My plan to seduce Hermione Granger, by Ron Weasley

Summary: RW/HG. Ron isn't sure where he and Hermione stand. He isn't sure of much in fact, but at least he has a plan. Well, sort of. Humorous fluff. One-shot.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. They belong to JK Rowling. The only thing I own is the plot.

To say that Hermione was getting fed up with losing at wizard chess would have been a mild understatement. Not simply losing. 'Annihilated' may have perhaps been a better word, and judging from the continually smug expression on Ron's freckled face, he found her constant defeats rather amusing.

"You know 'Mione," he began conversationally one Friday night; "for someone who's so bloody good at everything else, I find it rather ironic that you're so positively crap at wizard chess."

They were curled up in front of the fire in the boys' newly acquired Diagon Alley flat. It was fairly close to the Leaky Cauldron, yet still far enough away from Knockturn Alley to be considered in a prime location. The small room was cosy yet crowded, even with Harry at Ginny's tonight and thus not completing the usual trio. Ron's long legs took up most of the available floor space and Hermione was lying facing him on the garish striped rug (courtesy of Molly Weasley), propped up on one elbow as she studied the battered chessboard with an enigmatic expression.

Merlin, Ron loved it when she got that look on her face. She made it even better by arching a brow at him and pouting absently at his astute comment. With a wince, Ron discretely adjusted the sudden bulge in his trousers.

It was going to be a long night.

Neither of them actually bothered to question why they weren't sitting on the plush new couch with its fat, squashy cushions, or why they never did on these 'games nights' they frequently held. For Ron, the answer was obvious: lying sprawled on the floor equalled one relaxed Hermione Granger, particularly in such close proximity to the deliberately crackling, roasting fire.

Ron was becoming rather hopeful that given the sweltering heat he had engineered, that in time, she might even loosen one of those complicated little buttons of her khaki shirt. Or maybe two, if such a thought wasn't too greedy and hopelessly over-optimistic.

He wasn't a pervert you understand. Not at all. No, Ron Weasley was just positively, crazily in love with his best friend and completely fed up with the rather stagnant impasse that had existed between them since the end of the war. They had kissed- but only once, brilliant a kiss as it had admittedly been. What did that make them therefore; "friends," or something more? Ron, completely clueless with the opposite sex and in particular the complex workings of the inner-mind of Hermione, knew what he'd rather them be, but the trouble was, he had no bloody clue about what she wanted.

Ron however was a keen strategist and tonight was implementing the stages of his carefully thought-out plan to hopefully get to kiss her again and find out exactly where their relationship actually stood; Stage one: get Hermione all hot and sweaty.

Stage one was actually going rather well, he thought to himself speculatively twenty minutes later, eyeing Hermione who was still deliberating her next move on the chess board. Two said buttons of the khaki shirt had indeed been unfastened, giving Ron not just a tantalising glimpse of creamy white skin in the vee of her chest, but also a peek at the simple cotton bra she wore. Whilst he very much appreciated such a gesture, especially given the way he could see right down Hermione's top with her lolling on the rug like that, his trousers were rather uncomfortably cutting off all circulation to his bits and Little Ron was offering more than a mild protest.

Ron absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck knowing he needed to move at some point soon or risk being crippled in his nether-regions; "do you want a butterbeer, 'Mione?"

"I'd rather have something stronger," she surprised him by saying as she looked up. "Do you have any Ogdens?"

Ron nodded; "Harry has some in the cabinet I think."

As he fetched the bottle of fire whiskey and two glass tumblers, his brow furrowed contemplatively. Stage two seemed to have progressed rather sooner than even he expected.

Stage two involved the gradual introduction of liquor to the evening. Not to get her drunk you understand, no, not by any means. Ron merely wanted the drinks to relax them, that was all. He also liked the way fire whiskey caused a slight pink flush to Hermione's cheeks and the way it tended to loosen her tongue. Sometimes she grew incredibly chatty after just a couple of glasses of Ogden's and Ron would simply sit and listen to her talk. Even when she was retelling historical facts or something educational as she very often did, Ron felt he could listen to her forever.

Harry said he was under the thumb.

Ron wondered what on earth thumbs had to do with anything.

As they sipped the potent fire whiskey and the game of chess progressed, Ron considered the potential pitfalls and risks of stage three: actually making a move on her. Knowing Hermione, she'd probably be pretty bewildered as to what he was even doing, given that he simply wouldn't know where to put his hands or how to tilt his head. Let's face it: he wasn't exactly sophisticated or experienced when it came to women. Kissing Hermione would be the complete opposite of kissing slobbery Lavender Brown, that he was quite sure of. Hermione too, was clever about a lot of things but he wasn't sure how much she knew about boys. Especially lecherous, clueless boys like him. He could end up mucking up their friendship forever and the last thing he wanted to do was bollix things up with Hermione.

His head spun in confusion and his brow must have been furrowed as he contemplated stage three in its entirety, because the next second Hermione was eyeing him with abject concern. "Ron… are you alright?" she asked, sitting up, the chess game forgotten. Ron instantly wanted to kick himself as he lost his perfect view down her shirt.

"I'm fine," he said weakly, blinking forlornly at the sudden loss.

"You look pale," she decided next, "maybe you're coming down with something. Do you have a temperature?"

"Um--"

She pressed a worried hand to his brow, almost straddling him in her consternation. Ron decided not to point out that his skin was bound to be hot, given that they were lying in front of a roaring fire, because he liked the feel of her hands on him just a little bit too much, as well as the way she hovered over him with that perplexed look on her face in a way that he found rather gratifying. Not to mention that he could see right down her shirt again with her leaning over him at this angle.

Hermione looked down and carefully followed his eye line, her own eyes growing a little bit wider. "Ron!" she squeaked, "are you looking down my top?"

"Um--"

She folded her arms and eyeballed him, though he did notice she hadn't moved in any way; "well?" she demanded.

Ron cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to ignore the way her folded arms did simply brilliant things to her chest area; "well, you see Hermione, the thing is…."

Chocolate eyes met cerulean blue, only now she was looking down at him like that, Ron just didn't know what to say. He knew with a pang that he'd now never get any further than stage two in his seduction of Hermione. He was a big prat, but nevertheless his next words tumbled out before he could stop them.

"Yes I was looking down your top!" he blurted out, the tips of his ears reddening, "it's pretty hard not to you know, when you have your buttons undone like that and you're straddling me like one of those nymphs from Playwitch magazine!"

Hermione suddenly realised their rather vicarious position and let out another startled squeak, her own face reddening as she tried to move off him in hot embarrassment, but Ron held her arms and before he could even think about it, he pulled her face down to his.

Stage three was a go.

They clashed heads.

And they bumped noses.

Really, in the grand scheme of things, stage three could have gone a lot better as it happened.

"Ow!" Hermione yelped, her voice muffled as she clutched her face.

"Merlin's balls!" Ron griped as he clutched his bruised cheek.

"Ron…" Hermione's voice was still muffled and sounded bewildered, "were you—trying to kiss me?"

His face was flaming as he nodded, complete misery engulfing him as he fell back helplessly onto the rug and covered his eyes. "I had a plan!" he wailed.

"A—a plan?" Hermione thought she'd misheard him as she looked down at him, still rubbing her nose.

"A plan," he confirmed, looking crestfallen, "a three stage plan. I had it all worked out in my head. I was going to get you—well, a bit hot and sweaty and then um, relax you with some alcohol and then…"

"And then what, Ron?" Hermione asked, her brow wrinkled. He couldn't tell if she was bemused or cross with him so he ploughed on heedlessly;

"…and then I was going to make a move on you!" he cried, "only I cocked it all up and I nearly gave you concussion in the process!"

As she listened to his inane rambling, Hermione was actually rather impressed with his ingenuity as it happened- at his carefully thought out process of trying to kiss her. There was nothing like brain power to turn her on, and given that this was Ron Weasley, who she'd been in love with since... well, since at least the fifth year at Hogwarts, the feelings of admiration intensified. Ron had clearly put a lot of thought into his 'seduction' and it was all rather sweet actually. A pity it had gone awry, but still, these things couldn't be helped.

He was still babbling away like he was under some kind of hex and his face was getting redder and redder as she looked down at him without saying anything. If he didn't stop ranting like some kind of nutter soon… Hermione blatantly needed to put a stop to it.

"Ron—"

"--and I didn't mean to look down your top, well, ok I mean I did a bit, but I couldn't help it- they were just there Hermione and--"

"Ron…"

"--bloody hell you have a nice chest so I just thought I'd have a little peek and—"

"Ronald!"

He stopped short, looking up at her fearfully; "what?"

Stage three seemed to have been taken suddenly out of his control, because the next second Hermione was kissing him. Rather enthusiastically infact as it happened. She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled his head up to hers as if the whole bumping of heads and noses had never even happened.

Ron was too startled to do anything other than kiss her right back, tasting the pleasant spice of Ogden's and a sweetness that could only come from Hermione herself, as he slid his hands into her curly hair, silently urging her to continue. Which she did. An awful lot as it happened.

It was all bloody perfect; aside from his awkwardly big nose getting in the way at first and the fact he still didn't know where to put his hands and all. He eventually settled for just leaving them in her soft hair, sort of massaging her scalp with his fingertips, which he rather thought she liked, given her vocal little sighs of encouragement between kisses that did strange things to Ron's stomach and even stranger things to his lower body as she rubbed up against it.

Ron thought with a relieved grin, that perhaps stage three was his favourite stage of all. Much as he had liked looking down her shirt.

When they got down to it, the actual logistics of a successful stage three involved lots of rolling around on the hideously striped rug. It involved a very sweaty tangle of limbs and rather annoyed, shouting chess players digging into them as they rolled onto the chess board, scattering black and white pieces everywhere. Some of them actually ran for cover under the coffee table so as not to be completely obliterated by two horny eighteen-year-olds.

The floor and chessboard however, weren't exactly comfortable they soon found, and Ron broke the kiss momentarily to gently take her hand and pull her onto the couch with him in a rather ungainful sprawl of limbs. Not that Hermione seemed to mind too much though, as she tumbled haphazardly right on top of his lanky body again with a muttered; "oof!" pressing against him in an interesting fashion, that caused her brown eyes to widen with speculative interest once more as she finally encountered Little Ron.

"Sorry," the tips of Big Ron's ears turned red as he helped her straighten up, cringing inwardly at his clumsiness and at his very-obvious eagerness.

He was rewarded with a shy smile as her eyes met his once more before raking appreciatively down his body. "That's ok."

And it was apparently, as she was off and kissing him with the same enthusiasm that caused Little Ron to cheer with excitement once more as she straddled him yet again. Merlin it really was ok, wasn't it?

As the kisses continued, Ron became aware that Hermione was murmuring something to him.

"--hands," it sounded like.

Confused and wondering if this was something to do with the aforementioned thumbs too, Ron detangled his fingers from her bushy hair and placed them back down by his sides, so that he was lying rather stiff and awkwardly back on the couch, looking perhaps like rigor mortis was on the verge of setting in. Maybe it had been rather inappropriate to put them in her hair like that.

"No—" breathless from their kisses and with a patented roll of her eyes that he found sexy, especially given the circumstances, Hermione reached down and took his large hands, placing them firmly on her jean-clad bottom.

Ron's eyes widened immeasurably and Hermione smiled at him, her cheeks flushed. "That's better," she said, satisfied, before resuming their kissing; "you can—move them around a bit—if you want to I mean. I don't exactly know what your stage three entails but I imagine there's some groping in there."

Ron smiled eagerly as he happily obliged. He also wondered if he should broach the subject of his secret and much-more-thought-out stage four, but as she moved her lips down his neck, he decided stage four could wait just a little bit longer. Ron was nothing if not patient and Hermione seemed to be appreciating stage three just as much as he was.

A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please let me know.