Molly Weasley

Story Summary:
At McGonagall's desperate request, Hermione has taken a temporary professorship at Hogwarts. With her exams (obviously) prepared in advance, she hopes to spend some time with her boyfriend, Ron Weasley. Unfortunately, a last minute project with an unknown partner forces her attentions away, and Ron must leave for a peculiar Auror mission abroad. Who is this mysterious partner, and what happens when Ron goes missing?

Chapter 01


Chapter One

"There are angels in your angles, there's a low moon caught in your tangles"

-The Decemberists

Rain pattered against the stained glass windows of Hermione's quarters in a gentle rhythm. A log crackled and spit in the embers of her hearth, and Crookshanks purred from his spot on her window seat. By Hermione's standards, she had the makings of a perfect afternoon for a good book and warm pumpkin juice. It was the Saturday before reading week, which meant no classes, meetings, or disobedient students; just pajamas, selective reading, and a thoroughly messy pony tail. She'd looked forward to this day for weeks, and had even gone so far as to prepare her exams in advance, so that they needed little more than a tweaking. The other professors had registered delicate astonishment upon hearing her impossible progress.

As soon as she'd woken up that morning, she'd locked the door to her quarters and cocooned herself in, seeking a much needed retreat after so many weeks without break. Sure, there was a great deal of coursework to plan for next term, but she decided all that could wait for Sunday. No later, of course, but one day of frivolity could be allowed. Even this was decidedly out of character for her, but Ron was always saying she didn't know how to take a break. He'd been arguing this point for years, but it wasn't until Jacobe Currant, a precocious first year, commented on the dark circles under her eyes, that she started to listen. Hermione recalled Jacobe's silly face when he referred to her as having "the eyes of a 'Sludgemudgeon.' Not the most flattering of comparisons. She'd gently reminded him that Sludgemudgeon's don't actually have eyes and that five points would be taken from Slytherin should he make the mistake again.

Sinking deeper into her overstuffed chair, she wrapped herself tight in a Fillowdown blanket, and ran her palm down the parchment of her book, searching for where she'd left off. The vast history of the swoop and dot cannot be under-examined or--," she read.

Yet that was all she managed, for a knock came from her window that sent Crookshanks bounding across the room, trilling in agitation. Hermione sighed heavily. She didn't need to look to know who it was. She placed her book on the small table next to her, shrugged the blanket from her shoulders, and heaved herself up. As suspected, a familiar ginger was hovering on his broom outside her window, goofy smile on his lips. His hair seemed especially red in the over-cast late morning light. He waved at her.

Hermione grumbled and put her hands on her hips, glaring at him. Ron knocked again, still smiling. Reluctantly, she went to the window and unhitched the latch, swinging it open.

"Knock knock," he said. When she merely stared at him, he gestured enthusiastically for the token reply.

"Who's there?" she conceded.

"Jacobe Currant."

"I hate you," she groaned, stepping aside so he could enter.

"But don't you want the password?"

"Sure. It's 'next time use the door.'"

Ron steered himself through the window and hopped off the broom, hitting the floor with a thud.

"That's not a very good password. I'm disappointed in you. And hey, don't you think coming through this way makes me look like a prince or something?" He took her waist in his hand and pulled her in, giving her a dramatic and sultry look. "Are you swooning yet?" She giggled as she pushed him away.

"Vaguely. How was work?" she asked, turning away and shuffling back to her chair.

He propped his broom against the corner of her sitting room, taking off his coat and tossing it on the window seat.

"Same as usual. Not too happy about working a Saturday morning, though. And I'm certainly not looking forward to this trip. I can't believe it fell on the same week as your holiday. And Mattle says I have to be on standby if he needs me, so no apparating. 'Just in case,' he says. In case of what, I dunno. These missions are getting mental."

"Mhmmm," Hermione hummed, already back in her book.

"Let me're writing a narrative on how Ancient Runes affect the mating rituals of Snargaluff plants for your day off?"

Hermione shot him a look.

"No, I was trying to relax with a good book until an unnamed 'prince' decided to barge in through my window."

Ron walked over to the mantle above her fireplace and leaned on it.

"Still looks like work to me."

"Well, to you it would, wouldn't it?"

"I take near significant offense to that, Ms. Granger." He grabbed a small glass orb from the mantle and began tossing it up in the air haphazardly and catching it. Hermione cringed each time. The orb flushed redder with every throw.

"Is there a reason you came here other than to pose as a student, insult my work habits, and harass my Spektorb?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Hmmm." He rubbed his temple in concentration. "Oh, yes! There was just one more thing." He put the orb back in its place, stepped towards her, and braced his hands on each of her chair's armrests. Leaning down, he caught her by the mouth. The kiss was soft, comforting, and his lips felt pleasantly cold. Gradually, he teased his tongue into her mouth, deepening their connection until all she could smell was his sweet breath and it clouded her thoughts.

Just then a whooshing sound came through the open window where Ron had just entered, interrupting their kiss. Pigwidgeon, small parchment letter clutched in his beak, landed clumsily on the top of Ron's head.

"Aack!" Ron griped. "Bloody owl!" Pigwidgeon dropped the note on Hermione's lap and nibbled on a tuft of Ron's hair affectionately.

"It's for me," Hermione said, picking up the note and ripping it open. "It's from McGonagall."

"Glad to see you're making good use of my owl. Ruddy bird delivers your letters better than mine. You're not feeding him Fudge Flies behind my back, are you?" Ron said as he took Pig, who fluttered excitedly, off his head. The bird squirmed out of his grip and flew across the room, tumbling out through the window from whence it came. Ron walked over and closed the window behind the klutzy bird.

"McGonagall has a project for me, and she needs it completed by the end of the week," Hermione replied, running her eyes over McGonagall's sharp handwriting.

"Are you kidding me?" Ron spat, walking back towards where she sat in her chair and crossing his arms.

"No, of course I'm not."

"But this is supposed to be your week off from work."

"Thank you, Ronald, I'm aware."

"But you finished your exams in advance so we could have some time together--"

"I'm aware of that too. Calm down, we'll have all of Christmas break once I finish it. And don't forget, you're leaving for a few days for your mission anyways."

Ron glared at the floor for a moment.

"Well, what's the project, then?"

"She needs me to do some research for her. And I'll have a partner. She wants to meet at 8:00 A.M. tomorrow."

Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Who is the partner?" he asked skeptically.

"She didn't say."

"What's the research for?"

"She didn't say that either."

"Well is there anything she did say?"

"Just that she needs me fully invested in the project as soon as possible. She says it's of 'critical importance.'"

Ron frowned. Hermione was vividly reminded of his eleven-year-old form as he stood there looming over her with his arms folded.

"McGonagall wouldn't ask me for help unless she really needed it."

"As if you haven't done enough for her and this bloody school."

She rolled her eyes and reopened her book.

"Oh no, you don't," he sneered, snatching up the book before she could get a good hold on it.

"Ronald! Give that back!" She reached up to grab it but he was too fast. She silently cursed his Keeper training.

"Not a chance. If this is your last free day with me for a week I'll not have you spending it with your nose in a book. You need a day to relax."

"And reading is how I relax! One would think you'd have gathered that by now."

"No, it's how you feel productive while you relax. Not the same thing." He turned the book over in his hands. "A History and Catalogue of Medicinal Runes? Hermione."

"What??" A few strands of her hair frizzed out.

"I, as your doting boyfriend, insist that you focus your undivided attention on me for the whole day. I'm off, you're off...this hardly ever happens. We need to do something together."

"Oh, how very sincere of you. As if I don't see that you're just trying to get me in bed."

Ron looked appalled.

"Me? Ronald Weasley? Who do you take me for?"

"Give me back my book."

"Only after you come to bed with me."

Hermione glared at him with half-lidded eyes. Ron flashed a devious smile.

"You're not going to stop until you get what you want, are you?"

Ron shook his head, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

"Well neither will I." She reached beneath the cushion of her chair and pulled out another book entitled Hidden Runes of Europe. She unfolded it in her lap and began reading, noting how red Ron's ears flushed in her periphery. A few moments of silence passed. She licked her fingertip and pointedly turned the page.

"Oh, come on, Hermione, would it kill you to let me win one...once...ever?"

"Fine," she said, snapping the book shut. "What will you give me for it?"

Ron looked befuddled.

"For...spending the day in bed with me?"

She nodded.

"...doing nothing?"

She nodded again.

"Why do I feel like no matter what I offer this will be an unfair trade?"

She smiled up at him sweetly.

"Is it really so bad to be entirely unproductive for one day?"


"Wh-what do you want for it?"

"Funny you should ask that!" She crossed her legs with statement.

Ron snorted.

"I actually have something in mind."

"Spit it out."

"I want you to spend the whole of tomorrow letting me write, read, and take notes, without so much as a whisper against it. In fact, I require that you actually, for once, do your work too. Honestly, Ron, I have no idea how Mr. Mattle keeps you on. I'd have sacked you by now."

"Which is precisely why," he said, moving towards her and gently taking the book from her fingers, " are my girlfriend and not my boss."

He placed the two books on the side table and slid his hands beneath her, lifting her up off the chair and into his arms.

"A boyfriend can still be 'let go,'" she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck and smirking.

"Oh, but for you I'm willing to do a bit of overtime," he murmured as he carried her to the bedroom.

"You just think you're so witty, don't you?"

He laid her gently on the bed and began unbuttoning her cardigan.

"And cute," he added.

"And astute at removing my clothing, it seems." He helped her shrug the cardigan from her shoulders.

"Eh, I could use a bit more practice. Guess you'll just have to let me undress you more often, specifically at really inappropriate moments. You know, for the sake of enhancing my skills to their utmost potential, Professor." He slid his hand under her camisole and caressed the soft skin of her side, before leaning down to kiss her neck. She laid her head on the pillow, cheeks flushing.

"Just so you know," she said, closing her eyes and placing her palms on his shoulders, "this doesn't mean you can get me to do whatever you want." Ron quickly unzipped his trousers, yanked them off, and tossed them aside. When he came back to her, she tugged him down on top of herself.

"Let's just say you letting me win was an early Christmas gift," he said, kissing just below her ear and pressing into her. She kissed him back on his cheek, and he pulled back just enough to catch her lips. The kiss was different from before. Instead of soft, subtle, and typical, it was passionate, almost unhinged. Yet, she was hardly taken aback. Her lips, and her body, and her mind replied with the same intensity. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and she caressed it with her own. His hand began wandering from her side and up to her bare breast. Though, despite his passion in kissing her, his fingers were gentle on her chest; holding and teasing in ways that made her shiver. Slowly, his palm stroked down her stomach until it reached the edge of her pajama bottoms. He pulled back ever so slightly from kissing her, looking deep into her eyes, before sliding his hand between the flannel and her skin. She wrapped her arms tighter around his shoulders and moaned softly.

"Hermione," he whispered into her hair. The tips of his fingers grazed her, teasing. She squirmed slightly and reached down to remove her garments. But he took over for her, pulling down her pajama trousers and underwear, and tossing them across the room, before lying upon her again. The contact of so much of his bare skin against so much of her own turned her blood to molten. Every inch of her that was touching him seemed to ignite something between them.

"I love you," she replied. "Come closer." She skimmed her hand down his back, pulling him harder into herself once her palms reached his hips. Taking her hint, Ron positioned himself carefully between her legs.

"Closer?" he asked hoarsely, kissing her temple. She nodded and gripped him tighter.

He pushed against her, to the edge of her warmth and wetness, yet still holding himself back on the brink.

"Hermione," he murmured again.

"Closer." She gripped his hips tighter and pulled him into her body, just on the very edge. They moaned in unison at the sudden, overpowering synergy.

"I've missed you," he said, catching her eyes with his own. She stared into his pupils, observing every swirl and fleck of color, for moments that lingered on into centuries.

Gradually, he pushed himself further into her, and her breath quickened. Deeper, and deeper, until he was almost swallowed by her. He exhaled sharply, and she nuzzled against him. Slowly, he began pulling back out of her, but just as he came to her threshold, he buried himself back into her core. With each thrust he quickened the pace.

Taking hold of one of her legs, he bent it up to link around his waist. She placed her palm on his cheek. Their lips met in hot contact.

In a fluid motion, he began to churn his body into hers. She could feel him deep in her belly, in her chest, behind her eyes.

"Ronald." His name spoke from her being. Her whole soul was full of him, and his was full of her.

He wrapped his arms around her back, hands curling over her shoulders, and fingertips on her clavicles; tight and gentle. His body pulsed deeper into hers.

"Yes," was all she could say. He silently swelled with her affirmation, lips kissing her harder. His tongue caught hers, and she received it anxiously.

He was going faster, and faster, severing them from time, from her bedroom, from everything in the world but each other. And then, she suddenly felt him catch hold of her pleasure, and she gasped. He sensed it, and worked the spot, repetitive and certain. She held her breath deep in her chest, feeling him build her higher.

Around them, little feathers, or what looked like feathers, began appearing in the air. They sparkled and fizzed, swirling around the bed and glowing in different shades of blue. Soon, the feathers were joined by floating orange marbles, which orbited around them like little iridescent planets. Hermione didn't see these bizarre objects, but rather felt them manifest from her body and his. They were getting more frantic the closer she got, darting and buzzing and colliding.

And then she peaked, and he, who had been waiting for her so patiently, quickly followed. The orbs and feathers shot out in every direction as he poured his essence into her. They burst into dust, which fell to the ground before disappearing.

He collapsed upon her, burying his face in her hair. Their whole bodies tingled into each other. Hermione scratched her nails gently up Ron's back under his t-shirt.

"Ohhhh," he moaned.

"Sometimes I swear you like back scratches after...the fact, more than you like 'the fact' itself," she whispered, out of breath.

"Uhhhh," he replied.

"Well at least you're better in bed than you are at articulating yourself." A moment of silence fell between them, filled with nothing but their heavy, unified breath.

"At least?" he spat suddenly, affronted, picking his head up from out of her hair. His own hair was sticking out in every direction like the top of a giant, orange thistle. Hermione chuckled.

"Don't think I didn't see those little sparkly feather things, Ms. Granger. You know perfectly well I deserve more than 'at least.'"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And you know perfectly well that I was joking. Honestly, I think that was one of our best to date. Nice orange marbles, by the way. That was new." She ran her fingers through his hair, attempting to make it a little easier to take him seriously.

"And much less prohibitive than the snow I made last time."

"Yeah. Remind me never to sleep with you after you've been out in the cold playing Quidditch all day. Good thing we didn't start doing this when we were fifteen, or something. We might have set the whole school on fire."

"On the contrary, I think we should have been doing this since the day we met."

"Ronald. We were eleven."

"Yes, and think of all the practice we'd have under our belts by now."

"That's disgusting."

"Fine, fine. Thirteen then." He winked at her. Hermione sighed dramatically.


"Well we all know why this," she motioned to their interwoven bodies, "didn't happen in sixth year."

Ron's ears went slightly pink.

"How could you bring that up while I'm still inside of you?"

"As if you've never asked me to compare your kissing skills with Viktor Krum's."

"Bah! I can't think about a thing like him in a place like this." He began to pull out of her, but she grabbed at him suddenly.

"Just one more moment," she whispered, pulling him close. He sighed and kissed her temple, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, rocking her ever so slightly.

"Ok," she said. He rolled off of her and sprawled out on his back. She turned onto her side, nestling into the crook of his arm. She placed her hand on his chest and felt his heart beat beneath her palm. She settled in the warm silence between them.

"Speaking of Christmas," Hermione said after a few moments. "It's only a couple weeks away and I have no idea what to get you."

"More bed time," Ron mumbled, eyes closed.

"Trust me, once this project and my exams are over I'll need some good bed time. What else, though?"

"I dunno."

"Way to be helpful."

"I think I'll just be so excited to get back after this trip. Also, I just had sex with you. All my brain power is still south for the winter."

"When is your brain power not down 'south'?"

"When you force it to commute up north. Not very considerate of you, really."

"My sincerest apologies. I'm chilly."

Hermione pulled the covers out from underneath her, and the two of them slid between the sheets.

"Let me spoon you," he murmured, rolling her on her side and wrapping his arm around her. She nestled into him, soaking in the heat that radiated from his skin.

"I love you," she whispered.

He kissed the back of her neck in reply. In moments, they were asleep. And napping was something Hermione Granger would never do.