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Hermione\'s Helping Hand	By : diablerouge Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 3175 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: Hermione’s Helping Hand

Author: diablerouge

Pairing: Hermione/Ron

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Hermione helps
set things right after Ron’s Charms homework goes horribly awry.

Disclaimer: These
characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I am
merely using them for my own twisted amusement.
The title is borrowed from Chapter Eleven of
Rowling’s sixth book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I hope that my innocent perving
will be taken as such, seeing as I have received no monetary compensation for
it. And now…without
further ado, I give you…

Hermione’s
Helping Hand

“Engorgement charms,” squeaked tiny
little Professor Flitwick from atop his usual stack
of books, “are quite as tricky as they are useful. As Professor Sprout will no doubt have
informed you, they are the mediocre gardner’s greatest boon.”

A few of the more inept Herbology students perked up, including Ron. Harry, seated next to him, listened with
polite interest, but was really very preoccupied with
the Quidditch tryouts that he planned to hold at the
weekend. Flitwick
continued.

“Can anyone tell me what makes
Engorgement charms more difficult than other charms?” The tiny wizard’s eyes moved reflexively to
Hermione, seated on Ron’s other side, whose hand shot into the air so fast that
Ron felt the breeze ruffle his hair.
After six years, this was quite routine. As no one else looked at all inclined to
venture a guess, the professor smiled at the bushy haired girl and acknowledged
her. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

“Engorgement charms, if performed
inexpertly, are difficult to control.
Growth can easily get out of hand.
It is, therefore, important that one also be familiar with the Disengorgement charm.
Also with regard to fruits and vegetables, produce which has been
enchanted in this way is often blander than that which has been grown using
more traditional means,” she finished quoting from the Standard Book of Spells: Grade Six.
Then she added, “Hagrid’s Halloween pumpkins,
for example, are probably not fit to eat.”

“Very thorough,” said Flitwick smiling.
“Observe.” He conjured a cucumber
from thin air and presented it for the class’s inspection. “Inelesca,” said the wizened little man with a smart flick of
his wand.

Several more boys sat up
interestedly. They watched transfixed as
the cucumber began to swell obscenely. A
few of the girls began to giggle behind their hands. Within five seconds, the cucumber had doubled
in size. Professor Flitwick
found that he had Harry’s, Ron’s and every other boy in the class’s full
attention.

Across the room from Harry, Ron and
Hermione, Parvati Patil
nudged Lavender Brown with her elbow, leaned toward her, and whispered
something inaudible which caused Lavender to turn
bright pink and cast a very unsubtle sidelong glance at Ron. Ron, however, did not notice as he was still
staring agog at the cucumber which was now the size of
a very large zucchini. It took at firm
tug at his sleeve from Hermione to get him to tear his eyes away from the
highly suggestive vegetable.

“What?” said Ron, sounding startled.

“What is everyone laughing at?”
asked Hermione, clearly annoyed at not being in on the joke. At these words, Ron noticed that everyone,
all the girls at least, were sniggering, tittering, chuckling, or
giggling. It seemed that most of the
boys, like Ron, were gaping at the growing gourd. How to explain this to Hermione, he
wondered. “Ron?” she pressed him. He looked guiltily at her

“Um…well…you see, Hermione…um...,”
Ron cast about for some delicate way to put it, but nothing occurred to him.

“I thought you knew everything,
Hermione,” interjected Harry as he leaned forward and shot her a look of
feigned shock around Ron. Hermione
scowled at him. She whipped her head
haughtily back to face Professor Flitwick and raised
her hand.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” he called on
her.

“Professor, it can’t just carry on
getting bigger and bigger like that, can it?”
To Hermione’s surprise and annoyance, her question was
met with a wave of uncontrolled laughter and a barrage of hearty
snorts. “What is so bloody funny?” she asked in an undertone to no one in particular,
having already not got a satisfactory answer from Harry or Ron.

“A very good
question. As a matter of fact, it
can, Miss Granger,…,” Flitwick’s
answer incited several howls of laughter.
The tiny wizard continued, “…until it bursts.” The effect was instantaneous. The class went utterly silent, but continued
to stare at the bright green cucumber which had
reached nearly two and a half feet in length before the Charms professor waved
his wand again and said, “Desinolesca.”
Hermione looked smug.

“If, for any reason, you must
shrink something, it’ll be a reverse flick along with the incantation Fierialiquantulus. Got it? Good!” he
said without waiting for an answer. “Now. One more word
of caution to you before we begin practicing,” he piped. “I advise you against trying this charm on
ANY part of your body. This charm’s
effect on flesh and blood is quite unpredictable. Should you attempt it, the BEST you can hope
for is a trip to Madam Pomfrey. Off you go!” chirped Flitwick
cheerily, passing around a bowl of fruit for them to practice on.

By the end of the period, Harry,
like many others, was covered in bits of fruit, having
succeeded only in detonating two apples, an orange, and several grapes. The
class encountered myriad problems. Dean Thomas got quite excited when skin of
the tangerine he was working on grew to the size of a quaffle,
but he was disappointed to find that the fruit within had actually shriveled to
the size of a snitch. The opposite
problem seemed to be afflicting Seamus Finnigan, who
cursed loudly and repeatedly as grapefruit after grapefruit outgrew its
skin. Lavender and Parvati
both ended up with kiwis that, though quite large, had grown an inexplicable
pattern of lumps and horns.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione left with
ten perfect, glossy cherries each the size of her fist. She had, of course, experimented
a bit to discover the best size to flavor ratio. And, as much to his
surprise as anyone else’s, Ron had produced two impressively large and well
proportioned bananas and an orange nearly the size of his head.

“I seem to have quite a knack for
exploding things today,” said Harry resignedly.
Then, he brightened, “Perhaps I’ll have a go at Malfoy’s
head, shall I?” Ron and Hermione snorted
in unison. “Good on you, though, Ron,”
Harry smiled at his friend as they walked back toward the Gryffindor common
room.

“Alright,” said Hermione after a
few minutes, “Perhaps, now that we’re out of class,
the two of you can tell me what was so riotously funny.” Harry caught Ron’s eye and they exchanged a
significant look before they both began to chuckle once more. “Seriously,” said Hermione, a bit more
shrilly than she meant to, “what on earth is so funny?”

“Come off it, Hermione,” grinned Ron, not quite meeting her eyes. “You can’t possibly be this thick.” She looked at him with an expression of
puzzlement and annoyance.

“Let’s think about this,” said
Harry smiling kindly. He tried not to
sound patronizing. It was very novel to
have to explain something to Hermione and it amused him greatly. “An Engorgement charm. Now, what might boys think it would be a good
idea to engorge?” Harry cast a very
pointed glance toward the floor.
Hermione stopped in her tracks looking at first surprised, then deeply
scandalized.

“Oh, honestly!” she burst out. She glued her eyes to the end of the corridor. Her face was on its way to matching the shade
of her enchanted cherries.

“Banana?” asked Ron, failing his
attempt not to grin impishly as he offered her one of his comically large
bananas.

“I’ve no interest, whatsoever, in
your bananas, Ronald,” she snapped, making a much better, though not wholly
successful, attempt at not smiling.
Harry and Ron sniggered noisily and continually all the way back to the
common room. Hermione, on the other
hand, pretended not be amused in the least.

* * *

Dinner that evening presented a
plethora of opportunities for Harry and Ron, mostly Ron, to offer Hermione
vaguely suggestive and naughty sounding things.
A dish of marinated cucumber slices even appeared as an appetizer. Bangers and mash arrived with the entrees. Ron forked the largest sausage in the
casserole and plopped it onto Hermione’s plate with a grin.

“There you go Hermione,” said Ron
spooning potatoes and gravy onto her plate as well, “a big, lovely sausage for
you.” Across the table, Harry snorted
into his pumpkin juice. He noticed that
Hermione began slicing her sausage somewhat more savagely than was strictly
necessary.

“Be careful now, Ronald,” Hermione
had taken to calling him by his full name when he made jokes of this kind,
“You’ll get my expectations up.” Ron’s
ears began to burn. He had fallen silent
and blushed deeply by the time desserts replaced the main courses.

“Spotted dick?” asked Harry
conversationally, offering her the dish with a grin. Hermione eyed the pudding suspiciously, and then
shot Harry a stern look.

“Quite,” she said coolly. But Ron noticed that
she was unable to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching a bit.

* * *

The common room was extremely
crowded that evening. Finally finished
with the particularly nasty eighteen-inch essay that was due to Snape the following day, Harry was skimming through the
Prince’s copy of Advanced Potion Making,
looking for useful or interesting notes.
It had lately become a favorite pastime of his. Dean and Seamus were playing and enthusiastic
game of Exploding Snap; Neville was looking fretful about something contained
in his Charms notes; but Ron was nowhere to be seen. Though it was rather early, he had told Harry
that he was going to bed.

“Harry,” called Hermione as she
appeared at the foot of the staircase that led to the girls’ dormitories, her
schoolbag over her shoulder, “if you’re finished with my Defense notes, I’d
like to check my essay against them once more.
Have you got them down here?” she asked, setting down her things in the
empty chair next to Harry.

“No. They’re lying on my night table, if you want
to just pop up and get them,” Harry answered, not looking up from his
book. “Ron’s sleeping.”

“At this hour, you’re joking?”

“He said he was going to bed,”
Harry shrugged. Hermione turned to
go. Looking up from his book at last,
Harry called, “Thanks again, Hermione.”
She nodded and smiled over her shoulder.

Hermione opened the door to the
boy’s dormitory soundlessly. Orange
sunlight still streamed in through the mullioned windows. The crimson hangings around Ron’s four poster were drawn.
Surely he wasn’t sleeping, Hermione thought.

She saw her notes on Harry’s night
table. Then, she looked back to Ron’s
bed. Hermione had a sudden, strange urge
to throw back Ron’s curtains and see what he was really up
to, but she thought better of it. All
the same, she stood still for a moment, listening. As her ears adjusted to the silence, she
heard Ron whispering. It was very faint,
but at the same time frantic, desperate.

“Ferolanquatus…forilaquantilus…fiero…” Hermione smirked. She padded silently toward Ron’s bed. Halfway there, a floorboard creaked
underfoot. The whispering stopped
immediately. “Hello? Harry?” called Ron. He sounded unaccountably nervous, perhaps even
a bit embarrassed. No longer concerned
with stealth, Hermione walked briskly to the bedside.

“You mean,” she said gripping the
curtains, “Fieri…”
She flung open the velvet hangings.
Her eyes sprang wide with shock and she screamed at the sight that greeted
her. There sat Ron, sweating, his trousers open. His tadger stood
out rigid from between his slim hips, almost exactly the size of the giant
cucumber Flitwick had Engorged
earlier that day. It was deeply red, the
head nearly purple, and it was steaming slightly.

At the sight of Hermione, Ron
yelled too. He tried hastily to cover
himself, but met with little success.
Neither his trousers nor his robes would close over his enormous member.

“What in bloody hell are you doing
up here?!” shouted Ron.

“Me?” shrieked Hermione, “I came
for the Defense notes I lent Harry! What
are YOU doing?!”
She was torn between horror, amusement, and
indignation that Ron had dared ignore Flitwick’s
caveat. Realizing that she was staring,
she quickly averted her eyes.

“I…I…,” Ron stuttered, thinking it
was really perfectly clear what he had been doing and that she was more than a
bit daft for asking. “I’m practicing my
Engorgement charm.”

“Well congratulations. It looks as though you’ve got it well in
hand,” she said in a high voice. Ron
snorted. A nervous giggle slipped out when she cottoned on to her own very bad
pun. “I’ll leave you to it then, shall
I?” she squeaked before making dash for the door, forgetting completely about
her notes.

“Wait, Hermione. I…,” She stopped,
her hand on the door, but Ron seemed to have lost the nerve to say what he had
been about to say. She waited a few
seconds, though it seemed to her like hours, before asking tentatively,

“Yes…?”

“I…I’ve got the Engorgement charm
under control…obviously,” on the last word, he sounded sheepish. He pressed on, “But the…um…the …I’m having a
little trouble remembering the incantation to reverse it,” more sheepishly
still, a look of positively vermilion embarrassment etched across his long face.

Hermione rounded on him, prepared
this time for the sight of Ron and his ludicrously enlarged appendage. Still, she was torn
between amusement and indignation; but something else altogether seemed to be
tickling at the back of her mind. Was it
curiosity?

“It would serve you right if I left
you like that,” she said in her most supercilious voice. “Perhaps Harry will lend you his cloak. Though, personally,
I think it might build more character if you had to walk to the hospital wing,
frightening little girls with that ridiculous thing along the way. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure the
Invisibility cloak could cope with that,” she said eyeing him sharply. “You’d just end up looking like a giant
disembodied knob wandering down the hall.”
With her every word, the horrified expression on Ron’s face grew more
comical until, unable to maintain her composure any longer, she brayed with
laughter.

“Hermione…please?” he smiled
pitifully at her. Once she had got
herself under control again, she huffed once and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, very well.” She crossed the dormitory, stopping again at
Ron’s bedside. “Just remember, you’re very lucky it hasn’t gone all deformed,
or exploded even.” Ron winced. “Does it hurt?”

“A bit,” he admitted, staring
around and his bedclothes, looking anywhere but at Hermione. If he had, he would have seen the most
curious little smile on her face, and the most startling gleam in her eyes.

“Good,” she said venomlessly. She
drew her wand, made a perfect reverse flick and said, “Fierialiquantulus!”
At once, his organ began to diminish.
Hermione watched unabashedly.
Within just a few moments, it had ceased shrinking; having returned to
what Ron knew to be its usual erect size.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing
hesitantly at her from beneath his still flushed brow. He began to close his robes.

“Wait,” said Hermione sounding
puzzled. “It doesn’t seem to have worked
properly, does it? That can’t be…I mean,
surely it’s not…,” she trailed off, continuing to stare unshamefacedly
at Ron’s still considerable length.
Ron’s freckles disappeared completely as his blush deepened even
further. He grinned cheekily at her,
waiting to hear what she would say next.
For a moment, she strongly resembled a fish out of water, her mouth
opening and closing several times as though her voice had simply gone on
holiday. Finally, with an incredulous
look at her grinning friend, she cleared her throat noisily and asked, in a
timid little voice, most unlike her own, “Isn’t it going to get any smaller?”

“Not with you here,” he said,
somewhat more boldly than he felt. Now,
it was Hermione’s turn to blush. Both
fell silent, and remained so for some time.
She looked around the room, her cheeks and the back of her neck
burning. Odd, she mused, that she had
never fully appreciated the lovely mahogany crown molding in this room. But even the fine
Hogwarts woodwork could not put from her mind the question she so desperately
wanted to ask. Nearly a full minute
passed before Hermione, again unable to contain herself, asked in that same
timid voice,

“Ron…may I…may I touch it?” Her neck, ears, and face now fully ablaze,
she forced herself to look him in the face.
A look of delighted disbelief lit Ron’s face, and he nodded mutely.

Hand trembling, Hermione reached out. Ron closed his eyes and swayed forward a bit
as her hand closed around his thick shaft.
She stroked him lightly, experimentally, feeling the incredible warmth
and springy resistance of his flesh. He
gasped at the sensation. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard him breathe her
name. Another thought occurred to her.

“Ron?” she asked gently. He opened his eyes and smiled gratefully at
her. She took it as an acknowledgement
and continued, “Have you ever thought about me when you…,” she trailed off
again, “you know?”.
He gazed earnestly into her large brown eyes and nodded. He expected her to be angry or repulsed or
both. To his great surprise, however,
she beamed at him as he had never seen her beam
before. “Will you show me, then? Help me to do it properly?”

Once she had seated herself beside
him and made herself comfortable on the scarlet duvet, Ron covered her slender
hand with his larger one, encouraging her to tighten her grip a bit. Ever the ready student, it took Hermione only
a few strokes to progress past any need for his continued guidance. Ron lay back against his pillows. Sometimes he watched her delicate hands as
they rubbed and caressed his length.
Sometimes his eyes involuntarily rolled back and fluttered closed when
her clever fingers lingered to tease at his deliciously sensitive glans. Within mere minutes, her efforts had earned
her several throaty moans and a gasp or two.

Ron’s eyes were shut tightly, now; his breathing heavy.
Hermione watched with great satisfaction as his face began to contort
with the pleasure she gave him. This,
surely, must be magic, she thought. She
could feel the tension building rapidly within him as he strained, fought
against the urge to succumb immediately.
It was a short-lived battle.

“It’s…coming…,” he groaned, barely
articulate now as the already intense sensation compressed to a white-hot
point, low in his belly. She had pushed
him the needful, aching point at the very edge of endurance. “Hermione…,” he whimpered her name as he shuddered his release, wave after wave of raw, throbbing
ecstasy washed over him. He collapsed,
still and spent on the soft bed.

“Evanesco,” whispered
Hermione. Instantly, the aftermath of
Ron’s surrender was gone from robes, hands, and bedclothes alike.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he
whispered, utterly, mercifully relaxed at last.
“That’s the first time anyone’s ever…I’ll remember that…always.” When he managed to open his eyes again, Hermione
was glowing down at him, the tiniest smile at her lips and in her eyes. “Was that…okay?” he asked awkwardly. This time, it was Hermione
who was unable to speak, but she nodded eagerly. After a moment, she spoke again.

“We’ll still be friends, won’t we?”

“O’ course we will! I….”

“Good. Because that’s most important, isn’t it?” she
interrupted him. The subject of becoming
more than friends, it seemed to Ron, was closed.

With a little pang of regret that
he hadn’t quite the courage to tell her how he really
felt, to say the words that he needed to say as much as she needed to hear
them, Ron closed his trousers and robe, and then made room for Hermione to lie
down beside him. She was about to when
they heard footsteps on the dormitory stairs.

“Weren’t your notes on my
night…Hermione?” Harry stopped dead in the open doorway. “Ron…?”
He cast the pair of them a curious, incredulous sort of smile where they
sat, sprawled indecorously across Ron’s bed, both looking heartily guilty. Harry couldn’t quite believe that his two
best friends had been cloistered up in the boys’ dormitory snogging (at the
very least) by the looks of it; but Ron was definitely not asleep, Hermione’s
notes, he noticed, were still lying untouched on his night table, and there was
an odd, but not altogether unfamiliar smell hanging about the room.

Hermione had managed to compose
herself and pull her face into a relatively innocent expression. Ron, however, continued to goggle at
Harry. Harry waited. One of them was going to have to speak. Thinking quickly, Hermione decided that the
best tack would be to tell the truth.

“Ron decided not to go to bed after
all, Harry. He ran into a little trouble
with Flitwick’s homework. I was just giving him a hand,” she said as
airily as she could. Ron snorted. “Bless you,” she said quickly, shooting him a
fractious look. “Right!” she said,
suddenly brisk, “off to check over that essay.”
She sprung up from the bed, snatched her notes from the table and was
out the door before Harry could say more than,

“But…?”

“I think I’ll have her look over mine
too, mate,” said Ron.

“But…?” said Harry again. Ron grabbed his bag as well and rushed out
after Hermione.

The three of them got settled into squashy armchairs around a table in the
common room and pulled out their Defense assignments. Hermione checked her essay against her
notes. Evidently satisfied, she began
rummaging in her bag, putting her notes away as Harry and Ron passed her their
papers. She resurfaced a moment later
with several of the fist-sized cherries.
Placing them in the middle of the table, she said,

“If either of you fancy my
cherries, help yourself.” A gale of
raucous laughter interrupted her reading almost before she had begun. Looking up in alarm, Hermione huffed at Harry
and Ron, and then, in a tone strongly reminiscent of Professor McGonagall, she
asked, “What on earth is so funny?”

END.

* * *

AN:
Ha! So now we know why
Hermione went all wonky when Ron and Lavender got
together! Reviews are
much appreciated, so lemme know what you
think, huh? ~DR
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Hermione\'s Helping Hand