"Oh, my sweet Dolores...how beautiful you are. Oh goodness, Professor…!" These awestruck sentiments fell from his lips as Professor Umbridge held him, sublime in her shortness, pink cardigan fluffed up on end as he clutched it fervently. He could feel her small, sharp nails stroking his cheek. Her short fingers were clammy, cold and soft. But it was a good feeling…

Ron woke up.

And he was more than slightly scared. What the heck had he been dreaming? No, he knew what he had been dreaming. He just didn't want to admit it. A romantic session in a broom cupboard with – with – he didn't want to allow her name into his thoughts. The implications of his dream were worrying. The more worrying thing was that he knew, even as he struggled to keep the thought from his mind, that it had been a very, very pleasant dream.

"Whoa, enough!" Ron said aloud. The outburst was involuntary. He heard Seamus stir in the four poster beside him. Harry was still fast asleep, it seemed. It was only four in the morning, after all.

Ron slipped out of bed and crept past the other boys' sleeping forms, over to the window. The moonlight cast weird shadows at this early hour, and bathed in its ghostly light, the Hogwarts grounds looked strangely unreal. Trying to be quiet, he dipped his hand gently into the silver jug balanced on the windowsill and splashed his face with water, trying to wash away the remnants of that dream.

It didn't work. He ended up going back to bed, still with a rather comforting image in his mind of Dolores Umbridge, former and hated teacher at Hogwarts, holding him to her soft body…

"Ron?"

Harry was standing over him, and he looked grim. Of course, he rarely looked happy nowadays, not since the war had ended. So Voldemort was dead, and Harry had increased his fame tenfold, if that were possible. But since Ginny had died, his friend was just not the same. The three of them - he, Harry and Hermione - had returned to Hogwarts to complete their education, but Harry's heart just was not truly in his studies.

Yet today Harry looked grimmer than usual.

"Yeah?" said Ron sleepily, rubbing his eyes. He had an uneasy feeling that he had just been woken from a similar dream to the one he'd had in the middle of the night.

"Bad news. Umbridge is back."

Ah, Fate.

"Wh – what?" stuttered Ron, feeling his heart give an involuntary leap and trying to pretend that hadn't happened. "Nah, that can't be true … " he trailed off.

"She arrived last night. I saw her walking past the Fat Lady this morning … ugly as ever," he ended bitterly.

"But why?"

"Filling in for Slughorn till he gets over his dragonpox … but honestly, of all the teachers we could've had, we get that fat old toad."

"She's not a –" Ron stopped himself – what was he doing? Defending her? "I mean … yeah. Bad luck. When's our first class with her?" The eager question slipped out before he thought.

"It's our lucky day," said Harry, not noticing Ron's slightly odd behaviour. "First thing this morning."

The Potions classroom had changed dramatically since Horace Slughorn had left it the night before. The students filed in slowly, identical expressions of revulsion appearing on their faces.

The entire room was pink. Hearts and flowers adorned the walls, and several posters of singing house elves dressed in pink togas were plastered on the wall.

"Nice," said Hermione as she joined Ron and Harry in the classroom.

"Hem, hem." Dolores Umbridge entered the room, a sugary smile on her toad-like face.

Harry shuddered at this familiar cough. Ron had once hated it too, but now … why, he thought he could listen to it a little more. Just another sweet little cough? He found himself strangely disappointed when Umbridge did not oblige.

The lesson progressed in a kind of haze for Ron. He could not keep his mind on the essay they had been set (Explain the Magical Properties of a Stupor-Inducing Draught). Instead his eyes kept wandering over to the teacher's desk, where Umbridge sat complacently scratching away at some parchment with a long, fluffy pink quill.

Once or twice she glanced up at the class, and caught him looking at her. She frowned at first. Then she looked disconcerted, and seemed about to rise from her seat. But she changed her mind.

The fifth time, however, Ron could have sworn she blushed, and he hastily lowered his eyes back to him parchment, resolving to keep them there.

At the end of the lesson she dismissed the class, then as if on an impulse she called out sweetly, "Oh and Mr Weasley, I did not notice you doing much work. Please stay behind so we can arrange your detention."

Ron's heart sank. She was displeased with him. Perhaps that blush had been imagined.

He approached her with a long face, though as he got close he suddenly realised the benefits of being in trouble with her. Together, alone, together … the words played over and over in his head, and he felt slightly dizzy as he inhaled Umbridge's sickly perfume.

"Now, my dear," intoned Umbridge sweetly. "I believe you have something you wanted to say to me?"

Ron could see Harry waiting outside the door, but as Dolores' hand reached out to rest on his own, he felt as though an electric shock had passed through him. All thought of Harry was forgotten. She was touching him! They were close!

"Well, my boy … it seems from your gaze this morning that you would perhaps like a detention like this," said Dolores quietly, stroking his neck. Ron felt himself melt. To his amazement, he saw his own repressed feelings reflected in the squat woman's shallow eyes. Harry was looking at them quizzically through the door, and Umbridge noticed. She drew Ron into the Potions cupboard, and continued her attentions.

"Or perhaps like this…?" she murmured, laying her soft hands on his chest.

"Ah…" murmured Ron. "It's my dream!"

He dissolved under her caresses.

"Oh, Dolly…"

Ten minutes later, a very dishevelled Ron walked out of the door to meet his puzzled friends. Their expressions turned from confusion to suspicion and then to horror as they noticed the pink lipstick kisses plastered over his face.

It had been - ahem! an interesting detention.