A/N: For the purposes of this story, the Weasley's home is not in Devon, it is in the Home Counties, much closer to London. Ginny is much younger than our boys, she is only seventeen and has just left Hogwarts, whilst they are in their mid-twenties. She hasn't really grown out of being the very awestruck little girl we met at King's Cross, who hero-worships Harry.
Warnings: fat shaming, drinking to excess, slut shaming, non-consensual spanking, humiliation, vomiting from alcohol.
Chapter 11
Later in the afternoon as we went across water meadows into a large orchard, we could see a bizarrely shaped house through the trees. It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which, of course, it undoubtedly was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, 'The Burrow'. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.
"What are these people called?" asked Lavender.
"Weasley," said Harry. "Arthur and Molly. They've got loads of grown up children, but I don't know if any of them are at home."
Weasley? I vaguely remembered from family history lessons a distant Black ancestor of mine hadbeen disowned for marrying a Weasley. Plus my father had complained about a Weasley making trouble for him at the Ministry of Magic. I knew they were meant to be terribly poor.
Lavender picked a scarlet cherry up from the long grass. "And they're nice?"
"Nice, but perfectly crazy," said Harry. "Arthur has madness on one side of the family plus an obsession with all things Muggle, so you never know what to expect."
"I bet they're hell," I whispered to Michael.
But they weren't hell. They were a gently unworldly middle-aged couple. Arthur Weasley was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had bright red. He had been gardening and his long green robes were muddy and rather worn. His wife had straggly red hair, drawn back into a scruffy bun, and sparklingly brown eyes. She was wearing odd shoes and an old felt skirt covered in dust and hairs. They were both obviously delighted to see Harry.
The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and I sat down on the edge of my seat, looking around. The clock on the wall opposite me had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like 'Time to make tea', 'Time to feed the chickens', and 'You're late'. The old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was 'Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck.' Their idea of home design did not match mine!
Mrs Weasley was clattering around the kitchen, getting tea, sandwiches and cakes. She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.
"We'll have tea in the garden," said Molly Weasley. "You can help me carry the tray, Harry. I want you to tell me if Arthur's got enough drink for this evening. We seem to have asked rather a lot of people."
The garden was large, as scruffy as the Weasleys themselves. There were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting, plus there were gnarled trees all around the walls, masses of plants spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs. Through an iron archway swarming with red roses, deckchairs and a table were set out under a walnut tree.
I could see movement from a peony bush and realised the place was infested with garden gnomes. The whole situation would have given Gwendolyn Parkinson an aneurysm, which made me decide actually I rather liked it.
Lavender, as usual, went berserk, gushing like a fountain. "What a fantastic garden! My mother would be green with envy! Look at those roses and those fabulous blue hollyhocks!"
"They're delphiniums," said Arthur Weasley gently.
"Oh yes," Lavender was unabashed. "It's so kind of you to let us all come to your party," she said, as she sat down, putting a very severe strain on a deckchair. She's got the wrong name, I thought savagely. Lavs don't kiss arse like this one!
Harry came across the lawn carrying a tray, his eyes slanting away from the smoke of his cigarette. "You've got enough drink in, Arthur, to float the barge," he said.
Molly Weasley, her hands still covered in earth from gardening, poured tea into chipped mugs and handed the plate ofsandwiches round. "How many of the children are home?" asked Harry.
"Only Ginny, and she doesn't know you're all coming. She's walked down to the village. Absolute madness in this heat. She's not such a child now you know, Harry. She'll be eighteen in August."
Harry grinned. "I know. Of course she must be waiting for her NEWT results."He helped himself to a cucumber sandwich as big as a doorstep. "I'm starving." He gave an unpleasant smile in my direction. "I don't know why but I couldn't eat a thing at lunchtime."
Molly Weasley turned to me. "And what do you do in London? You look like a model or an actor or something."
"He's quite unemployable," said Harry.
Molly looked reproving. "I see you're as rude as ever, Harry." She smiled at me. "I never worked in my life until I got married. Anyway, I expect you meet lots of interesting people."
"Yes I do," I smiled.
She sighed. "The one I'd like to meet is the Muggle actor and singer Billie Piper - so charming looking. Wouldn't you like to meet Billie Piper, Arthur?"
"Who's he?" said Arthur.
Inevitably there was a good deal of laughter at this and Molly Weasley was just explaining, "He's a she, Arthur, he's a she," when a door slammed and there was a sound of running footsteps and a girl exploded through the French Windows. She was as slim as a blade, in knee length shorts and a green polo shirt, with a mass of curly red hair and a freckled, laughing face. Her eyes lighted on Harry and she gave a squeal of delight.
"Harry! What are you doing here? How lovely to see you!"
Harry levered himself out of the deckchair and she flung herself into his arms for avery long and exuberant hug. She was obviously besotted with him. And he clearly liked her back.
"I've missed you so much, Harry, it's been ages since you've been down!"
"You too Ginny, you too."
"You might acknowledge someone else, darling," grumbled her mother.
"Oh I'm sorry!" The girl beamed at the rest of us. "I'm Ginny. It's just that I'm so pleased to see Harry. You will stay for the party, won't you?" she added anxiously.
"I suppose we ought to think about finding some more glasses and rolling up the carpet," said Arthur Weasley.
"I must wash my hair," said Molly. "It's the only way I'll get the garden out of my nails."
-o-o-o-
"Aren't they complete originals?" asked Lavender, as she and I changed later. She was wandering around in her underwear trying to look at her back. Between her fiery red legs and shoulders, her skin was as white as lard. "I'm not peeling, am I?" she asked anxiously. "It itches like mad."
"Looks a bit angry," I said, pleased to see that a few tiny white blisters had formed between her shoulders. It'd be coming off her in strips tomorrow.
"Isn't that girl Ginny quite devastating?" she went on. "You could see Harry wanted to absolutely gobble her up."
"She's not that marvellous," I said, starting to pour water over my hair.
"Oh but she is - quite lovely and so natural. Think of being seventeen again, all the things one was going to do, the books one was going to write, the places one was going to visit. I must say when a girl is beautiful at seventeen she gets a glow about her that old hags like you and I in our twenties can never hope to achieve."
"Speak for yourself," I muttered into the washbasin.
I knew when I finally finished dressing that I'd never looked better. My eyes, ringed in eyeliner, glittered brilliantly grey in my potion-tanned face; my hair, newly washed and as straight as Sleekeazy could make it, was almost white blond from the sun. I had just a touch of makeup on, to emphasise my eyes and my cheekbones.
Lavender, I'm glad to say, looked terrible. She was leaning out of the window when there was a crack of Apparition. "Oh look, someone's arriving. It looks like an elderly relative. She's wearing a feathery pink hat like a flamingo!"
"We're obviously in for a wild evening," I sneered.
"We'd better go down. Shall I wait?"
"No. I'll be ready in a minute. You go on."
Knowing she'd throw a wobbly at the outfit I planned to wear, I was glad she left. Designed to shock the fetish club crowd, the gladiator style top was made of thin silver chains, to accentuate the golden skin on my smooth chest. With holes as big as Chocolate Frog cards, my nipples showed clearly. I paired it with a pair of tight shorts in the same golden tone as my tanned skin. It gave the overall impression I wore nothing at all. Everyone would be looking at me.
Slowly I put it on, thinking all the time of the effect it would have on Michael when I walked into the quiet country living room. And it would infuriate Harry into the bargain. I gave a final brush to my hair and turned to look in the mirror. It was the first time I'd worn it with my party warpaint, and the impact made even me catch my breath. Circe's Tits, I said to myself, you're going to set them by their country ears tonight. I was determined to make an entrance, so I fiddled with my hair until I could hear that more people had arrived.
There was a hush as I walked into the drawing-room. Everyone gazed at me. Men's hands fluttered to straighten their robes and smooth their hair, the women stared at me with ill-concealed envy and disapproval.
"Fuck!" I heard Michael say, in appalled wonder.
But I was looking at Harry. For the first time I saw a blaze of disapproval in his eyes. I've got under his guard at last, I thought in triumph.
There seemed to be no common denominator among the guests. They consisted of old pompous Ministry types and their ill-dressed wives, a handful of people of Ginny's age, the girls very made up, the boys very wet, the odd school ma'am type, and a crowd of tough country types with braying voices and brick red faces. It was as though the Weasleys had asked everyone they knew and liked, with a total disregard as to whether they'd mix.
I wandered towards Michael, Lavender and Harry.
"I see you've thrown yourself open to the public," said Harry, but he didn't smile. "I suppose I'd better go and hand round some drinks."
"You shouldn't have worn that outfit, Draco," said Lavender in a shocked voice. "This isn't London, you know."
"That's only too obvious," I said, looking round.
Molly Weasley came over and took my arm. "How enchanting you look, Draco. Do come and devastate our dear friend, Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. He's dying to meet you."
He wasn't the only one. Once those country types had had a few drinks, they all closed in on me, vying for my attention. Over and over again I let my glass be filled up. Never had my wit been more malicious or more sparkling. I kept them all in fits of braying laughter.
Like an experienced comedian, although I was keeping my audience happy, I was very conscious of what was going on in the wings - Michael, looking like a thundercloud because I was flirting so outrageously with other men; Harry behaving like the Weasley's future son-in-law, whether he was handing round drinks or smiling into Ginny's eyes. Every so often, however, his eyes flickered in my direction, and his face hardened.
About ten o'clock, Molly Weasley wandered in, very red in the face, and carrying two saucepans, and plonked them down on a long polished table beside a mountain of food and pile of plates and forks. "There's risotto here," she said hospitably, "if anyone's hungry."
People surged forward to eat. I stayed put, the men around me stayed put as well. The din we were making increased until Harry pushed his way through the crowd.
"You ought to eat something, Draco," he said. I shook my head and smiled up at him insolently.
"Aren't you hungry?" drawled Auror Shacklebolt who was lounging beside me. He was an exceptionally tall, handsome, well-built black man, strong and virile.
I turned to him, smiling sweetly, "Only for you."
A nearby group of women stopped filling their faces with risotto and talking about nappies, and looked at me in horror. Shacklebolt's wife was among them. She had a face like a well-bred cod.
"The young chaps of today are not the same as they were twenty years ago," she said loudly.
"Of course they're not," I shouted across at her. "Twenty years ago I was only six. You must expect some change in my appearance and behaviour."
She turned puce with anger at the roar of laughter that greeted this. Harry didn't laugh. He took hold of my arm. "I think you'd better come and eat," he said in even tones.
"I've told you once," I snapped, "I don't want to eat. I want to dance. Why doesn't someone put on the wireless?"
Shacklebolt looked me up and down. "What happens to that top when you dance?"
I sniggered. "Now you see me, now you don't."
There was another roar of laughter.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" said Shacklebolt. "Let's put some music on and dance."
"All right," I said, looking up at him under my lashes, "But I must go to the loo first."
Upstairs in the bathroom, I hardly recognised myself. I looked amazing, my hair hanging straight, my eyes glittering, my cheeks flushed. Merlin, the topwas so beautiful. "And you're so beautiful too," I added and, leaning forward, lightly kissed my reflection in the mirror.
Even in my alcoholic state, I was slightly abashed when I turned round and saw Harry watching me from the doorway. "Don't you know it's rude to stare?" I said. He didn't move. "I'd like to come past - if you don't mind," I went on.
"Oh no, you don't," he said, grabbing my wrist.
"Oh yes I do," I hissed, trying to tug myself away.
"Will you stop behaving like a rent boy!" he swore at me and, pulling me into the nearest bedroom, threw me on the bed and locked the door, casting a Muffliato.
"Now I suppose you're going to treat me like a rent boy," I spat at him. "What will your precious Ginny say if she catches us here together?"
Suddenly I was frightened. There was murder in his eyes. "It's about time someone taught you a lesson," he said, coming towards me. "And I'm afraid it's going to be me."
Before I realised it, Harry had me across his knee. I've never known what living daylights were before, but he was certainly beating them out of me now. I started to yell and kick.
"Shut up," he said viciously. "No one can hear you." The musicwas still booming downstairs. I struggled and tried to bite him but he was far too strong for me. It was not the pain so much as the ghastly indignity. It seemed to go on for ever and ever. Finally he tipped me on to the floor. I lay there quaking with fear.
"Get up," he said brusquely, "and get your things together. I'm taking you back to the boat."
Aching in every bone, biting my lip to stop myself crying, I let Harry Apparate me back to the dock. Every few moments I stumbled, held up only by his vice-like grip on my arm. I think he felt at any moment I might bolt back to the party. Once we were on deck I said, "Now you can go back to your darling teenager."
"Not until you're safe in bed."
I lay down on my bunk still in my chainmail top. Beautiful as it was, it was not designed to be worn lying down and was bloody uncomfortable. But when I shut my eyes the world was going round and round. I quickly opened them. Harry stood watching me through cigarettesmoke. I shut my eyes again. A great wave of nausea rolled over me.
"Oh shit," I said, trying to get out of bed.
"Stay where you are," he snapped.
"I ought to be allowed to get out of my own bed," I said petulantly. "I agree in your prude-ish role you're quite entitled to stop me getting into other people's beds but a person should be free to get out of his own bed if he wants to."
"Stop fooling around," said Harry.
"I can't," I said in desperation, "I'm going to be sick."
He only just got me to the edge of the boat in time, and I was sicker than I've ever been in my life. I couldn't stop this terrible retching, and then, because Harry was holding my head, I couldn't stop crying from humiliation.
"Leave me alone," I sobbed in misery. "Leave me alone to die. Lavender and Michael will be back in a minute. Please go and keep them away for a bit longer."
"They won't be back for hours," said Harry, casting a Tempus.
"Can I have a drink of water?"
"Not yet, it'll only make you throw up again. You'll just have to grin and bear it."
I looked up at the huge white moon and gave a hollow laugh. "It couldn't be a more romantic night, could it?"
In the passage my knees gave way and Harry picked me up and carried me into the cabin. After letting me get changed into my pyjamas, he put me to bed as deftly as if I'd been a child. He gave me a couple of potions. "They'll help with the sickness and dehydration, and put you to sleep."
"I wasn't actually planning to meet Michael on deck tonight." I was shivering like a little crup. "I'm sorry," I said, rolling my head back and forth on the pillow. "I'm so terribly sorry."
"Lie still," he said. "The potions'll work soon."
"Don't go," I whispered, as he stood up and went to the door.
His face was expressionless as he looked at me, no scorn, no mockery, not even a trace of pity. "I'm going to get you some more blankets," he said. "I don't want you catching cold."
That sudden kindness, the first he'd ever shown me, brought tears to my eyes. He was kind without expectation, in the way other men neverwere to me. He wasn't being kind to woo me; he was just being genuinely thoughtful.
I was beginning to feel drowsy by the time he came back with two rugs. They smelt musty and, as I watched his hands tucking them in - powerful hands with black hairs on the back - I suddenly wanted to feel his arms around me and to feel those hands soothing me and petting me as though I were a child again. In a flash I saw him as the father, strict, yet loving and caring, that all my life I'd missed; someone to say stop when I went too far, someone to mind if I behaved badly, to be proud if I behaved well. Someone to show me how to be my best self.
"Getting sleepy?" he asked. I nodded. "Good boy. You'll be all right in the morning."
"I'm sorry I wrecked your party."
"Doesn't matter. They're nice though, the Weasleys. I was brought up by my aunt's family and they never wanted me. The Weasleys have been my family for many years. I was angry not just because of what you wore and how you acted, but because you embarrassed me in front of my family. You should mix with more people like them; they've got the right values."
"No one normally cares about my behaviour. I suppose I like the attention…" then I started getting confused and the soft voice became mingled with the water lapping against the boat; then I drifted into unconsciousness.
A/N: This is Draco's chainmail top pin/381257924686780109/
The description of the Weasley's home is mainly canon from the Harry Potter Wiki, as are the descriptions of Arthur and Molly, wiki/Main_Page