Disclaimer : I do not own Harry Potter in any shape or form.

A/N - Written for Mugglemama who requested...

First 'real' date
drunk!Hermione is a horny!Hermione
accidental ingestion of aphrodisiac potion

Thank you to Aaliyanna and Jak! Without you, this would have just been awful.

The Third 'First' Date


Ron Weasley was bloody nervous. So nervous in fact, that he changed his shirt three times, changed his belt twice, and changed his shoes over and over again, until George couldn't take it any longer. The older Weasley had to call his brother a tosser just to get him to pick the pair of black loafers he had already chosen before he had changed his mind. To make things worse, he was sweating; which wasn't sexy. Not at all.

With a sigh Ron looked at himself in the mirror and decided that if he was to look perfect, this was as good as it was going to get.

"I still think this is a bad idea."

Ron chose to ignore his brother, who seemed to find it in his best interest to annoy him by leaning against the doorway in a lazy manner. "This...is a bloody brilliant idea."

"Have you learnt nothing from your previous 'first' dates, little brother? I don't think fate wants you to go out on a date. I think it wants you stay home and save your money."

Ron buttoned the cuffs of his sleeves before straightening his shirt and appraising himself in the mirror. "Fate had nothing to do with it. The first time was a surprise, which shouldn't have been. If she knew we were going out on our first date, she wouldn't have cancelled on me. The second time," he said glaring at George for good measure, "was your fault."

"How was I supposed to know that you were going to be at that same restaurant?"

Ron turned to raise an eyebrow at his older brother. "And you just decided to take Mum and Dad out for dinner? Just like that?"

The tiny glimmer in his brother's eye proved to Ron that it had been no mistake. "Sometimes, fate works in mysterious ways," George said wisely.

Ron scoffed. "I bet."

"But since I don't want fate to ruin this 'first' date of yours, I thought I'd give you a little gift."

Ron barely managed to catch the vial his brother tossed at him. "What's this?" It looked like a tiny bottle that was usually used to sell small doses of firewhiskey.

"Liquid courage." The smirk George had across his face made Ron relatively sure that he shouldn't consume whatever it was for the sake of his sanity.

"Uh huh." Carefully, he placed the vial of liquid on the table right next to him before he grabbed the Muggle blazer and shrugged it on. He did look quite dapper in it, now that he thought about it. "I think I've got enough bleeding courage to channel the whole of Gryffindor. But, thanks mate. Good to know you have so much of confidence in me."

George looked absolutely affronted. "Here I am being the perfect big brother and you can't even muster up a thank you." He shook his head in disappointment. "I'd never thought I'd see the day when manners went right out the window with you."

Ron, who was at that moment fiddling with the blazer nervously, couldn't help but pick up the pile of his discarded clothes and throw it hard at his beloved older brother. "Oh, sod off. I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work."

George ducked easily before going back to his lazy stance. "And what am I trying to do?"

"You're trying to ruin my date with Hermione."

"And why would I do that?"

"So you could win that bloody bet with Charlie. I know what's going on." Finally deciding that he was indeed ready, Ron straightened himself one more time before he grabbed all his things and made to leave the room. "And I don't appreciate it."

George simply shrugged innocently as Ron brushed passed him.

In hindsight, he really should have checked George's pockets before he did that.

Hermione Granger was nervous. She couldn't remember the last time she was this anxious without the fear of an oncoming exam. She concentrated painstakingly on the clothes she was wearing, the light make up that heightened her features and most of all, her hair; which she knew Ron liked loose in all its curly glory. And it had all been worth it.

The moment he had seen her, he had stopped in his tracks with a breathy, 'Bloody hell'. It seemed to take all of his self-control not to keep his hands on her at all time, and the way his eyes ravaged her every time he looked her way always had the added bonus of leaving her breathless. Part of her wanted the date to end quickly despite the amount of work he had put into it, because all she could think about was having his skin naked against hers, his hand fisted in her hair, and his low voice swearing against her neck. She would always chastise him for his choice of words later, but at that moment, there was nothing that could turn her on more than Ron saying what he would love to do to her.

The date started to go splendidly well...at the start. He picked her up, took her to a nice Muggle restaurant in an effort to give them more privacy. And bless him, even though Ron was a bit out of sorts in such a different environment, the knowledge that he did it all for her, caused her heart to beat just a little bit faster.

Everything was going fine, until a booming voice called for them.

"Ronald Weasley! Is that you?"

They shared a look of panic before Ron sputtered awkwardly as he stood up to greet the new financial backer of the Chudley Canons. "Mr Freyer!"

Hermione's eyes shut in dread. She never liked this man.

"Come, my boy, what are you doing here?" Mr Freyer asked in obvious shock. "And in a Muggle restaurant at that?" The man then looked around before leaning forward and repeating in a hushed tone, "In a Muggle restaurant?", almost as if he was suddenly aware that Muggles knew nothing of magic.

Hermione tried her hardest to hope that he wouldn't notice her and just move on. But that wasn't the case, it seemed.

While Ron looked sheepishly at the big, bald wizard, Hermione was pulled out of her seat with one strong tug. "Ah! Ms Granger. What a nice surprise to see you again."

"You too, Mr Freyer," she said politely.

"Alastair, please," the man said with a small bow. "You two simply must join us. Don't you think Bridget?" he asked the woman who can only be described as his wife.

"Oh yes, Alastair, they should. We have a table set for the six of us. I'm sure the maƮtre d' wouldn't have a problem with setting two more places."

Ron shared a panicked look with Hermione before he turned back to the intrusive man. "Actually, Hermione and I-"

"Will be more than willing to join me and the rest of the sponsors for a meal? I say, Ronald, it's a surprising thing to meet the Keeper out and about on a Friday night when there's a game on Saturday morning, hm? Besides, I'm sure the rest of the chaps would like to have a small word with you, and Ms Granger," he added quickly with a sly wink towards her. "After all, a risky business this Quidditch is. We never know when people might lose interest."

The hidden message under that fake male bravado was insanely clear, and Hermione mourned the loss of the quiet dinner she had envisioned with Ron. The moment she met his gaze, she knew what she had to do. "Of course, Mr Freyer. We would be delighted to join you."

"Excellent!" the man said with a yelp like he had just received a year-end bonus before he hurried to his dinner party who were already making a loud racket.

Ron looked at her apologetically. "Sorry."

"Don't be. This is your career, after all." She smiled at him softly. "We'll have our first date some other time."

The look he gave her almost made her lean forward and kiss him. "You're brilliant, you know that?"

She grinned. "I've heard rumours."

"Bloody brilliant, then," he smirked, before leading her towards the table, a warm hand resting encouragingly on her lower back.

Hermione took a deep breath and prepared herself. What she really needed now was a stiff drink.

They had been smiling widely for fifty painstaking minutes, and Ron was having enough of it. His eyes would shift to Hermione who was left out of the topic of Quidditch, and his guilt would increase with every small, encouraging smile she sent his way. This was his third botched attempt at a 'first date' and he was beginning to think that they were bloody jinxed.

His eyes especially kept going back to Hermione when he noticed how she started squirming in her seat. If she wanted to go to the loo all she had to do was excuse herself.

"You okay, love?" he questioned gently as he leant towards her, effectively ignoring the raucous laughter and chatter their table was giving out.

Hermione let out a breathless laugh. "I'm fine. I just..." She started fanning herself with her hand. "Is it just me, or is it really hot in here?"

Ron eyed his blazer which was sitting on his girlfriend's shoulders. "Weren't you just complaining that it was chilly?"

"That was a while back." She shrugged off the blazer and handed it to him. Then she took the serviette on her lap and started dabbing it around her neck and exposed skin right above the neckline of her dress. Ron's eyes immediately fell to her flushed skin and the quick succession of her perky tits as her breathing seemed to change to quick shallow breaths.

With a quick glance to ensure that the dinner party was still otherwise engaged by Mr Freyer's glory talks of Quidditch of old, Ron leaned closer to her and placed a comforting hand on her knee. "Are you sure you're alright, love? You seem... out of sorts."

The minute his hand touched her knee, she jerked slightly, biting her lower lip and closing her eyes for a split second. Merlin, she looked like she was going to come then and there. Surprised, Ron moved away his hand, only to feel her small fingers stop him. "No. Don't," she said breathlessly before she placed his hand back on her knee; only this time, under the material of her dress.

Ron felt a slow flush creep up his ears, his gaze immediately falling on the individuals sitting at their table. "Hermione, are you sure you're alright?"

Hermione nodded, closing her eyes briefly and resting her head on his shoulder before she moved his hand up her inner thigh. Ron could practically feel the wet heat from between her legs as she spread her hips wider so as to accommodate his wandering hand. Bloody hell, she was ready. She was more than ready, while they were stuck at a bloody dinner table in a bloody Muggle restaurant with his bloody boss. The situation couldn't be more bleeding perfect.

"Hermione," he asked again, leaning even closer so as not to get the attention of the other guests.

He couldn't really finish that thought since Hermione leaned closer to him, her brilliant smelling skin filling his nostrils before she whispered a breathy 'Ron' against his ear just as her hand led his to the apex of her thighs and he felt how ready she was for him. Bloody hell, she wasn't even wearing knickers! Ron felt himself twitch in anticipation, and cursed Muggle clothing twenty ways to Sunday.


He snapped his head up, plenty aware that his hand - which was starting to cramp up, was touching his girlfriend's wet heat while she moved against him slowly, at a crowded restaurant no less. "Yeah," he gasped, knowing very well that a violent flush was spreading across his cheeks.

Mr Freyer squinted at him. "You look unusually flushed, my boy. Would you like something to drink?"

"Actually, Mr Freyer, I think we should..."

"Spit it out, my boy."

He couldn't. He really couldn't; because Hermione's hand was under the table and stroking him, and he didn't even have the bloody balls to stop her. "Um..."

They all turned to look at him expectantly as he became relatively less comfortable since every upward movement was giving him less space than before. He really couldn't say what he really wanted to, which was, "Bloody hell, Hermione, open your legs and let me fuck you." Definitely wouldn't be appropriate.

"I think the boy is flustered by the presence of a great Quidditch player, Preston," Mr Freyer said jovially to the man seated to his right.

Preston Aames laughed heartily. "Mr Weasley is a great man himself. After all, I only won the Quidditch League Championship three years in a row. Mr Weasley has done so much more."

"I say, Ronald, is Ms Granger, alright? She's been laying her head on that shoulder of yours for quite some time."

Hermione chose that moment to stroke him a bit harder and move against his hand with a slight whimper escaping her. Dear Merlin, she whimpered. "Tired," Ron choked out. He was seriously uncomfortable now. And his skin was growing hotter with every passing second. He needed her now. With great self-restraint that he didn't know he possessed, Ron took his hand out from under her dress and moved hers away from him. "Actually, she needs to make a call." He stood up quickly, partly to stop her hands from grabbing him again, and partly to hide the obvious bulge in his trousers.

Mr Freyer leant forward to whisper, "You can make floo calls from here?"

"Um...yeah," Ron mumbled distractedly as he helped Hermione to her feet. She really did look flushed, her whole body practically radiating heat.

Without another word, he pulled Hermione by the hand and led her out. He barely noticed everyone's curious glances as he tried to move quickly through the confusing maze of tables, while keeping Hermione in front of him at all times. He nearly knocked a waiter over in his haste.

The moment he led her out of the dinning area, Ron turned to discuss exactly what had happened when Hermione pulled him in to the loo. A women's loo no less.

"Hermio-umph." He wasn't allowed to finish saying her name. Her lips were on his immediately, her hands reaching for his belt, and he wasn't about to say no. But still, there was still the matter of the bleeding door. "Wait," he gasped as he pulled away from her, only to groan when she roughly pulled his shirt up and ran her fingers under the material to rake her nails against his blazing hot skin. "Door," he managed to rasp out finally, still unable to believe that she was randy enough for a quick fuck in a public place.

"No time," she gasped against his neck, which only made his eyes widen. Since when did Hermione not care if a door wasn't locked? Out of pure respect for her and her normal wishes, Ron began to untangle himself from her, which was as difficult as untangling himself from the tentacles of a giant squid. Her hands were everywhere. He needed to close that door; only because he needed to fuck her. And he would be damned if he got to fuck her only to be hexed later for not acting gentlemanly enough.

But his sure fire plan of looking after his own balls was vastly cut short by his sexy girlfriend.

"You have twenty three freckles. I counted," she breathed out against the base of his ear before she bit his lower ear lobe gently, her teeth grating against the soft skin. The shiver that coursed through his spine did nothing to distract him from her; if anything, his hands were already under her dress, bunching up the material as he palmed her arse.

But he had to concentrate. "Hermione," he groaned out. He was in pain. He really was. He was rock hard and he needed her.

Finally unzipping his trousers, she put a warm hand in and grabbed him to the surface, his hardness immediately getting sufficient attention as she stroked his pulsing cock quickly. "They're right here," she whispered before licking a trail from below his ear to the collar of his shirt that she managed to push aside to give her more access.

"Fuck." He couldn't take it anymore. Damn the door! Damn the hex! Damn everything! He just wanted her.

With a feral growl, he kissed her, lifting her from the back of her thighs so she could easily wrap those gorgeous legs around his waist. The moan that tore from her throat made his cock twitch with anticipation. Roughly, he deposited her on the sink, his hands already spreading her thighs wider. Hermione held onto the mirror behind her while she kissed him furiously; from his lips, nipping her way across the rough stubble of his cheek, and down the column of his throat while her fingers pulled the hair at the nape of his neck painfully.

He positioned himself at her entrance, stopping only to look her in the eyes and say, "Don't hex me."

Hermione leant forward, her fingernails raking his chest, and her warm, gasping breath making his skin hot. "I'll hex you if you don't fuck me. Now."

How he loved it when she swore like him. With a deep chuckle, he entered her; the feeling of having himself buried causing him to forget everything but her. When she whimpered, he knew he had to move. Slowly, he started, one hand holding onto her hip as another pulled down the neckline of her dress and bra so he could feast his eyes on the two most perfect tits in the world. He wasted no time in devouring one pert nipple, then another, revelling in the gasps and mourns he was causing Hermione to elicit. They moved fast, their kisses sloppy and wet, their hands touching each other everywhere. In the back of his mind, Ron was sure that this was one of his fantasies finally realised.

When Hermione's breathing started to come out in short, shallow breaths, he knew she was close. He sped up his actions, pulling on her nipple with his teeth while he thrust inside her with deep, strong strokes. It wasn't long before she came with a tiny cry, her walls clenching around him and causing him to groan with the absolute ecstasy of the moment. After a few more powerful thrusts, he spilled his load inside her, shuddering as he dropped his forehead- now covered with a sheen of sweat - onto her shoulder, and thanking all things magical that she was still taking the contraceptive potion daily.

They stayed like that for a moment, until their breaths started falling into a regular pattern.

Ron couldn't help but chuckle before placing a light kiss against her neck. "What was that about?"

He could feel her smile against the base of his ear, something she always did after sex,and now he knew why: she liked his freckles. "I don't know," she said amidst her own laugh. "And here I thought firewhiskey is supposed to calm you down, not set your senses on fire."

Ron immediately moved back so he could look at her. "Firewhiskey?" They didn't order any firewhiskey.

Hermione nodded, curious by his tone. "The vial in your jacket," she clarified. "I thought you wouldn't mind me taking a sip."

With a groan, he buried his head against his girlfriend's shoulder. "I'm going to kill George."

Hermione stroked his back lightly. "That wasn't firewhiskey, was it?"

Ron just shook his head to signal 'no'.

With a small sigh, Hermione started to untangle herself from him. "Let's clean up before someone walks in." Hopping down from the sink, she looked at herself in the mirror and started to straighten up her dress that was now noticeably crushed.

Ron was just zipping up his fly when the door opened.

Bridget and the other two wives who accompanied their husbands stopped dead in their tracks.

Ron smiled sheepishly, quickly moving his hand from his trousers, and looked at Hermione who seemed to shift almost as awkwardly.

"We were just..." Hermione began lamely. "I was...and he...?"

She looked at him pleadingly. Ron honestly had nothing to say that could possibly lessen the embarrassment of the situation.

"Don't worry, dearies," Bridget Freyer said with a slight smirk. "We'll just let you two..." She gestured to the general area. "-clean up." Then, ushering the other two women who kept looking at the latter part of Ron in blatant curiosity, she left.

Hermione fell against the same sink where Ron had fucked her not even two minutes ago and hid her face in her hands. "Oh God." He could barely hear her muffled words, but he could guess.

Ron tried to stop the flush from reaching his ears by trying to concentrate on other things; like killing the bloody wanker responsible for this whole mess. "It's okay. It's fine." He soothed.

Hermione dropped her hands and looked at him incredulously. "How is this going to be fine?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm going to kill George," he said in a matter of fact tone.

"And for another?" Hermione questioned.

"Let's just go out there and pretend that nothing happened. They didn't see anything, after all. They're just guessing."

"Yeah," she mumbled slowly. "You're right. You could have been here for any number of reasons."

He nodded. "Right."

"Like..." She looked at him thoughtfully.

"How about we clean up, and then go? We will probably think of something on the way."

"Alright," Hermione said hesitantly, before she pulled out her wand. After a few cleaning spells, they straightened up and got ready to leave to go back to the table. Hermione grabbed his arm before they stepped opened the door. "My zipper came down?"

"Yeah," Ron mumbled. "That'll work." And with a final pat to make sure his hair was no longer sticking up in a bed-head fashion, they walked back hand in hand.

If anyone ever asks, Ron wouldn't be able to deny that that was one of the most brilliant things to ever happen to him at a restaurant. But still, George was going to be hexed tonight.


The End.