Shakespeare

and the

De-Lusting

Potion

By Femme Teriyaki

Disclaimer:

- These characters are the figment of J. K. Rowling's imagination. I do not claim to own these characters.

Summary:

- After realizing her relationship with Ron is going down the drain, Hermione decides she'd rather not be in love—or in lust—with Ron. From that moment on, she sets out to make a De-Lusting Potion, while all around her things get crazier and crazier. Why else would Ron be reading Shakespeare?

Chapter One:

Pixies, Elves, and Hogwarts a History

"You swallowed it!" screamed Hermione, frantically rushing around the Gryffindor Common Room, her head in her hands. "I can't believe you swallowed it!"

"It looked good!" shrugged Ron, not quite realizing the importance of what was now on its way through his digestive tract and trying (not very hard) to concentrate on his Potions book. "Besides, it can't be all that important if it was just lying around like that, right?"

"It was very important, Ron; it was for the pixies!" Hermione replied, in apparent anguish. "One would think that it would occur to you to figure out what something is before you pop it in your mouth!"

"I thought it was candy!"

Harry simply sat on the couch, scratching away at his DADA Essay on the Unforgivable Curses, and laughing to himself. He was used to the sound of all this fighting—it had been happening nonstop ever since Hermione and Ron started dating, and he wasn't all that surprised that Ron had eaten the pixie food. He didn't want to be the one to tell Hermione that he had been eating it for the past week.

Hermione wandered over to the pixies' cage, where they were going berserk. "Look at them, they're starving, Ron..." she cooed sympathetically, "and it's all your fault too."

"D'you want me to apologize to the pixies?" asked Ron incredulously, still chewing on their mid-afternoon snack.

"That would be like asking the Trojans to apologize to the Greeks," Hermione seethed as the pixies ricocheted off the walls in their cages.

"What?" asked Ron.

Harry declined to listen as their fight, like all their other fights, raged on and on and on… 7th year and nothing had changed at all. They'd started seeing each other seriously the year before; Harry hadn't known how to feel about it. Now, like all other things, he'd gotten used to it.

As he was writing all he knew about The Killing Curse and hoping nobody would include him in their essay, he felt a persistent tugging on his ear. "Ouch!"

"RON!" shouted Hermione, and Harry turned just in time to see the pixies flying lose around the room, though most of them were headed out the door.

"Oops!" Ron replied, leaping all across the room to try and catch the Cornish pixies. By the time one had flown up his nose, McGonagall had appeared at their door and there was an unmistakable noise that brought a wide, mischievous grin to Ron's face, despite the pixie struggling to get out of his nostrils. "Hear that?" he smiled.

"What?" Hermione asked, stunning a pixie and watching drop to the ground. Upon seeing McGonagall, she quickly put her wand on the table and fixed her posture.

"Snape—that's Snape. Screaming," he said gleefully, as Snape rushed past their door, two pixies taking him by the ears and carrying him down the hall.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione sighed.

"You three," McGonagall snapped, "why on earth have you got pixies loose in the Common Room? If you can't control them, then obviously you shouldn't have them—"

Splat.

"Ron, that's Hogwarts a History! That's my favorite page!" shouted Hermione, seemingly on the verge of tearing Ron to pieces. Ron had smashed a Cornish pixie between page 234 and 235.

Harry didn't want to know which page it was—he wanted a way out of the Common Room. Unfortunately, with McGonagall blocking the door, there wasn't one, and he definitely didn't want to be present for this fight.

"Miss Granger!" barked McGonagall, "I would appreciate if you would remove the pixies from your room and give them to Hagrid."

"Very well, Pro—"

Ron leapt into the conversation. "But they're not her pixies, Professor, they're… they're Flitwick's. He asked us to keep them for him… and… we had no place to put them… so…."

McGonagall looked skeptical, but even so, she accepted the story, walking out of the doorway and into the hall, where Madam Pomfrey was rushing to the aid of a shouting Snape.

"Why'd you tell her they were Flitwick's pixies?" asked Hermione, no longer upset so much as angry.

"Because," began Ron, the pixie having escaped from his nose, "I couldn't think of another teacher. Besides, you should be glad. Now none of us are getting in trouble."

"We weren't going to get into any trouble; you heard McGonagall—she only wanted them out of the Common Room. Now you've done it; what are we to do when she asks Professor Flitwick about them and she finds out you just lied to her? Ron, do you ever think?"

Before Ron could answer her question, Hermione had stomped angrily out of the room, Crookshanks following close behind her.

"Women," he grumbled, turning back to Harry. "I tell you this, Harry: never get a girlfriend—ever. They're nothing but trouble and hell to talk to."

"What are we going to do?" asked Harry. He had abandoned his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay for later since it wasn't due until the following Thursday and couldn't concentrate besides.

"What do you mean?"

Harry glanced back at the doorway, remembering Hermione's words. "When McGonagall asks Flitwick about the pixies—what are we going to do?"

"Doesn't matter," Ron replied nonchalantly, "she's probably not going to, and if she's planning to, she's so busy, she'll probably forget. Wait till one of the Slytherins breaks something in the Great Hall—then she'll forget all about us."

"And Hermione?" asked Harry, noting the trail of cat hair leading through the door and figuring that Hermione had probably gone to the library.

"Oh, she'll come round, Harry, don't worry," said Ron, just as dismissively, blowing his nose and checking the tissue to make sure there were no little bits of wing in it. "She's not even mad at you, so you've nothing to worry about."

"Well, she's plenty mad at you," noted Harry, wondering exactly how long this thing between Ron and Hermione would last.

"Like I said," Ron shrugged, "she'll come round."

---

"Ooh, Harry—I don't think I've ever been as mad as at anyone in my life! He's so infuriating—he doesn't seem to care about anything I care about and I'm sure he means well, but… Harry, I don't know what to do!"

Harry looked at Hermione and then at the clock on the wall; "I'm so sorry, Hermione, but—"

"What?" she asked, looking up from her examination of pages two-hundred-thirty-four and two-hundred-thirty-five.

"I've got to go to Divination, but I promise, I'll talk to Ron—this whole thing will work out," he said.

Hermione smiled. "You're absolutely the best, Harry," she said, throwing her arms around him, "I'll find someway to repay you."

---

In the depths of the kitchens, Dobby and Harry were staring at Ron. "Ron, you know nothing about love," Harry said honestly. "You know less than nothing—the amount of knowledge you have about love, would empty a coffee cup."

"Why are we here?" asked Ron.

Dobby hopped up onto the table; "Dobby will be honest with you—Dobby's relationship with Winky may not be the most perfect relationship, but Dobby and Winky are doing probably better than you and Hermione."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ron persisted.

"Winky and Dobby know a lot about love," Dobby continued. "Winky and Dobby may seem like mere house elves to you—and though we have our differences about the F-word—"

"F-word?" asked both Harry and Ron.

"Freedom," Dobby explained. "Dobby and Winky maintain a healthy, loving, respectful relationship."

"I'm getting romantic advice from a house-elf," Ron said. "You've got to be kidding me." After a moment of silence, he conceded. "OK, elf, what do you have to teach me?"

8