a book in his lap to keep him company. Harry, one of his best friends was serving his detention with Professor Sprout for breaking a mandrake's arm (causing the green house roof to shatter from boisterous screaming). At that moment, he was probably bottling griffin manure behind Hagrid's cottage as fertilizers. Hermione was working on something that was forbidden for Ron's eyes in the far corner of the common room. Columns of books stacked neatly around her, hiding her bushy brown-copper head from view. Something about witch suffragettes, and female liberation, she once said, albeit vaguely.

Harry will be quite filthy when he returns, He toyed with the idea of hitting him with the Cleansing Charm once he return, then decided against it. It was quite unwise, considering, the last time he tried the spell he somehow set Professor McGonagall's knickers on fire. It was not a pretty sight. He was issued a whole week of hellish torture involving half a dozen of Blast-Ended Skrewts and a pair of tweezers as punishment. Just the thought of it made him want to wet his pants.

Having nothing better to do, Ron reluctantly started his homework early (Only dweebs do their homework on a Saturday night, with the exception of Hermione). He began his tarot card predictions (without taking out his deck) and scribbled down a long list of ridiculous auguries for Professor Trelawney (foretelling his own violent regurgitation). Finishing quickly, he read over his extremely tragic prophecies with satisfaction and jammed it into his bag.

Next was an essay for Defense against Dark Arts about methods to counteract the seducing charm of veelas. His mind flew briefly to Fleur Delacour, the Triwizard Champion from Beauxbatons. Her veela heritage was quite obvious, with jewel bright sapphire eyes and streaming silver blonde hair that drifted behind her like a curtain of raw silk. Her hourglass figure; her er...expansive bust; everything about her made Ron want to drool profusely. He had spent the year fantasizing about her, dreaming of being her boyfriend.

If it wasn't for Fleur, he might've paid more attention to Hermione. He felt a bizarre sort of embarrassment toward her he ever since a very ambiguous and peculiar argument they had right before the Yule Ball.

"All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?" said Hermione in a soft, glacial voice. Her clear hazel eyes shone oddly as she planted her hands firmly on her hips.

A look of confusion swept over his face that was followed shortly by a half realization of some sort. Ron's brows furrowed as he scrutinized Hermione's face curiously.

"Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she?" her brows arched with cruel irony, "Well, I'm sure you'll find someone somewhere who'll have you."

Ron stood frozen and utterly surprised, staring at her as though she was mad. Hermione's eyes narrowed as he remained wordless, tongue tied perhaps. Then he blinked several times, his gaze shifted to Ginny, then Harry.

"Hermione, Neville's right," his voice cracked, he cleared his throat, "you are a girl." His glance flitted briefly to her chest.

"Oh well spotted," she produced a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, glaring very hard at him. What on earth is she mad about?

Her teeth! They're normal sized! They're normal sized! His eyes went slightly glazed as he examined her perfect front teeth. For some reason they stood out, but not in a bucked way.

"Well-you could come with one of us!" uttered Ron gruffly at last, going a bit red around the ears.

Hermione looked very surprised, and went a bit pink. Then her face grew red as she became angrier. "No, I can't," she snapped, folding her arms stiffly.

Ron actually staggered in disbelief, "Oh come on!" his voice overflowed with skepticism, "we need partners, we're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has..." He felt very angry as well.

Hermione appeared a bit sulky, "I can't come with you because I'm already going with someone..."

"No, you're not!" Ron interrupted furiously. "You just said that to get rid of Neville!" You did didn't you? He wanted to ask, but bit the tip of his tongue instead.

"Oh did I?" Her eyes went wide with fury. "Just because it's taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one else has spotted I'm a girl!" Her nostrils flared as she breathed fast, her chest rising and falling unevenly.

Huh? He was confused.

"Okay, okay, we know you're a girl," he said rather offhandedly. "That do? Will you come now?"

"I've already told you!" She stamped her feet in aggravation. "I'm going with SOMEONE ELSE!" At that, Hermione spun on her heels and stomped away. Then, stopping to throw a last venomous look over her shoulder, she dashed up the spiral staircase of the girls' dorms.

"She's lying," said Ron flatly as his eyes followed her up the round and round the stairs and watched as she slammed the door.

"She's not," said Ginny grimly, biting her lower lip.

"Who is it then?" asked Ron sharply, feeling more and more angry without knowing exactly why. Really, he reminded himself, Why should I care about whom Hermione goes out with really?

Harry, who kept silent throughout the entire quarrel, rolled his eyes at Ron.

"I'm not telling you, it's her business," she retorted calmly. It would've been you if you weren't so thick. She added to herself, sniffing daintily.

"Right," Ron ran a hand through his dark red hair crankily, "this is getting stupid! Ginny, you can go with Harry and I'll just--"

"I can't," Ginny shook her head in deep regret, "I'm going with- with Neville. He asked me when Hermione said no, and I thought...well...I'm not going to be able to go otherwise, I'm not in fourth year." She broke off and gazed sorrowfully at Harry. "I think I'll go and have dinner," she whispered, hanging her head in some sort of defeat.

Ron and Harry watched her go, both feeling like morons for individual reasons.

Even thinking about that day made him feel both stupid and confused.

Turning the page of his Fantastic Creatures and Where to Find Them, Ron stole a furtive glance at her, Hermione had removed the books that hid her face and was pouring over some beat up old volume. A look of livid interest upon her face as she flipped through the musty yellow pages.

"Why can't she ever look at me that way?" Ron muttered irritably.

After consulting many books such as When My Best Friend Turns Me On, and I Never Noticed That She's Hot (Teenage Witches publishing house), Ron came to conclusion that he has a crush on Hermione. Though at times Ron can be quite sharp, figuring out girls was not one of his strong points. Although he knew about crushes and the facts about puberty, he was still caught by complete surprise. He though he was going crazy for ogling Hermione's buttocks involuntarily.

It was a real shock when he had his first dream about kissing and witches in leather cat suits. Gradually, he got used to it (they were all quite enjoyable), and spent a lot of time in classes wondering what Hermione would look like in one of those bikinis that are three sizes to small. Oh yes, he blamed it all on Fred and George, for lending him back issues of PlayWizard for a very small fee.

Propping his elbow against the plush armrest, he rested his head on one fist, feeling a daydream coming up. The common room whirled out of existence as Ron's shut his eyes and spun off into his fantasies...

...

(Ah yes, it was a familiar one.)

It is a stifling day on the beach, the sun beats done mercilessly onto the heavily freckled redheaded hunk. Thankfully for powerful Wizard Sun Lotion, he is in no risk of sunburns. Shifting comfortably in his lounge chair, he picks up a tall glass of something and takes a long sip. He replaces the half-emptied glass somewhere and wipes the moisture from the cold glass onto his boxer shorts. It's time for a swim; he stands and gazes at the turquoise water, toiling fiercely. It looks too dangerous for any man to be in there.

Ah, but he can take it.

(Of course I can, thought Ron sitting in his armchair in the common room.)

Fine, sugar white sand felt smooth and hot against his bare soles, squeezing into the spaces between his oddly manly toes; he wiggled them.

(Of course I'm manly, thought Ron.)

He wades briskly into the cold sea water, fearless of the jellyfishes.

(Jellyfish...the real Ron shivered.)

"Help!" a high female voice cries, sounding helpless and feminine and desperate. The girl coughs as water surges into her mouth. "Help me!"

Vaguely, he sees a slender arm waving frantically above the violent waves, creamy skin standing out against the dark water.

"I'm coming!" He yelled.

(In a deep manly voice, thought Ron, smiling. A voice that doesn't crack.)

Diving into the water without hesitation, he cut through the water like a sleek sardine fish, muscles rippling away.

(No, like a shark! Thought Ron, wishing that he knew how to stay above water.)

"Hurry! I can't swim!" Her hands slapped at the water, dark eyes searching desperately for her savior.

(Which would be me! Ron grinned in triumph.)

He submerged many times, being forced back by angry waves. But nothing can stop him from saving a helpless damsel in distress. Finally, in exhaustion, he swept her into his arms and allows the currents to bring them back to shore.

(Here comes the good part, though Ron.)

She lost consciousness before they reach the beach (surprise, surprise), he wraped a brawny arm around her tapered waist and keeps her head above water with his shoulder. As his feet felt sand beneath them, he strode forward, lying the maiden onto the moist sand.

It isn't a bit surprising for him to find that the girl was Hermione, perhaps a bit different looking. Prettier, with longer legs and larger bust. He sweeps tendrils of sleek dark curls out of her face and checks her pulse.

She's not breathing!

(Hurray! Thought Ron, Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation!)

He knelt by her limp form and bent down--

"Hey Ron," a cheerfully familiar voice sliced through the lazy fantasy, the scene vanished from his head as a hand clapped his shoulder curtly, knocking his elbow sideways. At the same time, the most putrid smell hit his nostril solidly, bringing him completely back into reality. Such a vile mixture of rotten eggs, fermenting beans, and dung. Bile rushed up his throat and threatened to create a violent eruption (which, would make one of his predictions true). Ron gulped forcefully, feeling the lumpy gooey retreat back into his stomach, leaving his throat feeling burnt, and his mouth acrid and sour.

"Harry," gasped Ron, rather nasally having to pinch his nostrils shut with a hand. Oh, how disgusting! He thought involuntarily.

"I know I smell bad, but the I spotted the look on your face and had to investigate," Harry smiled earnestly at him, the simple movement of his cheek muscles caused caked manure fall on Ron's robes.

"I was just...thinking," Ron felt himself go red in the face, brushing fervently at the flakes of manure on his robes.

"I know what you've been thinking!" Harry's eyes narrowed as he peered sagely at Ron (more dung fell down).

Surprise sent Ron's eyebrows rocketing upward and disappearing into his bangs, he swiveled around looked at Harry squarely in the eye. Harry doesn't know that his...er, fantasies about Hermione, surely Harry hadn't been peeking into his diary? Does Harry even know he has a diary?

"Professor Trelawney always looked like that when she tries to make a prediction," Harry told him, looking quite serious. "Were you trying to make a prediction? What do you see in the future O great Seer?" A sly grin spread across his grimy face, fragments of manure fell like rain.

With a sigh expressing relief and exasperation, Ron rolled his eyes and kicked Harry in the ankle (Harry stumbled). "You are covered with dung at nine thirty two on a Saturday night!!" He screeched with the expected melodrama, smacking the back of his hand to his forehead in emphasis. "This is an omen of DEATH!"

He was a bit loud really, almost the entire common room raised their heads to frown at him. Looks of daggers flew from every corner, aiming at Ron.

There was tense silence as he blinked sheepishly.

"Oh, do be quiet!" Said Eva Cruz, a highly irritable seventh year that always studied until the wee hours of the morning. Her large coke-bottle-lenses glasses sliding down to the tip of her sloping nose, she pushed it back up huffily and bent over her work once more.

Face burning, Ron grabbed his bag and made a dash up the spiraled stairs of the boys' dorms, followed closely by Harry (scattering dry dung behind him).

It was quite early in the evening still, their dorm was empty. Ron threw himself face down across his four posters and shut his eyes, hugging soft cotton sheets toward him, and buried his face in them. As he breathed the faint cinnamon scent of detergent and listened to the soft splattering of water in the bathroom, he allowed his thoughts to wander. He did have an awfully big load of thoughts upon his fifteen-and-a-half years old mind.

Would Hermione look better in a red bikini? Or a blue one?

Katie Bell's behind is nice or what?

Does Pansy Parkinson have implants?

Maybe Hermione looks better without bikinis...

He fell asleep thinking, vaguely feeling glad that no one read minds in the school. Very, very glad.

In his dreams, a scantily clad Hermione stood sternly before him. His eyes went automatically for her bust, and she crossed her arms. To his horror, an equally scantily clad Neville came to view, wearing skintight black leather thongs.

What does this dream mean? He thought a bit fearfully, Am I gay?

Well, said his subconscious, if you fell disgusted, then you're not gay. I'm your mind, trust me on this one.

"Yeah, well, I trusted you when you were so sure that the incantation for birds is birdis, and ended up being covered with funny pink goo." Ron said to his subconscious, hearing his cracking voice echoing.

The thong clad Neville wrapped a plump arm around Hermione's slender waist and grinned happily. Hermione looked smugly at Ron, "See," she said, "it didn't take long for Neville to realize that I'm a girl."

"But I know you're a girl! I dream about you like this all the time!" He protested.

"No you don't Ron," she answered merrily, "you're gay..."

"NOOOO!" Ron screamed, clutching his head in terror as Hermione winked and disappeared in a poof of lavender smoke, leaving Neville, who still wore thongs. Shyly, the plump boy waved at Ron, and blushed furiously.

Ron woke up abruptly, soaked in cold sweat. Panting, he groped for the glass of water on his bureau and drained it in two gulps. He threw his hanging open and poked his head out to check the clock. It was two in the morning.

"Gotta tell her...before she gets taken...I am NOT gay..." He mumbled under his breath as he pulled on his dressing gown and stole out of the dormitory, still half asleep.

He went down the spiral staircase and crossed the deserted common room in a daze, and climbed up the stairs to the girls' dorms. (Had he been awake, he would never have done this) He somehow found the door to the fifth years' dorm and pushed the door open quickly (thankfully without a creak). He padded in, careful not to make a noise.

He checked each four posters for Hermione by peeking inside the hanging, through this he discovered that Lavender slept with a stuffed penguin, and Parvati slept invisibly (she wasn't in bed). As he approached the last four posters, he knew that it had to be Hermione's. Briskly, Ron drew the hangings aside and whispered her name, paused, and choked out someone else's name. Hermione disentangled herself from the other person, panting. Ron squinted in the dark to see her sleep-wear, and was disappointed to see her wrapped in her sheets. A scantily clad Parvati sat up straight on Hermione's bed and adjusted her tank-top huffily, her sweaty bangs plastered to her forehead.

"Oh Ron!" Hermione whispered hoarsely, pulling on an inside-out T-shirt with. "I just found out..."

His lips trembled, and he was lost for words. She can't be...

"I...I'm..." she trailed off, wringing her hands with embarrassment. "I'm attracted to other women..."

Parvati sighed, "Well...he has to find out sometime my sex kitten."

Ron felt his knees grow weak, and fainted...

When he came to his senses, it was morning, and he was back in his bed. Wildly, he sprang up and dashed out of the dorm and didn't cease running until he was at the door of the fifth year girls' dorm. He slammed the door open and marched up to the only bed with its hangings down (funny how Hermione seemed to have been in a different bed before...must've been Parvati's bed then )

He drew back the heavy red material, only to see Hermione...and Harry, engaged in some busy tonsil draining maneuver. The stopped and looked up at him breathlessly.

"'Ello," said Hermione, winded, sweeping some hair off her face.

"But...but," Ron sputtered, going ruddy in the face, "you're gay!"

Hermione looked quite offended; Harry got up, clad in Dalmatian print thongs, and punched him. Ron was knocked out with one blow and collapsed in a boneless heap.

When he regained consciousness, Ron was once again lying in his four-poster, drenched thoroughly with stale sweat. He gathered his sheets around him, and was afraid to open his hanging to discover something else nasty. Suddenly, his hangings flew apart to reveal Hermione in her dressing gown, peering fearfully down at him, holding her breath.

"Oh! Thank goodness!" She swooped down and embraced him with utter relief.

"What?" Ron asked, wondering if he wanted an answer. I don't think so...

"I dreamed that you were...you were in bed with Parvati...then Harry! It was...it was horrible! You were gay!" She sat down very hard on the edge of his bed.

Ron blanched. Just as he was about to tell her that he dreamed of the same thing, someone whimpered behind them. He looked behind him and saw a very placid Harry, staring at the pair of them.

"But...but you're gay!" said Harry, half to himself.