A/N – Sorry about how long it took us to update. School, work, and mental blocks prevented us from writing as fast as we'd like. But we're not abandoning this story yet, so please stick around and cheer us on!
Unfortunately, as Liz is going to a writer's convention next week, and Lauren is exceptionally busy at work, Chapter 7 won't come out for a few weeks. Bear with us! It's in the works as we speak!
So, without further adieu - Chapter 6!
"They Only Come Out At Night"
"Where are you taking me?" Ron asked in fright. Twelve minutes ago he had been seized from behind after arriving home from his job-hunting, stuffed into a car, and driven away. He was blindfolded; all he could hear was the sound of the car's motor running and occasional snickers. He thought perhaps he had been kidnapped by members of the Mafia for looking at one of their cohorts' homes while house-hunting.
"It's a surprise," said a voice Ron recognized as Harry's. He went limp with relief.
"Frigging good surprise," Sirius' voice chuckled. Ron's worries returned. If Sirius was bringing him somewhere, Ron reckoned it wasn't likely to be very much fun; Sirius' interests ran the gamut from weird to bizarre to just plain scary.
"Um, can you at least take this blindfold off?"
"In a mi-nute," Harry and Sirius sang together, and Ron cringed. He said a quick prayer to the gods, asking to be returned to Hermione in one piece after whatever-it-was was all over.
Then the car pulled to a stop. "Here we are," Harry sang, and car doors opened and shut. Ron was pulled from the car and his blindfold finally removed; he found himself standing outside a black brick building. Dean, Seamus, and Neville, along with Ron's brothers and Remus, were leaning against the wall, apparently waiting for them.
Ron's anxieties grew worse. Each of them were dressed a tad outrageously - the most noticeable of the bunch being Sirius, clad today in low-waisted, sliver, leather trousers and a black tank top that bared most of his midriff. Harry was wearing a blindingly green vest; Bill was bedecked in more skin-tight leather and satin than Ron had ever cared to see anyone in, especially not his eldest brother.
"What are you all playing at?" he squeaked, eyeing Neville's paisley cargo pants warily.
"Now, now, Ron," Bill said, smiling and clapping a hand on his brother's shoulder, "Tonight's the night! Ready for one final fling?"
"Eh?" Ron spluttered.
Seamus rolled his eyes (he was wearing black jeans and his sandy hair had glitter in it). "Hello, Earth to Ron? It's your bachelor party, dope."
Ron didn't think Hermione would really like this, but he couldn't see a way out of it. He gulped. "Er... okay..."
Sirius beamed. "That's the spirit! Let's go, lads!" He and Harry steered Ron over to the building's entrance, the others following.
"'Boobs and Butts'," Dean read the neon sign over the door, sniggering. "'Triple-X Rated'. Boy, Sirius, you sure can pick a place."
The raven-haired man shrugged. "Hey, I needed to get in something for all of us."
"...All of us?"
"Well, yeah! In case you haven't noticed, Remmie and I aren't into women..."
"Uh, yeah. I'm aware of your... preferences... let's go," Dean said, and the party trooped indoors.
It was dark inside and smelled like cigarette smoke. Sirius approached the hostess, an enormous blonde woman in a dress far too small to cover most of her bulk. Ron cowered, suddenly more nervous than he had ever been. Knowing Sirius, this place would turn out to be some sort of S&M club that would leave them all scarred for life - mentally as well as physically. He looked around. There was a notable lack of whips and chains, but somehow, this didn't comfort Ron in the least.
"Black, party of twelve," Sirius said casually to the hostess, who smiled and winked.
"Youse the bachelor paaty, then?" she drawled. "Who'se the lucky guy?"
Ron made an incoherent noise as Harry shoved him into the bosom of the enormous woman, who squeezed Ron so tightly he felt like he was going to faint.
"Youse a cute one, shugah," the woman said, then turned to Sirius. "C'mon, I'll lead youse to you table."
Ron's eyes widened as he was herded along by his friends, following Sirius and the gigantic hostess. The club was quite dark and smoky, but he could make out the dim outlines of other patrons sitting at the tables, hooting and catcalling to the strippers. The strippers themselves were scantily clad in tiny G-strings and little else. Some were pole-dancing, others doing things Ron didn't want to think about. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed he'd find himself at home when he opened them...
...But to no avail. When he opened his eyes, he was still in the smoky, crowded pub, being pushed into a seat by Harry. The others were taking their seats; apparently Sirius had had the people who worked at the pub push a few tables together to accommodate their party. Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust as he sat down and saw several mysterious stains on the tablecloth - he wondered how many times this table had doubled as a quick bed for some desperate people.
But the others didn't seem to share his disgust (except maybe Remus, who had his face buried in his hands and seemed to be heartily embarrassed, but that was probably because Sirius had a large, muscular male stripper in his lap already). Harry, Neville, Seamus, and Dean were hooting at a redheaded girl in the tiniest pink bikini imaginable; Fred and George were mooning over two strippers who were twins; Percy, Bill, and Charlie had already ordered drinks and were quaffing them like there was no tomorrow.
"Need a l'il love, sugar?" a voice breathed in his ear, and Ron squeaked. Standing beside him with a sexy-pouty look on his face was a man with long blonde hair, a purple feather boa, a sequined purple thong, and a matching pair of high-heeled boots.
Ron's eyes bugged out and he couldn't speak. The blonde man put his arms around Ron's shoulders and nuzzled his neck. "You are a cute one, love. Redheads are my favourites..."
"Er... actually... I was just heading to the loo," Ron lied, pulling free of the frightening tart's grasp and backing away. He backed, however, into Sirius, knocking both the older man and his 'entertainment' from their chair. The male stripper huffed and stalked off, offended, as Sirius got up and glared at Ron, who apologized most profusely before hurrying off towards the restrooms. Besides, the stripper couldn't have been that offended - Ron had noticed Sirius had done quite an efficient job stuffing the man's G-string with Muggle money before they had been forced to part ways.
Even the loo was scary. Ron could hear disturbing noises coming from several of the stalls and shuddered. He vowed to kill everybody once this was over... all of them! His friends, his brothers, even! The only ones who might be hard to squash would be Sirius and Harry; Sirius always turned up alive even after everyone thought he had been dead for weeks, and Harry had the annoying habit of being able to avoid death in three thousand ways.
As Ron slumped against the wall and put his face in his hands, trying to gain some control over himself, one of the stalls opened and two men came out - one a fat, mustachioed Muggle businessman in a suit, the other a slender, scantily-clad brunette.
"Stall's free if you need it, mate," the businessman said to Ron as he passed.
Ewwww. Ron didn't dare go in that stall. Instead he turned on the sink, splashed his face with some cold water, and took a few deep, calming breaths. Okay. Time to go out there and face the inevitable.
The others hadn't even noticed his absence, it seemed. Sirius had discovered the blonde man in the purple thong and had him sitting on one of his knees, a madly blushing Remus on the other. Harry was kissing the redheaded girl in the pink bikini, and Fred and George were dancing with the twin stripper girls. Even Neville was acting much more differently than usual - he was dancing with the enormous hostess. Exasperated, Ron skirted the dance floor and headed for the bar, where his three eldest brothers were perched on stools, giggling and working their way through a sixth round of whiskey sours.
"Havin' fun, Ronnie?" Bill slurred. He had lost his hair elastic somehow and his long red hair was hanging over half his face like a veil. Ron suspected he had been attacked by a few other strippers who were particular to redheads.
"I guess," Ron muttered. He ordered a beer from the bartender (the only worker in the entire establishment who was completely dressed) and sunk onto the stool beside Percy.
Even his stuffy brother was getting into it. Percy had had quite a lot of liquor, and he was tittering at the sight of Dean and Seamus kissing, egged on by several other patrons and strippers. Ron wondered exactly how much everyone else had been drinking. His beer arrived and he sipped at it warily, looking around the room for everyone else. Scarily enough, they all seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. Neville had even started pole-dancing with the gigantic hostess (and if that wasn't a sight to scar anyone for life, Ron didn't know what was).
Nervously, Ron eyed the fire exit, wondering if he could possibly slip out the door without being noticed. Then he would run all the way home, hide under the bed, and cry. He was on the verge of trying it when Harry stood up on a table and shouted, "OI! LADS! Time for the show, get over here!"
"This'll be good," Charlie sniggered, catching Ron by the arm and dragging him over to the table Harry was standing on. There was a pause as the rest of their party congregated there, then Harry jumped down from the table and stood behind Ron's chair, a broad grin spreading across his face.
"I got you a really good present, Ron," Harry said, as the others sniggered and elbowed each other. "I guess you could call it... oh, let's say it's a 'Last-Night-As-A-Bachelor' present."
"Uhh..." Ron gulped nervously. "What is it?"
"You'll see..." Harry sat down in his own seat as the already dim lighting dimmed even more and slow music began to play.
-
Meanwhile, Hermione had not noticed that her husband-to-be was not at home. In fact, she wasn't at home either. She was at the Burrow, helping Ginny, Fleur, Penelope, Angelina, and Anica help a near-frantic Mrs. Weasley try and figure out where the rest of the Weasleys would be staying once they arrived.
"Some of them can stay here, of course," Mrs. Weasley said wildly, scanning a list of all the relatives who had accepted. "Some can stay in Muggle hotels... the ones who can control themselves around Muggles, at least... but there's just too many! It's a blessing Ginny's the only one living here at home now... but we'll have to see if some of our friends can put some of them up - do Remus and Sirius have room, do you think? I-"
"Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione cried, breaking off her soon-to-be-mother-in-law's rant. "Enough, please! Calm down!"
"I'm sorry, dear... I suppose I am being a little melodramatic," Mrs. Weasley sighed. She fanned her face with a copy of the guest list. "I suppose it won't be as bad as all that..."
"No, it's all right," Angelina said reassuringly, patting Mrs. Weasley's arm. "Fred and I have some room, a few people can come stay with us... and George could probably have a few guests in his flat..."
"And you know Remus," Ginny said. "He'll let anyone stay, so long as they won't be there during the full moon. And if we ask around, I'm sure we can find plenty of hotels and places like that that can take care of everybody else."
"You're right, Ginny... most of the family isn't a problem; nearly everybody lives here in England. It's just the relatives from Ireland, America, and Japan we need to worry about." Mrs. Weasley admitted.
"All right, then, let's start owling around," Hermione said, pulling out Mrs. Weasley's address book. "Everything will work out, I'm sure..."
-
Ron squeaked as a spotlight highlighted a dark red curtain. The curtain parted to reveal a blonde woman dressed in white silk and lots of white feathers. She danced out from behind the curtain and onto the table. Ron's companions hooted and cheered, while the groom-to-be buried his face in his hands, highly embarrassed.
Harry beamed and punched his best friend on the arm. "How d'you like her, Ronnie?" he shouted over the music and the noise of everyone else in the pub. "She's your bachelor present!"
"I don't know whether I should punch you or flee!" Ron shouted back, furiously, but Harry's attention was now drawn to the dancer, who was stripping off her white gloves with her teeth. Fred and George, each with one of the twin strippers on his lap, cheered and catcalled. Even Neville didn't seem the least bit embarrassed or ashamed; in fact, the stripper had thrown one of her gloves to him and he was waving it in the air.
A foot clad in a white, spike-heeled shoe came down on the table inches from Ron's hands. He yelped and looked up to see the stripper smiling seductively down at him. Loose feathers from her costume floated into his face and tickled his nose.
"So this is the groom," the dancer cooed. "Come on, baby, dance with me!" She extended a slender hand to Ron, who was immediately jabbed by what felt like a thousand elbows, and pushed up onto the table to join the stripper. He cast a murderous glare at Harry and mouthed 'Kill you!", but Harry merely smiled.
The stripper cuddled up to Ron, her feathers tickling his face and making him feel like sneezing. She kissed his cheek and took off one of the feathery garters she had been wearing, and tickled his cheek with it before throwing it to Sirius (who pocketed it; no doubt he was going to force it on Remus). Her hand crept down his chest and under his shirt - Ron gulped and prayed not a word of this night would ever reach Hermione's ears.
The stripper kissed him again, this time on the lips. The others hooted louder, raising their glasses.
"Go on, Ronnie!" Sirius yelled. "We won't tell!"
"Gotta lose your innocence sometime!" Harry called. "Don't want Hermione to think you don't know what you're doing!"
The stripper giggled wildly at that and pressed closer to Ron. She put his arm around her waist and stroked his hair. That was kind of nice - oh, what the hell. He might as well have some fun while he was here - at least she wasn't that blonde guy (who was now sitting on Remus' knee, running his fingers through Remus' tawny hair; the ex-professor looked distinctly hot and bothered). He kissed her back and untied her other feathery garter, tossing it to Bill. Bill hooted and used it to tie back his hair. (what would Fleur say when he came home with that unusual hair accessory?)
Enjoying himself now, Ron did his best to dance with the stripper. His dancing wasn't that great, despite the ballroom dancing lessons Hermione had insisted upon to prepare for their wedding, lest they be humiliated beyond belief in front of all their friends and family, but he was good enough for a drunken guy at a bachelor party. The stripper was obviously delighted; she giggled and joined in as Ron tried to pull off a really half-assed Macarena. Not to be outdone, Harry jumped onto the table and started dancing with them as well. The table swayed and creaked ominously, but everyone was having too much fun to notice.
"Is that your brother?" the stripper shouted to Ron as Bill stood on his chair and began doing an extremely ungainly dance, the cheesy chair wobbling.
Ron giggled, gulping down a random drink Seamus had just forced into his hand, not really caring what it was. "They're all my brothers!" he slurred.
The dancer giggled as if this were the funniest thing in the world, shrugging off her feather boa and tossing it to Dean, who wrapped it around his own neck without a pause. "He's cute! You should grow your hair out like his... not that you're not cute already, but I think you'd be hot with long hair..."
"Maybe I will..." Ron murmured in her ear, pushing back her fluffy golden hair to kiss her neck.
With a little sigh, the dancer pressed herself closer to him. "What do you say we head off somewhere more... private?" she murmured. "No one'll notice, they're all busy..."
Which was true. Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all dancing with the enormous hostess; Bill and Charlie, too drunk to care, were kissing over in a corner; Harry was making out with his redheaded girlfriend; Fred, George, and the twin strippers had vanished; Sirius was sneaking off to the loo with Remus and the blonde man in tow; and Percy had his head on the table, snoring loudly and surrounded by empty whiskey glasses.
A fleeting vision of Hermione crossed Ron's mind, but by now he was too pleasantly smashed to pay much attention. He nuzzled the stripper's neck. "Anything you want, my dear."
She giggled. "Come on, then," she purred, taking him by the hand and leading him behind the red curtain.
-
"There," Hermione said triumphantly, setting down her quill. "I've written notes to George, Sirius and Remus, Mrs. Tonks, and Seamus. We can send off some people to my parents; they've got tons of room already. Hopefully they'll get back to us soon..."
Mrs. Weasley sank down gratefully in her armchair. "This is going to take a lot of planning for everyone," she sighed. "I feel awful, imposing upon our friends and relatives like this..."
"I wouldn't worry," Anica comforted her. "We've given them enough of a heads-up about everything; even if the people we ask can't take some guests, there's plenty of time to figure out what to do."
There was a loud knock on the door just then. Fleur hurried to answer it. When she opened the door, they all gaped in horror at the sight of five redheaded, freckled people, all wearing jeans and plaid shirts. Tons of suitcases, each looking as battered as if they had been dragged across the country (and probably had been), were mountained up all over the Weasleys' porch.
A redheaded woman stood at the fore of the group. She was dressed in a hideous, patched, paisley dress with a matching kerchief tied in her frizzy red hair. When she grinned, it was to reveal the absence of several teeth.
"Howdy, y'all!" she crowed.
-
Ron found himself walking down a dimly-lit hallway, hand-in-hand with the stripper. The only thing he could really see was her white costume, but he could faintly make out the outlines of doors every few feet. More disturbing noises were coming from behind these doors, but by now Ron didn't really care.
The stripper opened one of the doors and led him inside, flicking on the light as she did. The room itself was pretty cheesy, with a dirty floor and peeling wallpaper. A bed was pushed against one wall, its mattress looking pretty sad. Ordinarily Ron would have avoided a filthy bed like the plague; but not tonight. He pulled the stripper into his lap.
"Is this your first time?" the stripper breathed.
"Er - no," Ron lied. She gave him a skeptical look, and he shrugged. "Okay, it is..."
She smiled. "Well... after I'm done with you, you'll have learned plenty... your girlfriend had better thank me..."
-
"Of course, Hermione, darling," Lovey Granger cooed into the phone. "We'd be pleased to lend a hand... just send them right over..."
Her husband entered the room just as she hung up the phone. "Was that Hermione?"
"Yes... she's sending a few guests our way," Lovey said calmly. "Ron's relatives arrived early - wanted to sightsee, I suppose - and no one has room to put them up yet. She asked if we could let them stay for awhile, and I agreed."
Thurston looked unsure. "But... are you sure they're trustworthy...?"
"Hermione has a good sense of judgment. I'm sure she wouldn't send us anyone she thought we couldn't trust."
"I suppose..."
The doorbell chimed just then. The maid hastened to answer it. Lovey and Thurston hurried to look casual yet elegant, posing themselves on the sofa and waiting. The maid poked her head into the parlour a few minutes later. She looked a little flustered.
"Ma'am - sir - some people on the porch say they're here to visit for awhile... but I've never seen them before in my life..."
"Don't worry, they're relatives of Hermione's fiancée," Thurston boomed. "Bring them in."
"Very well..." the maid curtsied and hurried back into the foyer. She returned a few minutes later, leading five redheaded people, all of whom were dragging dilapidated-looking luggage.
"Well, gol-ly," the tallest, a man, said. He was dressed in faded, patched overalls and a plaid shirt with mysterious stains on it; his boots were caked with dirt. "Ain't this the pur-tiest house I ever did lay my eyes on."
Lovey tried not to twitch as a plump woman in a patched dress seized her in a hug. "So y'all's Ronnie's in-laws! Ain't you nice, lettin' us stay like this!" Thurston, who was having his hand pumped enthusiastically by the redheaded man, gave his wife a bemused look. Lovey cleared her throat and tried to remember her manners.
"Well, it's lovely to have you here, Mr., Mrs. Weasley..."
"Aw, shucks!" boomed the man. "It won't do to be a'callin' us all proper like that! Name's Uwaine. This is my wife, Billie Jean (the fat woman in the patched dress) - and our children - Bobbie Sue, Johnny Boy, and Wally."
The three teenaged children grinned crookedly at Thurston and Lovey, revealing large amounts of missing teeth. Now beginning to wonder where these people were from, Lovey forced a smile.
"Well, then, Uwaine, Billie Jean - the maid will show you to your rooms..."
"Hey, Paw! Lookit this here thing!" one of the kids crowed. It was the younger son, and he was holding one of Lovey's Tiffany lamps that had been in her family for generations. "I push this here l'il button, an' the lights, they come on!"
"Gosh, we ain't got nuthin' like that up in Arkansas," Uwaine drawled.
"Oh, please, put that down!" Lovey cried. "It's a priceless antique -"
Thurston saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and whirled around to see Bobbie Sue rubbing her cheek against the long, lacy curtains. "Maw, these curtains, they's so soft I could sleep on'em!" She said, wrapping the end around her waist so it looked like a skirt.
Uwaine laughed. "Boy howdy, Bobbie Sue, you look just like that Miss America what we seen on the television down to the appliance store!"
Thurston and Lovey exchanged looks of despair. "How long are they going to be here?" Thurston demanded in a whisper.
"Until the wedding..." Lovey groaned.
"I think I need a drink..." her husband mumbled, shuffling off to the bar.
-
By midnight, everything in the house had been pawed over. Things had been rearranged, and a lot of the Grangers' belongings were now in places they didn't, well, belong.
The kitchen had been an extreme interest to the Weasleys, none of whom seemed to have ever seen appliances or an electric range before. The electric can opener/knife sharpener had been one of the most popular items in the room, until Johnny Boy somehow cut himself on it. This resulted in a trip to the bathroom to bandage Johnny Boy's bleeding finger, the whole family following.
The Weasleys had been as equally amazed by the bathroom. Their amazement made it clear to Thurston and Lovey that their guests had never experienced indoor plumbing before. Rather sad, really, Thurston reflected, watching as the Weasleys turned the shower on and off and flushed the toilet several times.
"Hey Paw! What's this here goofy-lookin' thing?" Wally asked, jiggling the handle of the bidet.
"I think that's what them rich folk call 'bee-days,'" Uwaine said, nodding and jiggling the handle as well. "I think they use them for -"
"Um - it's getting late," Lovey cut in hastily. "I believe it's time to turn in!"
"Well, gol-ly, if it ain't just about that time," Billie Jean drawled. "Now, where did Johnny Boy and Bobbie Sue run off to?"
SMASH.
Lovely screamed at the top of her lungs and raced out of the bathroom. When she reached the parlour, her worst fears were confirmed. Bobbie Sue and Johnny Boy were looking down at a shattered glass lamp - one of Lovey's antique Tiffany lamps.
"Now, Bobbie Sue, Johnny Boy, that weren't very nice..." Uwaine began. But he was cut off by Lovey, who was beside herself with fury.
"THAT WAS AN ANTIQUE! IRREPLACEABLE! I WON'T HAVE THIS ANYMORE! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!"
And seizing the poker from the fireplace, she chased all the Weasleys out of her house.
"I see," Mrs. Weasley sighed when Hermione got off the phone. "I'll just have to send them off to someone else... oh, I hope they're home by now..."
-
Ron awoke the next morning in the same grungy bed he had slept with the stripper in. She was still stretched out beside him, her fluffy blonde hair hanging over her face. In the daylight, she didn't look half as gorgeous as she had that night. Ron sat up, rubbing his head, which ached. His mouth tasted and felt like dryer lint, and he was dressed in only his boxers and one sock. He blinked a few times, trying to place his surroundings. Finally, it hit him. The strip club, the bachelor party - bloody hell.
He looked back at the stripper in horror. The thought of what Hermione would say if she found out made him cringe. What if - what if he had gotten the stripper pregnant, or gotten a disease from her? He gulped, and cursed everyone a million times in his mind. Harry, Sirius, Fred, George - all of them! They all must die!
He flopped back on the bed and put an arm over his eyes. It was all the sodding party's fault.
As of eight a.m., Ronald Weasley swore he'd never drink again.
-
"Did you have fun last night, Remmie?" Sirius mumbled as they Apparated beside their mailbox.
"Yes, very fun," Remus yawned, pulling a few bills and a catalogue from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes from the mailbox. "I always had a feeling you preferred blondes..."
"They're nice, but you're my favourite," Sirius said, rubbing his aching forehead. "Blimey. All I want right now is a shower and some sleep. And... maybe a snuggle or two..."
Remus rolled his eyes as they walked up the drive. They stopped when they saw several redheaded people sitting on their porch, surrounded by mountains of luggage.
"Well, gol-ly!" Uwaine Weasley trumpeted, standing up and saluting them. "Lookit this! We get to stay with that gay convict and werewolf what's so famous!"
Sirius and Remus looked at each other and began to cry.
-
Upcoming attractions….
Ch/7: Love, Actually – Hermione's on the warpath. It looks like she's discovered where Ron was last night, and now Ron, Harry, and Sirius are her most hated people. Will there be a wedding after all? Or are Ron and Hermione doomed to wallow in angst for all eternity? And what will Sirius and Remus do about the hillbillies on their porch?