Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to it. Never have. Never will.

Notes/Warning: This is my second Rose/Harry story. I know, it's a bit of an unusual pairing, so please read the warning about the age of the characters before reading the story.

In this story, Rose Weasley (born circa 2006) is fifteen years of age. This makes Harry (born in 1980, twenty-six years before Rose) about forty-one. If you are not okay with Rose being underage, please refrain from reading this story. Further warnings: If you do not like the idea of incest/underage sex/premarital sex/weird endings/nasty implications/cliffhangers, I suggest that you not read this story. You have been warned! Thanks, and enjoy!

This is somewhat of a light "M" rated story (compared to my other stories, at least), but I didn't want to risk putting it in the "T" section. This is in the "humor" section mainly for my sick little twist at the end. Hope you like it.

This oneshot was written by request for Fat ppl are harder to kidnap. I really liked your idea, and I hope you enjoy the story I produced from it.

A Teacher's Seduction

a Harry Potter fan fiction

by TheAmericanWeasley

"Tell me you want it." Professor Potter's voice was booming, demanding, and yet incredibly sexy.

"Ooh," Rose moaned, her back arching in response to his touch. She looked down: the head of Harry's manhood was lightly pressed into her weeping pussy, but not yet going in. "I want it."

Her teacher smiled devilishly and roughly entered her wet inner walls. He threw his head back in pleasure, reaching down to fondle her erect nipples.

"Fuck," he cursed, slowing moving within her womanhood. "Rose...Rose...Rose..."

"Rose," Professor Harry James Potter said sharply, tapping his student on the arm.

Rose Weasley snapped out of her fantasy, her eyes immediately darting up to the man standing before her.

"Professor?" she said quietly.

"You were gazing off into space. Did you hear any of the lesson I was giving?"

Rose felt the blood rush to her freckled cheeks when she noticed that all of her peers had turned around in their desks to observe her. She ran a sweaty hand through her long brownish-red locks.

She avoided eye contact with her teacher as she spoke, "I'm sorry, Professor."

"This has been happening much too often. Stay after class, I'd like to discuss this problem with you," he finished before turning, and taking his place at the front of the classroom to end the lesson.

Several of the Slytherins snickered in her direction. Rose's friend, a fellow Gryffindor girl named Yvonne, leaned over to her and spoke in a hushed, concerned tone.

"What's up with you lately, Rose?"

The fifteen-year-old Weasley girl shrugged. She knew that her attraction to Harry was wrong. He was her teacher, her parents' best friend, and practically her uncle (even though his relationship with Ginny Weasley had ended before they took the next step and got married).

The class ended a minute later, and the students left the room in large groups, leaving Rose to face her teacher alone. She looked up: Professor Potter sat behind his desk, his hands in his lap, waiting.

Rose stood up from her desk and took the dreaded walk up to him. Being alone with him was dangerous. She didn't know if she could control herself, and having him staring at her like that – his emerald eyes piercing and intense, his handsome features calm yet serious – was certainly not helping.

"Rose, do you have any explanation for your recent behavior? This is the third time this week I've had to snap you out of your daydreaming. I'd hate to have to inform your parents about this."

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said honestly. "I've been distracted."

"And your marks are certainly reflecting it. You've always gotten 'Outstanding' on every assignment. Your last two papers were barely worth the 'Acceptable' grade I gave them."

She looked down in shame, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. How could she be fully honest with him without admitting her dirty secret? That all the time she spent daydreaming in class she was actually fantasizing about having lusty, rough, passionate sex with him? That she had actually been attracted to him for the past two years, which had eventually developed into a severe infatuation?

He spoke again. "Is something happening outside of class? You know you can always talk to me. I may be your teacher, but I'm also your friend."

"No, everything is fine," she said flatly. Harry straightened up in his seat.

"Well something must be happening. 'Outstanding' students just don't fall down to 'Acceptable' for no reason."

Rose's face reddened. She felt a strange mixture of embarrassment, and anger. Why was it such a big bloody deal that her marks had dropped? At least she was still passing, and it was only in this class – Defense Against the Dark Arts – that she struggled, solely because of her teacher. She bit her lip and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself.

"I'm sorry."

Harry's expression softened. "Just promise me that you'll do better. 'Acceptable' is an all right grade, but I know you are so much better than that. You were blessed with your mother's brains, and I expect you to use them to the fullest."

She beamed at him, revealing her perfect white teeth. "I promise, Professor Potter."

Harry smiled in return. "You can call me Harry when we are alone."

The friendliness in his voice caused an unwanted stirring in between her legs. She nodded at him and left the classroom, his face still haunting her thoughts.

Three weeks had now passed since Rose and Harry's discussion. Since that, Rose had made an honest attempt to focus less on her teacher, and more on her studies. Harry was thoroughly pleased with her significant improvement.

"I'm sure all of you will be pleased to know that I am not assigning any holiday homework."

The entire class released a relieved sigh. Harry smiled, remembering how frustrated he used to get when his teachers assigned work over breaks.

He cleared his throat and continued, "I just hope you all have a good Christmas break. I expect you to return well rested and ready to learn."

The bell rang at that moment, and the class voiced their appreciative goodbyes before leaving the classroom.

Yvonne tugged at the sleeve of Rose's robe, noticing that she was not moving from her desk.

"Rose," she said, "let's go."

"You go on without me," said Rose, rising to her feet. "I'll catch up."

Her friend raised an eyebrow. "Why? What will you be doing?"

"I want to speak with Har – I mean, Professor Potter."

"You're not in trouble again, are you?"

"No."

"Well, okay. See you later," Yvonne finished, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She left, leaving Rose alone with her teacher.

Rose cleared her throat. Harry, who had been grading papers at his desk, looked up in surprise.

"Rose," he said, smiling. "I thought everyone had gone. What can I do for you?"

"I was just wondering..." she began, slowly approaching him, "if you were going to be at the Christmas party my grandparents are hosting?"

"Of course, I've never missed a celebration at The Burrow."

"Cool, I'll be there too," she said, and mentally scolded herself for stating something so obvious. "I saved up some money to buy this new dress for the occasion. I think everyone will love it."

"Well, I look forward to seeing it."

There was an awkward silence, in which Harry looked down at the pile of papers still waiting to be graded, and Rose took to staring at him, admiring the chiseled features that made her body quiver. She found herself inching her way behind his desk. They were much closer now: she could feel his energy, his presence...

"I must say," said Harry, snapping Rose out of her lustful thoughts. He looked up at her, only vaguely noticing how close she was to him. "Your work has improved a great deal since our discussion a few weeks ago."

She shrugged, her mind elsewhere. "I've been trying."

"Look," Harry said, opening one of the many drawers of his large, wooden desk. "Your grandmother sent these to me. I was wondering if you would share some with me." He pulled out a small box, which he opened to reveal about a dozen biscuits wrapped in a napkin. He offered one to her, which she took, shuddering slightly as their hands made brief contact.

Rose sunk her teeth into the crumby treat, her eyes widening as she watched Harry do the same. He slowly ran his tongue over his lips, collecting any excess crumbs. She watched, mesmerized by his careful actions. A single crumb was left, resting on the corner of his mouth.

"Um," said Rose, after finishing off her own baked good. "You've got something..." she brought her hand up to her mouth, indicating where the crumb was.

"Oh." Harry wiped the corners of his mouth, but the crumb remained, determined as ever.

"Here," laughed Rose, leaning forward. "Let me get it for you."

She brought her hand to his face, where she delicately flicked the crumb away. She knew that it was dangerous for her to be this close to him, with only a small amount of space keeping his lips from connecting with hers.

"It's funny," Harry said, his warm breath touching her fingers. "When your Aunt Ginny and I were still together, she would scold me all the time about having food on my face."

"Why did you two split up?" she asked curiously. "If you don't mind my asking."

"I don't," he began, "I dunno, we just fell out of love, I suppose. She's back with Dean Thomas, I heard. So, that's that. I'm just glad to see her happy, even if it's not with me."

Rose felt guilty for bringing up the topic, for she noticed her professor's face fall with sadness. She leaned forward even more, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, as if she were going to hug him.

"She doesn't know what she's missing. You're a great man."

"Thank you."

"If I were her, I would have married you when I still had the chance." Their extreme closeness caused Harry to shift uncomfortably in his seat, staring at her warily. But, as he stared, he couldn't deny a strange temptation that she presented.

A forbidden temptation.

Her face was so close, allowing him to make out every detail on her youthful features. He could count how many freckles were splattered across her cheeks and nose. Her breath was warm with a mild minty smell. Her lips were thin and tinted with pink. Her red hair, tinged with brown, framed her round face attractively. She was, in the simplest of words, beautiful.

As if all common sense had left him, Harry found himself leaning forward, just as Rose leaned in even more. Their lips were only a centimeter apart when the sound of a door opening caused the two to swiftly break apart.

Rose looked up, ready to hex the person that dared to interrupt her seduction. She was surprised to see her friend Yvonne, staring at her with raised eyebrows.

"Rose?" she said. "You're still here?"

"Er, yeah," Rose said, coming out from behind Harry's desk. "Why are you here?"

"I forgot my quill." her friend said, going over to her desk. She picked up the quill she had left and stowed it away in her book bag. "I would have gotten it later, but it's the one my Mum got me for my birthday, so I didn't want to risk someone else taking it. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," Rose answered quickly. "Goodbye Professor Potter."

"Goodbye," Harry muttered in response.

Rose left the classroom, her friend chattering away on her side. Disappointment softened her features, and she looked back at the door to Professor Potter's classroom with great desire. But, out of the ashes of her interrupted attempt at seduction, grew a new realization: she had to have him. No matter how wrong it was, and how much trouble they could get in if found out, she had to have him.

And she would have him, as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Christmas at The Burrow was more cheerful than ever. Bright lights illuminated every room in the house, and the smell of pies and other baked goods wafted through every corner, hallway, and room; creating a warm, holiday feeling.

Presents had been opened (Rose was quite pleased with the new school supplies and clothing she received), meals had been eaten, and the Weasley family had now retired to the magically expanded living room, where they sipped at mugs of butterbeer.

Rose sat on a couch in between her parents. She was quite satisfied with her appearance: her cascading red hair was pulled back in a tight bun, with a single lock sectioned off near the front to hang in a curl by her face. Her slim yet well developed body was clad in a knee length crimson dress. The v-neck exposed only a small amount of cleavage. The whole outfit was completed by matching red heels and mistletoe earrings, perfect for the occasion.

She eyed Harry over the rim of her mug. Rose thought he was more handsome than usual, though he looked a bit awkward with Dean and Ginny sitting across the room.

Throughout the entire celebration, she had found no adequate opportunity to pounce on Harry. There was always someone in the room with them, and it frustrated her beyond belief. She dug through every crevice in her mind, searching for a good enough reason to pull Harry aside.

Maybe he could help me clean the dishes, she thought, but her mind quickly retorted with, No, Grandma Weasley already charmed the dishes to wash themselves.

Finally, after several more minutes of sipping at her beverage and thinking, she decided upon her action. It would take sacrifice – several months of saving her money and begging her parents to be exact – and a bit of luck, but it would be worth it if she succeeded. Besides, she could always magically clean it up later.

With a firm grip on her mug, she intentionally missed her mouth but titled her mug anyway, splattering the butterbeer on her precious dress. She stood up in fake shock, looking down at the large stain now growing on the red material with her mouth agape.

"Oh Rose!" said her mother, standing up to examine the damage. "Your dress!"

"Bloody hell. I'm so sorry, Mum. I'll go clean it up right now," she continued to stare wide-eyed at her dress, silently praying that she wasn't exaggerating her shock to the point where it was suspicious. She never considered herself much of an actress. "I might need some help, though. I've never been that good at cleaning spells," she finished with a lie. Like her mother, almost all spell work came to her easily.

"Here, I'll help," her mother said.

Rose's eyes darted in Harry's direction, hoping that luck would be on her side. Harry sat his drink down and stood up.

"I'll help her, Hermione. You stay here and enjoy yourself."

"You're sure?" Hermione asked.

"Of course. I'm a teacher, it's my job to help. C'mon, Rose. We'll go in the kitchen and straighten this out."

Without looking too eager, Rose followed Harry into the kitchen, where she closed the door behind them to ensure that they wouldn't be seen. Harry didn't notice.

"Hm, let's see. Come into the light, Rose."

She obediently stepped forward a bit, standing directly under the light.

"This is nothing, really. Here," he removed his wand from his pocket and pointed it at her torso. "Scourgify." Instantly, the stain disappeared into thin air.

"Thank you," Rose said gratefully.

"You're very welcome," he replied, and stowed his wand away in his pocket. "Shall we rejoin the others now?"

"No," Rose said quickly. Noticing Harry's confused expression, she slowed down and recovered, "I mean...there's something I wanted to tell you."

"What?"

"Well...I..." she approached him slowly, having not the slightest idea where she was going with this. "I noticed you looking at Aunt Ginny and Dean out there."

"Oh," said Harry, embarrassed. "Was I that obvious?"

"I don't think so. I was looking harder than I should have. You looked...uncomfortable."

He shrugged. "It's hard seeing her after all we've been through."

"Do you still love her?" She knew it was a personal question that she had no business asking, but she was curious, as she was about many things.

Again, he shrugged. "There are times when I feel like marching up to her and begging her to marry me. And then there are other times when I just think 'to hell with it', so I guess I really don't know."

"Do you think there will ever be anyone else in your life? Romantically, I mean?"

"Dunno. I hope so. I'm in my forties, so I'm not a young man anymore. Sometimes I feel like if I was meant to be in love and settle down, that special person would have presented herself by now."

"You don't know that for sure. Maybe that person has presented herself."

He quirked his eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe that person is right in front of you." And she leaned in without the slightest bit of hesitation, knowing that, in the heat of the moment, he would not stop her.
Their lips finally met in a slow but fiery kiss. She sighed into his mouth, feeling utterly complete. His lips were like a warm cushion against her mouth. She closed her eyes, becoming lost in the osculation. The world had dissolved around her, and all that was left was her and Harry, lost in this forbidden kiss.

Harry snaked his arms around her waist, crushing her lithe frame against his own larger build. He groped her, paying special attention to her perfectly round bum. This was wrong in every sense of the word, and he knew it. This was Rose Weasley: the baby he had once held, the child that he had watched blossom into a beautiful young woman, but still a teenager. This was the underage daughter of his best friends, making her forbidden fruit. Something that he could not have, should not have, no matter how badly he wanted her. She was the girl he had thought – until now, at least – that he loved like a daughter himself.

She placed her hands underneath his shirt, and ran her palms along his well-defined chest. His nipples hardened under her touch, and he whimpered into her mouth, which she was now opening to allow her tongue to collide with his.

He ran his hands under her dress, invading her delicious, creamy thighs. Finally, he ran into a patch of hot wetness, covered by the thin material of her knickers. Pushing them aside, he cupped her womanhood, immediately getting soaked with her arousal juices.

"Fuck," she cursed against his mouth. She rocked her nether regions against his hand, desperate for friction.

He kissed her cheek. "A young lady such as yourself shouldn't use such language."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be making me so wet."

"Enough talk," he demanded, and crushed his lips against hers once more. He was going to have her – right now, if that was the only way – and he didn't care about how much he risking for both of them. Himself: surely his job would be lost, the wizarding community would shun him, and Ron and Hermione would probably never speak to him again, unless it was to file charges. But Rose, what would she become if anyone were to find out? The school slut; a succubus. Even though she hadn't had intercourse with him (yet), things had a way of becoming exaggerated, especially at Hogwarts. She would be forever known as the girl responsible for turning a completely sensible older man into a pervert, and he would be the sick bastard that went along with it.

Harry was lost, with no possible way of finding himself and his sanity until he made love to her. Grabbing her bum, he lifted her off the floor and onto the counter top, where their kissing began anew. She pulled back after a moment. With her face reddened, her lips bruised, her hair becoming messy, and her dress pulled up, she looked an absolute horny mess.

She breathed a single word, "Please."

Harry was about to give in, when, suddenly, the sound of a door opening interrupted them.

Fuck.

They had no excuse. There was nothing that either Harry or Rose could say to excuse their position; Rose on the counter top, with Harry's hands wrapped around her waist, their faces close. To their horror, it was not only Ron that had walked in on them, but the entire Weasley family: not only Rose's parents, grandparents, and her younger brother Hugo, but also Ginny and Dean, all of Ron's brothers, and all of their wives and children.

Eyes wide, the sea of Weasleys stared at the scene before them, unable to move, blink, or speak. The younger children looked the most disturbed, with the exception of Ron and Hermione. Rose and Harry did not move, but just stared back at them in...shame? Harry was embarrassed as hell of course, and damn mad at himself that he didn't think of putting up a locking charm, but did he feel ashamed of himself? Did he regret snogging Rose Weasley?

No.

Hermione was the first to speak after the horrible silence. "We came to get more butterbeer...Harry..." she began, "what the...fuck are you doing?"

"We were..." Harry trailed off.

"You were snogging my teenage daughter," she said flatly.

"Our teenage daughter," Ron chimed in.

The room fell silent again. For one moment, Harry knew what hell was like, since, after the events of today, that was undoubtedly where he was going when his time came.

Mrs. Weasley walked awkwardly toward Ron, whispering in his ear, "We'll leave you to straighten this out." In a matter of seconds, the older woman had successfully shooed the rest of the the family away, leaving only Ron, Hermione, Rose, and Harry in the room, behind the privacy of a locked door.

Finally, Ron chose to break the hellish silence. Hands in his pockets, he took a step forward and asked what was probably the most unbelievable, awkward, disgusting, and yet strangely relieving question Harry and Rose had ever heard.

"May Hermione and I join?"