Dr. Weasley and the Hermione Experiment

The year was 2005. American media was increasingly putting pressure on the personal self-esteem of the average citizen. Therefore, more and more new methods, products, and medication were flooding the market, all with one purpose: to improve the physical appearance of the human body. With the sudden increase in demand for these types of products, new corporations and small companies designed to manufacture them were popping up almost weekly across the United States. One such company, centered in Chicago, was the home to a particularly unique type of manufacturing. At this company, they brewed and discovered wizardly potions to alter the human body by means of magic. This method, however, was unknown to the general public. The secret, was, without a doubt, one of the best kept in capitalism. Not that it was difficult. After all, muggles were, in a word, stupid. Oblivious to the light of day, no one, no one, except the witches and wizards that operated the company knew what truly went on inside those manufacturing plants. Even the muggle workers in charge of advertising had no idea; therefore, when they claimed the product "worked like magic" they were actually telling the truth. So, for fourteen years the company operated openly on the outside, but with the utmost security and secrecy on the inside. It is here in the laboratories of this company that our story begins.

Dr. Ronald B. Weasley was the Junior Potion Research Investigator in the Division 9 of Donald Trump Cosmetology Enterprises. Unlike the other divisions in his company, whose functions were to find remedies for individual personal problems such as acne, pale skin, and unruly hair, the purpose of this division was to find one solitary potion that could completely develop a women's appearance from plain or undesirable into the form of a gorgeous vixen. Dr. Weasley's job in this division was to research, analyze, and try to discover a formula for one such potion.

Fifteen months of work on said project had produced few results, and such failures were not going to be tolerated by the executives.

Dr. Weasley, better known as Ron to his friends, had been pulling late shifts for over a week. The more formulas he tested and researched, the more he failed to find the right one. With each passing day he became more and more frustrated, and he felt as though he might collapse from the pressure before he succeeded in finding a sufficient potion procedure. It was 12:37 in the afternoon when a knock came at the door of his lab.

One thing that was quickly learned about Ron was that he hated to be disturbed in the middle of an experiment. He was perched over a large steel cauldron, about to add vampyric hair his most recent formulated potion, when someone knocked. He pretended to not hear it. They knocked again. Still, he ignored them.

"Weasley!" the person shouted from behind the lab door. "Let me in this instance."

Damn, Ron thought. It was Magnus Copperfield, his supervisor.

Ron lowered his test tube and shuffled over to the door, making a frantic attempt to flatten out the wrinkles in his lab coat to make himself look presentable. Without even looking at the code pad, he hurriedly typed in the access code to allow Magnus to enter. Magnus was a veteran business wizard of about fifty, with a receding hairline, large glasses, and dull brown robes.

"Suffering from acute paranoia, Doctor?" the older man asked. "Why must you keep this damn door locked all the time?"

"Sanitation purposes? Security? Does it matter?"

"Don't take that tone with me, Weasley," Magnus snapped. "Now, I need to see you in my office immediately."

"But I'm right in the middle of-"

"NOW!"

Ron scoffed, but not where Magnus could hear. He hated corporate executives; they always interrupted scientists at the worst possible time. Even after two years of working under Magnus Copperfield, Ron had gained little respect from him.

Ron pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped his hands, and followed his supervisor to his office. By luck of the draw, Ron had received a lab at the end of the long corridor on which Division 9 operated, isolated and miles from the bathroom. Magnus's office was on the other end of the hall with a separate bathroom; Ron envied him.

They entered the small office and Magnus seated himself behind the large oak desk. Perching his feet up on the corner, he picked up his wand and twirled it between his fingers.

"Times have grown tough, Weasley," Copperfield began. "As you know, our stock had gone down six points in the last week. The board members are not happy; they blame the decrease on an insufficient supply of products coming out of the labs. Now, this company is the only one in America that uses magic to make its products. We should be the most successful corporation in the market!

"I realize that your research is critical, and must not be rushed, but times have changed. Accio memo!"

A memo drifted across the room from Magnus's filing cabinet and came to rest in his hand.

"I have here a message from Garrison Hartford, Junior Board Executive. He has threatened to shut down all of Division 9 if we do not turn out a successful product in four months or less. You, Weasley, have been here for fifteen months and haven't come up with anything. I will not lose this job because of a lack of progress from sniveling scientists like you. It may seem unfair, but this is what I'm telling you. If I don't have a successfully tested, completed product on my desk in 48 hours, you're fired. I don't care what it takes, I will not lose this division!"

Ron gaped at him.

"But sir, there's still much more research to be done! I can't come up with a potion in two days!"

"Well you'd better if you wish to keep your job," Magnus stated flatly. "Now you'd best get a move on, time is money."

Ron was about to say something, but instead glared at his supervisor and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Magnus sighed.

"I hate the British," he said to himself.

Two steps down the hall to this lab, Ron turned back. He pulled his wand out of his pocket, muttered a few words, and smirked. Then, with one twist of his heel, he stormed back off to the lab.

The office door now read "Jackass Copperfield".

This was what Ron hated about working at Donald Trump Cosmetology Enterprises. Those in power put ridiculous ultimatums on the scientists in the lab, disregarding the fact that a successful potion didn't happen overnight. It would take a miracle for Ron to be able to discover a successful potion in three days. If he didn't, however, he would lose his job. What else was he to do? There was no other choice but to keep trying.

For the next five hours, Ron experimented, brewed, and analyzed potions to no avail. Often times he would find himself incredibly close to an effective solution, but there always seemed to be just one ingredient missing. He tried nearly everything in his lab; nothing was working. By 6:00, he forced himself to call it a day and began to shut down the equipment in his lab.

Dammit, he thought, running a hand through his hair as his most recent experiment vanished with a flick of his wand. Well, I'd better start looking for a new job.

The hallway was dim, save for a small flicker of light that came from the dying lightbulb above the entrance to the elevator. He grabbed his lone overcoat off the hook and drug himself toward the elevator, exhausted beyond measure. He spied Gilbert, the janitor, cleaning out a nearby media room, the only other soul left in the building.

"'Night, Gil," Ron said sleepily, boarding the elevator.

Gilbert offered only a grunt in reply.

Ron took the Metrorail home that night. He was normally bemused by this primitive Muggle form of transportation, but tonight he found himself obligated to take it, since it was unwise to Apparate when one was not fully aware.

The streets of Chicago were a filthy and horrid place in Ron's opinion. He was not a city person, seeing that he had grown up in the England countryside, but he had grown accustomed to the unusual behavior that occurred there. Outside the subway entrance, an organ grinder waltzed up to him and began playing his accordion right up to Ron's ear. This type of street performing annoyed Ron, but he had found the best way to get rid of these characters was to throw a dollar bill (.535 British pounds) at them and keep going. The subway was not a pleasant place to be after about five o'clock, being that most of the weirdoes came out around that time, and Ron was very cautious and protective of his belongings. He boarded the train that traveled deep into the eastern part of the city, and sat himself down in the corner next to an eccentric Czechoslovakian man who was playing with what appeared to be an old shoestring. His hands clenched themselves very tight around his bag; no mugger (thief) was going to get the best of him today.

It was a long and tedious ride.

At a quarter 'til eight, Ron arrived at the station in his district. He quickly shuffled off the train with the rest of the mob of people, both Muggle and wizard alike, and hurried down the street. He climbed the steps to his apartment with heavy feet, fiddling with the keys in his pocket. However, his mind was foggy and he couldn't concentrate on finding the key. Finally, out of frustration, he whipped out his wand and muttered, "Alohomora!" without even regarding the fact that muggles might be watching, particularly his nosy old neighbor, Mrs. Tink.

He angrily banged the door open and threw his coat on the floor and his bag on the foyer. No sooner had he done these things than a small hoot owl fluttered down from his bedroom and landed on top of the coatrack that Ron had failed to acknowledge. He recognized it immediately as Hermione's trusty messenger Sarka. Immediately Ron found himself rummaging in his pocket for a cracker or some other snack to give the owl, knowing that she had come a great distance to deliver the letter. He found a small piece left over from his lunch and fed it to the small owl, who devoured it hungrily. Meanwhile, Ron took the letter attached to her leg, pulled out his reading glasses, and began to read Hermione's letter.

Dearest Ronald,

I find it hard to believe it has been nearly three years since you moved to America, and even longer since we've seen eachother. I'm sorry that we, that is, you, Harry, and I haven't seen much of each other since we graduated from Hogwarts, but work is bloody murder here at the ministry. And I know Harry is very busy with his studies in the monastery. There is good news, though. Since Voldemort's downfall, I've had a much easier time negotiating peace with the vampires and the giants. They seem to like the idea of a treaty with the Ministry, so things are going well. I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that Fred and George's shop is now a multi-million galleon company, and they have offered to buy your mum and dad a retirement house in the south of Spain. Ginny and Marcus are doing well; I wish you could see how cute little Zachary is. You should be a very proud uncle. But anyway, you are probably wondering why I am writing to you. I am coming to visit! The minister has agreed to give me a few days off to relax, and I thought, what better way to relax than to visit my best friend? I've been dying to see you; I know Harry feels the same way, but his monastic lifestyle prevents him from doing so. I hope it's not too sudden, but I'll be flying in from London tomorrow evening. As soon as I can find suitable hotel accommodations, I'll be at your apartment. See you soon!

All my love,

Hermione

Ron groaned and ran a hand through his mane of red hair. It was not that he was not looking forward to Hermione's visit; quite the contrary, he was dying to see her as well. However, she had picked the worst possible time to come, a time at which Ron's career was at stake.

"Oh well," he thought aloud. "I'll just have to be here to welcome her and pray that Magnus will give me more time."

He tore off the bottom of Hermione's letter, grabbed a quill off the kitchen table, and scribbled a quick reply.

Dear Hermione,

Looking forward to your visit. I can't wait to see you again, after all this time. But I won't allow you to stay in some dinky hotel in a city like this. You will stay at my apartment, no questions asked. Have a safe flight and see you tomorrow.

Love,

Ron

He tied the letter to Sarka's leg and waved her off, closing the window in her wake. It wasn't until he stood at the window watching Hermione's owl shrink into the horizon that Ron realized just how tired he really was. Without eating any dinner or even changing into his pajamas, he fell down into bed, staring into the ceiling and resting his bones. As he let his body steadily relax into the softness of the mattress, he began to think about what was happening in his life at this very moment.

Immigration to America might soon become a disaster for him. After fifteen months of painstaking research for a Fortune-500 company, he might now be losing his job because the damn executives had no patience. What would he do if he were to lose his job? The only skills he had was a doctorate in Potion Chemistry from MIT Wizarding School, which would be useless in any other job. So did he stay in the United States, or return to England? It would be a long and difficult process to return to the UK, and he had no idea what he would do when and if he returned. He only hoped that he could make a breakthrough the next day, something that could help him keep his job.

But what of Hermione? What would she think if Ron lost his job? He knew she would frown upon it, probably nag him for not trying harder, just like she had done ever since they were kids. And he would hate himself if that happened. For even though he might try to forget about it, try to ignore the emotions that tormented him day and night, he could not deny that he still harbored romantic feelings for his female friend. For eleven years now he had secretly wished she were more than just his friend; what had started as a small crush had steadily grown into love, not just friendly love, but a fiery passion that was fueled by her impeccable beauty, intellect, and selfless way of helping others. The thought that she cared for him, plain, ordinary, poor, Ronald Weasley, was bewildering. That care meant more to him than any job.

Somewhere in the midst of his thoughts, Ron felt his eyelids grow heavy and he drifted off into a less complicated world of sleep.

The next morning brought migraines and a dose of Ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet. Ron's alarm clock went off at 5 am as usual, and as usual Ron was reluctant to hear it. But he knew today it was particularly important that he arrive at work early, seeing as he had little time left to try and concoct a successful beauty potion. He sat down at his small kitchen table and nibbled on a piece of toast while reading The Daily Prophet.

"Hmm," he said between bites. "Gringott's stock rates are down. Canadian wizard accidentally turns his sister into a sink and then installs it in his bathroom. North Korea wins the Quidditch World Cup against Norway. Ah, nothing that interesting."

He finished off the last bite of his toast and threw the paper down. With a quick flick of the wrist, he set his burglar alarm (a fascinating Muggle device that his father had purchased him for his birthday), grabbed his bag, and Apparated across the city to the Apparation Receiver Unit in the lobby of his office building. A few of the other researchers and analysts were sitting in the office lounge nibbling doughnuts and drinking coffee, but no one appeared to be working yet. Then again, none of them were little over a day away from being fired. He shuffled right past their breakfast conversations and jumped onto the elevator, tapping his foot in a vain attempt to make the lift move faster. It finally arrived on Ron's level and he rushed off down the hall and to his lab, where he didn't even bother to remove his jacket before he began whizzing away on his main computer.

Hours passed, along with dozens of failed experiments, formulas, and research. By 12:00, he was no closer to finding a successful potion than he had been a week ago. He forced himself to work straight through lunch. Right now, his desire to keep his job was more important to him than hunger. Soon, he had been typing and brewing so long that he was only half-conscious of his actions.

Around 2:00 that afternoon, Mrs. Oogly, Magnus's personal secretary, entered his lab unannounced. With his eye pressed to the eyepiece of a microscope, he did not notice her intrusion until her cranky voice broke the silence of the lab.

"Dr. Weasley!"

Ron jumped in fright and lost his balance, falling to the floor and banging his head against the linoleum.

"Good to see you're not lying down on the job," she hissed sarcastically. "I've just come with a message from Mr. Copperfield. He wants to know if you are making progress."

Ron was extremely annoyed.

"Well you can tell Mr. Copperfield that I've still got 24 hours left until my deadline, so don't be sending his secretary to check up on me. If he wants in any faster, he can get in here and make the damn potion himself!"

Now Ron knew that he had gone too far. Mrs. Oogly's lip curled into an evil smirk and he knew she was going to quote his exact words.

"Very good, Doctor," she said, and turned to exit the door.

Ron could not let her tell him or he would be fired even sooner. Thinking quickly, he grabbed a test tube of powdered sleeping potion off a nearby rack of ingredients and uncorked it.

"Hey, Oogly!" he called.

She turned around and glared at him.

"What?"

He threw a handful of the potion at her and it hit her square in the face' she squinted and shook her head.

"What the hell are you doing?" she spat. "Is this some...sort...of-"

Her eyes fell shut and she tumbled to the floor in a deep sleep. Ron quickly grabbed her limp body and pulled it inside the lab, shutting the door to avoid an investigation. He decided to store her body in the closet and would return her to her desk after Magnus had left. In the process of dragging her body across the floor, he bumped into a table of chemicals and potion ingredients. Before he could react, a beaker of Mimbulus mibletonia cytoplasm tipped over and the contents were spilled directly into the potion Ron had most recently been experimenting on.

"Damn!" Ron hollered as the potion quickly turned a silvery color. He dropped the old lady and began to examine the potion. He had been working on it for nearly three hours, and now it was ruined.

It was then that his computer started beeping. He knew it had to be a good beep because he had never heard it before. The potion was sizzling and giving off a pleasant aroma and Ron quickly ran over to the computer. A magnified molecule from the potion appeared on the screen, rotating slowly and highlighting the new addition to its structure: an atom from the cytoplasm. Then the whole molecule turned green and a message appeared at the top of the screen. It read: "Successful Solution Confirmed".

Ron was at a loss for words. Could this truly be happening? After all these months of research and tests, could he have finally found a successful potion formula, purely by accident? He turned to glance once again at the bubbling silver potion that had, only moments ago, been a worthless mixture, and now it had the potential of a new potion.

It was too good to be true. Ron had to know for sure. With nimble fingers and his heart pounding, he made to do a quick analysis. The potion's molecule was broken down, scanned, confirmed, and analyzed inside and out; everything had the green light. Theoretically, and abiding by the laws of Potion Chemistry, this potion would function perfectly for its cause. He, Dr. Ronald B. Weasley, had discovered the cure for the common woman, a perfect, and perfectly safe beauty potion.

How could he have missed this? Mimbulus mibletonia cytoplasm was only the most commonly used enhancer throughout the company. Why had he not thought to use it sooner? Perhaps it was fate that he had discovered it now, when it was most important.

He gave a loud hoot in his triumph. This was wonderful! Not only would he now get to keep his job, but discovering such a magnificent new beauty enhancer (with potential capital investments to boot) would probably get him promoted! There wasn't a moment to spare. He printed out a copy of the molecular analysis and filled a vial with the silver potion. Before he got out the door, however, realization dawned on him. Magnus had told him that the potion had to be complete and successfully tested. All his hopes and good feelings were drained from him in an instant. This was the damper in his future. There was no way he would find a willing test subject in less than 24 hours, and even if he could, he wasn't sure how long it would be before the enhancements of the potion took effect. As far as he knew, it could be anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks before it completed the process.

Ron sat back in his chair with the vial and the papers, suddenly depressed beyond measure. Well, he thought, this was it; his career was over. If only he could have discovered this sooner, before the ultimatum was issued, and everything would have been extraordinary, everything would be in his favor. Unfortunately, things never work out the way we want them to.

Then a new thought occurred to him. Hermione.

She was coming to his house tonight, and tonight was all the time he had left. Why not try it on her? She was a woman, and Ron knew that she had by no means the perfect body. Was this not fate as well? When he needed to find a test subject in a matter of hours, the perfect one was coming to his house tonight?

No, no, that would not work, Ron concluded sadly. Hermione would never agree to be a guinea pig for one of his experiments. And besides, if the potion had any unfortunate side effects, he would never want them to plague Hermione. She would hate him for it and he would hate himself even more so.

And yet...

This was a time when Ron had to weigh the options. On the one hand, if he tested the potion on Hermione and it was successful, Ron would keep his job and be a hero at his workplace. On the other hand, what if the experiment went horribly wrong? What if it deformed Hermione, or worse, hurt her? It was a difficult decision to make. Ron was completely befuddled by the situation, and did not know what to do. He knew that if he tried to experiment on her, she would never allow him. Of course, she didn't necessarily have to be aware she was being experimented on, a classical concept in the world of science. The again, Ron had to question the morality of such an idea. Was it really fair to use someone as a test subject without their consent, or even their knowledge of it? Still, what would happen if he did not test it on her? He knew exactly what. Unemployment. No money. The IRS. That was what. This was a situation that could not be handled lightly. He had a major choice to make: his friend, or his career.

For nearly fifteen minutes he sat and pondered the situation, and with each tick of the wall clock he knew he was wasting time. The last time he looked he knew that Hermione would be landing in two hours and he had to get home to welcome her. It was then that his eyes narrowed and his expression became grim. He would take the chance...and experiment on Hermione. This was it. His mind was made up. Guilty as he might feel, this project was extremely important to him, and he would not see it die because of a question of his morality, not when he was so very close.

For secrecy and extra time, he stored the cauldron of potion in the vault, keeping the vial in his labcoat pocket for the experiment. After shutting down the rest of the equipment, he drug Mrs. Oogly's body and propped it up in space between the power generator and the sterilizer, knowing that Gilbert never cleaned there anyway. As he glanced one last time at her body, which appeared as shut down as the computers around him, something came to him.

"Oh, that reminds me," he said to himself. "I need to pick up some batteries on the way home."

The subway slowed to the La Salle Street Station, where Ron stepped off and hurried up the stairs into the busy street above. It didn't take one long to learn why Chicago was know as "The Windy City"; Ron knew this all too well as he pulled his coat tighter around himself to keep out the biting wind. He walked a block down the street, pushing past the mob of Muggles, all of whom seemed to be heading in the opposite direction. Finally he reached his destination: Jackie's Sheets 'N' Such, a linen and bedclothes store where Ron always bought his batteries. He never understood why a linen store sold batteries, but they had the best prices in town and he had always bought his batteries there.

He maneuvered through the sliding doors and walked down to Aisle 5, where pillowcases, 9-volt batteries, and onion rings were sold. They were having a sale on Energizer, so he picked up a pack and walked over to the counter to pay. Hank Phillips, one of Ron's oldest friends in the country, was running the register as usual. The two of them had met at a broomstick convention in Philadelphia about two weeks after Ron had moved to the United States. He was a wizard as well, but he was not the most skilled of their kind, so he had landed a Muggle job as a cashier. The two had had drinks on occasion, and any time Ron was in the neighborhood of the store he stopped to chat with his old friend.

"Evening, Hank," Ron said to the blonde-haired man.

"Howdy, Ron," Hank returned shaking Ron's rough hand. "Long time, no see."

"Likewise," said Ron. "But I had to pick up some batteries. So, how have you been?"

Hank sighed.

"Truthfully, a lot better. The store is closing."

Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Why?"

"Well," Hank began. "Remember that new Wal*Mart that opened up the street?"

"You mean on 49^th next to the strip club?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Hank continued. "Anyway, the damn communists just released a new line of Martha Stewart linens at discount prices. We were in debt before we knew it. Mr. Barrett, the owner, filed for bankruptcy last week. We close in two weeks. That's why your batteries are on sale."

Ron was amazed.

"Wow, that must be awful."

"Yeah," Hank said. "But I do have good news. I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by switching to GEICO."

Ron congratulated him.

"But have you found a new job yet?" he inquired.

"Actually," Hank said. "I'm going to an interview at five o'clock for a job as an secondary school physical education teacher."

"What?" Ron asked bewildered. "You don't have a teaching degree!"

"So?" Hank replied. "What P.E. teacher does?"

"Hmm, good point," Ron said.

"Well what about you, old boy? How are things at the lab?"

"Outstanding actually," Ron answered. "In fact, I'm off now to test my latest creation, so I'd best be going. So long."

"G'bye, Ron."

The redhead walked out of the store and looked up at the stock market screen across the street.

"Gasoline prices reach a record high of $3.87 per gallon (1.83 pounds per liter)," Ron read. "Holy crap, if that don't beat all."

When Ron realized what he had just said, he shook his head.

"I've been in America too long."

Ron unlocked the door to his apartment and tottered in. His heart was pounding, threatening to rip right out of his chest. Hermione would be here any minute, and he was extremely anxious about seeing her after so long apart. Even more nerve-racking was that he was about to perform a potentially dangerous experiment on her, and she had no idea of what he was up to. If something went wrong, he knew he could never live with himself, but he just had to try. His research had a 99.6% guarantee of success, but there was still that small sliver of a chance that it might fail. By now, Ron was sweating profusely and had to wipe his forehead repeatedly with a handkerchief. He heard a taxi pull up outside, and then footsteps moving toward his door, and finally a knock on his door. Drawing up what little courage and composure he had left, he shakily turned the knob and opened the door.

There she was.

Though it had been over three years since he had last laid eyes on this beautiful face, he felt as though he had never really stopped seeing it. She was exactly the same as she had been when he boarded the plane for Chicago on that cold autumn day so long ago, the last time he had seen her face to face. He hadn't the courage then, nor did he have the courage now, to let her know of his lingering feelings for her. Here she was, after years of separation from him, and he still felt like he was back in London at that airport, leaving her for an indefinite amount of time. Words could not find their way into his mouth as he held her gaze second after second, and he was mentally kicking himself for being so rude.

"Hello, Ronald," she said quietly.

"H-Hi, uh, Hermione," he stammered. "I c-can't believe I'm actually seeing you again."

"I know," she said, a sad note to her voice. "It has been far to long, Ron. I have missed you dearly."

She dropped her bags and threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Ron felt as though he might lose it right then and there, but something, perhaps the prospect that his job was still in jeopardy, kept him together.

"I feel the same way, Hermione," he replied calmly, returning her embrace. "Won't you come in?"

He picked up her bags and led her inside, allowing himself a brief moment to try and regulate his breathing once again.

"Well," she said, looking around. "Lovely place you have, Ron. Did you do it yourself?"

"Yes, mostly," he replied. "I had a little help with the painting."

"It's nice," she complimented, examining the many pictures of his family and friends that were sitting on a table in the living room area."

"So," Ron tried to begin a conversation. "How is everything back home?"

"Very good, very good," she smiled at him. "Your mother sends her love."

Ron sighed.

"I truly have missed all of you. There is no love in this city. I don't think anyone really cares about anyone else."

"Yes, I know," Hermione said. "Cities are rough; you grew up in a much more subtle lifestyle, Ron. You were lucky."

"Yes, I suppose I was."

They grinned at each other and Ron remembered his manners.

"Why don't you have a seat?" he offered, gesturing toward the sofa. Then he added, prepared to put his plan into action, "And how about some tea?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," she said, seating herself on the blue couch.

Ron walked back around to the corner of the kitchen to prepare the tea, in such a way that she could not see what he was doing.

"So," he talked while he prepared the tea. "Has Harry found him a girl yet?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Ron, you daft git, how many times do I have you tell you? You know that Harry is a monk now and he took a vow of celibacy. He is forbidden to have, as you put it, 'a girl'."

"Right, right," Ron said, but then came the more pressing question. "What about you? Any special person in your life?"

There was an awkward silence in which, though he could not see her face, Ron thought Hermione might be saddened.

"No, I'm afraid not, Ron," she answered solemnly. "With everything I have to do at the Ministry, there's simply no time."

He felt a twinge of guilt at being joyful in her depression, but he was glad to know that no other man had claimed his dear Hermione's heart.

The tea was finished. It was now time to begin his experiment and sweat had once again laid claim to his forehead. He pulled the vial of silver potion out of his pocket with trembling hands and stared at it. This was it. There was not going back now. He uncorked the vial, and poured the concoction into the tea. At first he was worried that the potion would be apparent in the drink, and that he may never get Hermione to drink it, but after a few seconds, the silvery substance had dissolved right into the tea and it appeared no different. He breathed a sigh of relief but once again had to hold his breath. It was the moment of truth. He took the two cups of tea, careful to remember which contained the potion, and entered the living room.

As he walked slowly toward the sofa on which she sat, Ron took a moment to examine Hermione's body. She had always been very petite, standing only 5'3" and probably weighing no more than 110 pounds. Ron often mocked her about her small size, saying that if she were any shorter she could pass for a house-elf. Her hair was still brown and bushy; it had not appeared to have changed in the entire fourteen years that Ron had known her. She was by no means curvaceous, having a plain figure and small, modest breasts that did not receive much attention. However, her beautiful face more than made up for her less-than-appealing figure. She had a flawless, creamy complexion, red, kissable lips, and enchanting eyes that had so often cast Ron under her spell. Despite these wonderful aspects about her that Ron himself was pleased with, he knew what the average American man was looking for, and this was not it.

"Here, you are, Hermione," he said, handing her the tea.

"Thanks, Ron," she replied, taking the cup but not immediately sipping the piping hot liquid inside.

A moment passed in silence and Ron's heartbeat began to race.

"I understand you work as a potion researchist now, Ron?" Hermione broke the silence.

"Yes," he said, sipping his own tea with nerves.

She laughed.

"Who would have thought Ron Weasley, who hated Potions more than anyone at Hogwarts, would grow up to have a job making them?"

Ron snorted.

"Well it didn't help that I had a jackass of a professor for it. Whenever I had a chance to work on a potion that he wasn't breathing down my neck, I found that I was actually quite good at it."

"Interesting, so where do you work?" she asked.

"Donald Trump Cosmetology Enterprises," he answered quickly.

"Donald Trump the millionaire?"

"Yes."

Hermione rubbed her chin and asked, "You mean he's a wizard?"

"Yeah," Ron said as if it were obvious. "How else do you think he got all that money?"

"I thought he inherited it," she suggested.

"That's what they want you to think," Ron said.

She appeared to be thinking it over...and sipped her tea.

Definitely no going back now, Ron thought as he watched the steamy liquid enter her mouth.

"Hmmm," she said, licking her lips. "This tea is very good Ron. It has almost an organic taste to it."

Wow, she's good, Ron thought, hoping she wasn't suspicious.

Hermione took another sip of her tea and placed the cup on the coffee table. There was nothing to do now but wait. Ron had to make conversation somehow.

"Have you talked to Harry any?" he asked.

She sighed.

"Unfortunately, he is not allowed much contact with the outside world," she said. "Monasteries have very strict rules about that sort of thing. According to Father Chesky, once you devote your life to God, nothing else is important."

"Why did he become a monk anyway?" Ron questioned, still trying to buy time.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Who knows?" she said. "All he would tell me is that he needed to find peace with himself. He said his battle with Voldemort had nearly drained him, and he wanted to live a more peaceful lifestyle."

"Does he still use magic?"

"No," she replied. "Just before he was initiated, he left his wand with me, vowing that he would never use magic again. I nearly cried myself to sleep that night thinking about how hard it must have been for him, so the next day I had his wand locked up in Gringotts...just in case."

"Stupid git," Ron thought aloud. "I wish he would listen to reason once in a while. But once he gets his mind set on something, there's no changing it."

"I know," she concurred.

Nearly an hour of conversation passed and nothing had happened. Ron was beginning to run out of things to say, and worried that the potion might take too long to work. He only half-heartedly listened to the conversation, concentrating more on the precious minutes that were ticking by.

The clock struck 6 p.m. Hermione was in the middle of discussing the latest development in the Muggle Protection Act when she suddenly stopped and put her hand to her heart. Something was happening.

"Oh," she groaned. "I feel weird."

She jumped to her feet suddenly as if someone had just placed a hot iron where she was sitting. Her body was shaking slightly, and beads of sweat were forming on her face. She had her eyes shut and was biting her lower lip. Then she began to moan and Ron stepped back, not quite sure what to think. He looked up and down her body, and saw an unusual sight. Her pants seemed to shrinking. The hem of her pants leg was riding up her leg, exposing more and more of her ankle. After a moment Ron realized that her pants were not shrinking. Hermione was getting taller. The growth continued until she had shot up nearly six inches, and Ron no longer had to look so far down upon her. He could not believe what was actually taking place before him. His eyes followed up the added length of Hermione's leg where another sight astonished (and slightly aroused) him. Hermione's hips flared out and widened, making her curves more pronounced. Ron cocked his head slightly to one side and saw with amazement that her behind was rounding out and shaping up, giving her more pleasing curves. By now, Hermione was feeling utter bliss, while at the same time wondering what the hell was happening to her. Ron redirected his attention toward her face. Her crown of bushy brown hair was also going under change. The long locks of hair began to straighten themselves out in an attempt to eliminate the unruliness of themselves. Afterwards they lengthened themselves to reach her lower back and finally permed themselves into long, chestnuts curls that framed Hermione's face like a picture of an angel. Ron and Hermione were both astounded and pleased by the changes that had already taken place on Hermione's body, but the process was not over yet.

Suddenly, Hermione felt a wave of heated pleasure overtake her and center itself in her chest. With one powerful jolt, Hermione's breasts surged forward, enlarging themselves and growing on her chest. She threw her head back and thrust her chest forward, allowing her expanding breasts to lunge even farther forward. Ron's eyes grew the size of saucers as he witnessed her boobs grow larger and larger. Meanwhile, a pleasure had overcome Hermione that she could not possible fathom as her breasts swelled to greater proportions. Soon they were straining against the fabric of her tight shirt that had never been intended for such proportions. The material strained against the massive mounds they were trying to hold in, but the fleshy orbs would not be contained. The buttons began to pop of Hermione's shirt and flew across the room. Ron had to duck to avoid the missiles, not wanting to miss any of what was happening before him. At long last the growth stopped, and Hermione's tense body relaxed. Ron was in awe of what now stood before him.

Where, only seconds ago, had been a short, petite, plain girl of twenty-five, there was now a tall, voluptuous vixen of a women, dressed in clothes that were three sizes too small. Her ruined shirt now cradled a pair of magnificent breasts the size of large grapefruits, and her too-short pants had been stretched out around the sexiest ass Ronald Weasley had ever seen. Though he was now completely aroused, he could barely comprehend what had just happened.

Hermione was now looking upon her new body in shock. Ron could do nothing but stare. She began to run her hands along the growth her body had undergone, as if testing to see if it was real, and gave a moan of pleasure as she ran her hands over her mountainous breasts. Then, out of nowhere, she broke into tears and fell to the floor.

"Oh...my...God..." she stammered through choked sobs. "What the hell has happened to me? I'm...I'm-"

Ron knelt down and put a comforting arm around her.

"Sshh, it's okay, Hermione, don't cry," he soothed, rubbing her shoulders.

She willing melted into his embrace, pressing her face into his shoulder and gracing his arm, whether intentionally or by accident, ever so slightly with her huge breasts. The contact sent chills down Ron's spine.

"I...can't believe this..." she sobbed. "...don't know...what's going on..."

"Calm down, Hermione, it will be all right," Ron cooed, continuing to offer what comfort he could while still trying to resist the temptation to peek down her undersized shirt.

She continued to whimper for a long time, and the whole while Ron just sat and gave her his shoulder to cry on. When she had finally calmed down enough for coherent speech, she looked up at him.

"What happened, Ron?" she begged to know. "How could this happen to me? I mean, one minute I'm just myself drinking tea, and the next minute I'm-well look!"

She cupped her enormous endowments in her hands, though her palms were hardly big enough to contain the massive mounds of flesh. Ron cursed her silently; she had no idea what she was doing to him.

"Where did these things come from? Why am I taller? What the hell happened?" she was demanding him for answers.

Ron smacked himself in the forehead. He knew she would hate him forever, but he hated to see her like this. He had to tell her before the guilt killed him.

"I did it," he said flatly.

She stared at him curiously.

"W-what?"

"I did it!" he practically hollered, jumping to his feet. "I did this to you Hermione, and I'm deeply, truly sorry. It was all an experiment for work. I've been working on a potion for months now that was supposed to give women the "perfect body". I just discovered it today, after my boss had threatened to fire me if I wasn't finished by tomorrow. I had to keep my job and you're the only one I could find to test it on! I slipped the potion into your tea, and - well, I know it was an extremely cruel and selfish thing to do but I'm sorry. I just- I never-"

He could not finish his statement. Sweat was running down his face that was flushed deep red. His breathing was irregular and his heartbeat was racing. Hermione merely stared at him, an unreadable expression on her face. Slowly, she stood up, her astounding new body once again lighting up the room, and walked over to him. Ron was panting and could not tear his eyes away from her. Then she did something he had never expected her to do. She slapped him as hard as she could across the face, causing him to fall to the floor.

"You horny bastard!" she screamed at him, her face blood red with rage. "How dare you do this to me? How dare you? I'm your best friend and you turn me into some sex toy for a damn experiment? I am not just some girl Ronald Weasley! I am a human being and I have feelings! What were you thinking? Don't you have any respect for me? I'm you're best friend for God's sake! How could you do this to me?"

She could have gone on for a long time screaming at him, but she had to stop before her blood burst from her veins. Ron was now whimpering like a pathetic puppy at her feet, but she had absolutely no pity for him. As far as she was concerned a werewolf could have attacked him and she would not care in this least. She was mad as hell, and absolutely infuriated with the sick man she was standing over. Never in her twenty-five years of existence had she ever been treated so vile, so despicably by someone than she had just now. She could not believe that her best friend had done such a horrid thing to her, and she would not have such a person associating with her any longer. She grabbed her coat from the corner, even though she knew it would never be able to conceal her growth and made for the door.

"Consider our friendship over, Ronald Weasley!" she hollered back at him. "I never want to see your horrible face again!"

She was just about to burst out the door when a faint plea came from behind her.

"Hermione, wait, please!"

"Never!" she yelled back at him. "You're such a jerk, Ronald Weasley!"

"Don't leave, Hermione, I have to tell you...oh, sod it. I love you!"

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. Despite the anger that had fueled her heated departure, she was stopped by these three simple words. Was Ron being sincere, or was this just a scheme to keep her around for the reporters? There was only one way to find out. For the first time in her life, curiosity overcame her better judgment, and she turned back.

"What did you say?"

Ron stumbled to his feet, the red mark from where she slapped him clearly visible against his pale complexion.

"I said I love you," he repeated. There was no flinch, no weakness in his face. "And not just as a friend. I am in love with you, Hermione."

For the second time in the last few minutes, Hermione was at a loss for words. Was this really happening? Here was the man would had just used her to test a potion, the results of which she found very pleasing despite her anger, without her consent, telling her that he loved her. Her best friend of fourteen years! She was not fully convinced of the validity of his statement, and wanted to know for sure.

Walking up to him and staring him in the eye (she found she no longer had to tilt her head so far back to do so), she said, "Look me in the eye and say that again."

He did her one better. He grabbed her by the arm and leaned in until his face was mere inches from hers and stared her hard in the eye.

"I love you, Hermione Granger."

Right then she knew he was telling the truth. Hermione had known Ron for a long time, and she could always tell when he was being honest. There was a sincerity in his eyes stronger than she had ever seen before, and this honesty, this truthfulness, suddenly unlocked the steel gate she had built around her heart to keep out all romantic interest, and her true feelings for Ron were once again released. She was in love with him too, and she knew it had been there all along; it was just locked away.

All the same, she could not condone his actions from earlier.

"Ron, I know you are being truthful about this," she said and watched the relief spread over his face. "But I am still extremely offended by what you have done. I want to know, if you love me the way you claim, why you did this to me."

Ron's expression was suddenly sullen again and he walked away from her.

"Because," he began, "I don't really know, Hermione. Something came over me when I finally discovered what I had been searching for so long. My greed, my desire to keep my job clouded my judgment, and I guess I saw you as the easy way out. But I can see now that it was a huge mistake."

"That you can be sure of," she replied.

"But you know," Ron continued. "I've learned something from all this. Nothing, no job, no experiment, is worth jeopardizing a friendship over. And I know that now. You, Hermione, are more important to me than the world, certainly more important to me than some silly job at an overrated company. That much has become clear to me. I know that you are angry with me, but I ask you now, with all the love in my heart, to please forgive me."

Hermione now had tears welling up in her eyes.

"Oh, Ron..." she threw herself upon him and hugged him tightly, which was not an easy task because her massive chest created obstruction. "I love you too, so very much. Yes, I will forgive you, but don't you dare ever do anything like this to me again."

"I promise, Hermione," he said, hugging her back.

"Although," she said, stepping back. "I guess this experiment wasn't completely unfortunate."

He grinned goofily her, although her display was driving him wild.

She spun back into him and stared deeply into his eyes. The silliness and the lust were now gone; nothing was left in their eyes but love. Two faces, one freckled, the other pale and creamy, drew closer and closer until their lips met. Fireworks went off around them and both leaned in to deepen the kiss. Ron placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer while she ran her hands through his fiery hair. It was the most passionate moment either of them had ever experienced...yet. After a moment, they broke apart, and Hermione suddenly had something new in her eyes that Ron could not identify.

"I want you," she whispered.

Ron smiled. "I want you two."

"No," she said. "I mean I really want you."

She nodded toward the bedroom and Ron's eyes widened again.

"I have for quite some time actually," she added.

"Oh, H-Hermione, I don't know. Are you sure? I mean we just- what I did- I'm not sure that-"

"Sshh," she quieted him by bringing her finger to his lip and used her other hand to delicately bring his roughened one up and press it against her mammoth breast. "Take me."

Ron's instinct could not refuse her any longer, and he gave into the temptation he had been holding in for so long. He practically ripped off the remainder of her shirt and marveled at her magnificent breasts. Without thinking, he smothered his face among the fleshy mounds and satisfied his lust; all the while she let him. When he was done he picked her up in his arms and carried her to his bedroom, where they made the most passionate love the world had ever known.

It was an extraordinarily beautiful day when the sun rose the next morning. In the smog-clouded, windy streets of Chicago, it was a relief from the extreme cold of the past few days. Magnus Copperfield entered his office and threw his coat on the back of his chair, taking a moment to appreciate the pleasant weather. Then he smiled to himself.

"Today, we throw out the trash."

He knew there was no way Dr. Weasley would have met his deadline, and Magnus would finally be able to get rid of him. The supervisor had never wanted the red-haired scientist working for him in the first place; he had learned of Weasley's poorer, Muggle-loving background from an anonymous source that could only be recognized by his sleek, silvery hair. However, Magnus did not have the authority to fire him, as the scientist had been personally hired from a higher authority. Although, if he convinced that higher authority that Weasley was not performing to their standards, as he had recently done, he could force Ron's resignation.

"Oooo, I can't wait!" Donald Trump squealed from his hiding place under Magnus's desk. "You are going to let me say 'You're fired!', aren't you?"

Magnus sighed, "Yes, Donny."

Just then there was a knock at his office door, and he called for them to enter. To his surprise, Dr. Weasley entered. He smirked.

"Well, well, Doctor, I trust you have a potion for me?"

"As a matter of fact I do," Ron replied smugly.

Magnus froze and stared at Ron in surprise.

"You're serious?" he asked.

"Why would I not be?"

Magnus cleared his throat.

"Well, then, let's see it."

Ron pulled a small vile of the requested potion from his pocket and showed it to Magnus.

"Very good," Magnus said. "But where is your proof that it works?"

"Right here," Ron said. "Hermione?"

Hermione slowly entered the room. Magnus backed against the wall in shock, as if scared by her womanhood.

"This," Ron said, gesturing to Hermione, "is the result of my potion."

Magnus was astounded, and somewhat frightened by the sight before him, but he had to maintain his professional stature.

"Well, Doctor," he said. "This is very impressive. It looks like you are still going to be with us for a long time. I commend you. Now if you will just give me that vial I'll go show the board what you have discovered."

It was Ron's turn to smirk.

"No can do, Magnus."

Magnus was taken aback.

"What do you mean?"

Ron showed him. He took the vial and smashed it over Magnus's desk (he failed to hear the hidden millionaire shriek). The silvery potion splattered everywhere and the supervisor had to shield his eyes from the shards of flying glass. Before he could react, Ron whipped out his wand and shouted, "Scourgify!"

The silvery potion and broken glass vanished at once. Magnus went red with rage.

"Weasley! What the hell have you done?" he spat.

"What I should have done a long time ago! I've had enough of you bigheaded corporate pigs! I quit!"

Ron led Hermione out the door, turning back only to say one thing.

"Don't bother looking for the rest of the potion. I've wiped it all out and erased my computer's memory. The only thing you're going to find in that damn lab is you're old bitch of a secretary propped up in the corner. Goodbye for good!"

Ron slammed the door so hard it nearly broke off its hinges, leaving and enraged and baffled Magnus behind him.

"Damn!" Donald cursed from under the desk. "There goes another one!"

Once they were outside, Ron turned and kissed Hermione on the lips. This was the best thing he had ever done; he had finally given Magnus Copperfield what he deserved, and he had Hermione to thank for it.

"I love you so much," he said to her. "I'm looking forward to moving back to England."

The End