Ron Weasely walked slowly up the hundreds of stairs to the North Tower. Hedreaded his task, but knew it had to be done.

Trelawney had predicted Harry's death for the last time. Admittedly, Harry and Ron had always put up with her fatal forecasts for Harry, but lately she had been going too far.

Just last week Professor Trelawney had talked to the Daily Prophet, creating mass panic throughout Europe's wizarding community that the "Chosen One" would soon be dead due to an overdose of fire whiskey.

Recalling the blasphemous article made Ron's pure blood boil. His fair, freckly skin flushed crimson and his normally round blue eyes transformed into dark, angry slits.

Yes, Ron's mission to confront Trelawney was justified. He knew Harry would never do it, but as Harry's best friend, it was Ron's duty to stand up for him.

If only it didn't have to be so late at night…Ron glanced out a window as he passed, briefly noticing the velvety black sky, sprinkled liberally with brilliant dots of light.

Quidditch practice was taking up so much of his time though, and this was the first chance Ron had had to follow through with his plan. It was now or never.

Ron climbed the last set of tightly spiraling stairs until he reached the trapdoor into Trelawney's classroom. The silver ladder appeared in front of him, and he ascended the rungs, taking one last deep breath as he did so.

Trelawney was sitting at a table in the middle of the circular room with her back to Ron. Ron cleared his throat, and she spun around immediately.

"Oh, Mr. Weasely!" she gasped. "I was gazing into my crystal ball and I saw that you were approaching."

Ron snorted, and then tried to cover it up by coughing. Trelawney stood up, filling the air with sounds of her elaborate jewelry clanking together in discordance.

"Please," she murmured breathily. "Do join me for a glass of wine." She quickly conjured two large goblets and a bottle and gestured to the table she had been sitting at.

"I…I wasn't coming for a social visit," Ron protested. "I have something I need to talk to you about."

Trelawney stared at him through her enormous glasses. "Talking sounds social to me," she said, in an abnormally abrupt manner. She waved a hand at the table. "Do sit, Mr. Weasely. We'll talk about whatever it is once we've had something to drink."

Ron sat down reluctantly in one of the armchairs provided, across the table from Trelawney. She poured a generous amount of wine in each goblet, and handed one to Ron. Ron accepted it tentatively. It didn't seem quite proper for a professor to be giving her student wine, but he was unsure of what else to do.

Trelawney tilted her own goblet back and drained it. She moaned in pleasure and reached for the bottle to pour herself another cupful.

Ron watched her with wide eyes, fiddling nervously with the stem of his goblet.

"Now, said Trelawney, "what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" Then she noticed his untouched wine. "Drink, drink!" she urged, her thin lips twitching.

Ron tentatively sipped his wine. It tasted rather strange and musty. Trelawney wouldn't have slipped something into it, would she have? No, she couldn't have. She herself was drinking it in ample amounts.

"I wanted to talk to you about your interview with the Daily Prophet," he began determinedly.

Trelawney blinked spidery eyelashes at Ron, making him jump. Spiders had never been his favorite creatures.

"My interview," she repeated. She quickly tilted back her goblet again, drinking deeply. "It's tragic, so tragic. Such a young man with a promising future, and he'll be destroyed by the drink."

Ron stood up from his chair. "If anyone's destroyed from the drink, it's you!" He clenched his fists in fury and glared at the thin, wispy professor sitting in front of him. "You had no right to say what you did to the Daily Prophet!"

Trelawney gasped. "Destroyed? Me?" Her already oversized eyes grew wider.

Ron stepped forward menacingly. "Yes, you! Who do you think you are to spread such lies when it's your own fortune you're predicting?"

Trelawney's narrow face grew dour, but the expression soon morphed into a seductive smile. "Such passionate words I hear spilling from your lips. I always knew that you were full of fire, ready to be loosed."

Ron stared at her in disbelief. What was she talking about?

"I've been waiting for so long for someone like you," Trelawney continued, standing up and moving towards him. "So long…" she reached a long bony hand out to stroke his cheek. Ron jumped back in disgust, but she only moved closer yet.

"Drink," she commanded again. Ron obediently took a long draw from his goblet, which was still sitting on the table in front of his chair.

"A man of such intensity, such feeling," Trelawney whispered. "Oh, if only you knew…"

Ron watched her warily. A strange confusion was taking over his body, making him uncertain of why he was there in the first place. What was happening? Why was he standing there with Trelawney advancing on him?

"Drink…" Trelawney intoned, taking his goblet and bringing it to his lips. "Very good, my love. Very good."

Ron tried to clear his head from the fog that was consuming it, but to no avail.

"What did you do to me?" he asked in panic. His words came out slurred and jumbled.

"Do?" Trelawney smiled mysteriously. "The Inner Eye commanded me to place a small potion in your drink to speed our progress on this road."

Ron nodded blankly. Progress. Him. Trelawney. They were making progress. That was good, right?

Trelawney cradled his face in her hands, smoothing his brow and running a finger lightly over his mouth.

"So handsome," she whispered. Then she stepped even closer to him, entwining her long spindly arms around his body.

"You smell like such a strong, powerful man," she breathed huskily into his ear. He was still in his sweaty Quidditch robes, not having had time to change after practice. Ron nodded again. Powerful. Strong. He was both of those, wasn't he?

Then she raised her lips to meet his, first lightly, and then with more passion. Sharp fingernails ran through his shaggy red hair as she kissed him, long, clumsy kisses of a woman overcome with wine and desire.

They tumbled over onto the thickly carpeted floor as Trelawney nearly devoured Ron's face. He mindlessly succumbed to her, still not quite sure of why it was happening.

"Have you too been waiting for this day as long as I?" Trelawney asked as she leaned back. Ron narrowed his eyes at her, trying to remember if he had. He didn't think so, but he wasn't positive. Anything was possible at this point.

Trelawney once again descended on him, trailing wet kisses along his neck and jawbone, nibbling on his earlobe, and then again finding his mouth.

Ron stared up at her in wonder. Then she closed her eyes, displaying her long, spidery eyelashes again.

"Spiders…" Ron whimpered.

"What?" Trelawney snapped, pulling back. "Spiders?"

"Your eyes…" Ron stuttered. "Spiders…"

Trelawney sat up indignantly, ready to defend herself. In doing so, she tipsily knocked into the table, spilling the goblets of wine. The candles flickering in the center of the table tipped over as well, but instead of dying in the liquid, the flames leapt. The spilled wine burst into flames, and then a loud, powerful BOOM resounded.

Ron was thrown across the room until he hit the curved wall, knocking over teacups and crystals off of the shelves. His head hit the corner of one shelf forcefully, and everything went black.

When he awoke, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pince were leaning over him, and he was lying in one of the Hospital Wing's many beds. In the bed next to him lay Professor Trelawney, snoring contently as she slept.

"Agghhh!" Ron screamed in horror.

"Are you okay?" McGonagall and Pince asked simultaneously.

Ron clapped a hand over his mouth. "Aghhh!" he screamed again, this time the sound muffled by his hand.

"Ron, tell us what's wrong," McGonagall said firmly.

"She…she mauled me!" Ron pointed a finger accusingly at Trelawney. "I was in her room, and she fed me drugged wine, and then she…she…" he trailed off, unable to tell the two elderly women what had happened.

"She mauled you?" McGonagall finished for him in a grim tone of voice.

Ron nodded in horror. "I swear it's true…"

McGonagall pursed her lips and looked at Pince. Pince looked doubtfully at Trelawney, who was still sleeping peacefully, despite the commotion.

"They did find traces of the confuddling potion in one of the shattered goblets," McGonagall said. "Do you think…"

"Believe me," Ron interrupted. "I don't just think, I know." Then he leapt out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He had serious scrubbing to do…