Strange Bedfellows
By TeSjah
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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and her associates.
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"Ehrm…" Ron let out a low moan and he reached his hand out to his forehead, as to grasp an invisible pain. 'Whazzapund?' He asked himself warily. 'Leaky Cauldron… Hermione… Break-up…Nice blond lady… Oh, Merlin! He had a one night stand.'
He opened his eyes in shock and sat up, only to be taken aback by his increasing headache. While laying down, he observed the room: pretty room, large four poster bed, and was that a marble floor?
Ron was just about to lay his head down again when a house elf appeared next to the bed with a loud 'pop'. "Sir, Miss asks for Sir to come to the dining table. Sir can wear a robe from the closet. Should Glod get Sir the robe?"
"No, no, it's OK." What was he thinking? He didn't even know where he was and now he was going to search one other's closet?
"Yes, Sir. Glod will wait outside for Sir. Glod is to guide Sir. Miss is afraid Sir will get lost," and with a snap of it's fingers, the elf was gone.
'Afraid I'll get lost? What kind of snotty girl did I sleep with anyway?' he pondered.
Ron noticed that the proposition of borrowing a piece of clothing wasn't as bad as it sounded, for the closet contained nothing but designer gowns and robes. 'Wow' he mouthed.
Without thinking about consequences he choose the prettiest robe of all and pulled it over his head. He then walked over to the mirror and made an attempt of straightening his hair, he decided to go with the mediocre result.
He opened the door of the bedroom and stepped into the hallway, where the elf was patiently waiting for him. "Come, Sir. Please, Miss does not like waiting."
It took them ten minutes, ten minutes, to reach the dining room. Ron wondered how large the house was if this was a regular distance to walk. He supposed people here apparated from room to room.
Glod motioned for Ron to enter the dining room and disappeared from sight. The woman who was in the room was startled by the sound and dropped the Prophet on the ground. She turned around and saw Ron standing in the doorway. "Ah, Mr. Weasley, there you are. Do come in!"
If Ron hadn't throw up yesterday night in the bathroom of the Leaky Cauldron, he would certainly done it in the nearest flower pot. Instead he gulped loudly and tried to think of the best retort. "You…" he managed to say after a minute or two.
"Yes, me," Narcissa cheerily replied. "Pepper-Up potion?"
"Please," he replied, still in a state of shock. He couldn't have… neh… of all people. All of a sudden, his eyes widened in shock. "Oh, Merlin, Lucius Malfoy is going have my head."
"No he won't," Narcissa replied and put a dish of buns onto the table.
"The hell he will! I just… I… you know. I just…" Ron really couldn't get himself to say the words. So he made a hand-gesture that said 'I give up'. "You know… with his--"
"With his ex-wife, yes. You did have sex with her." Ron looked at her with a baffled expression. "I heard Auror's have a pretty busy schedule, but I really thought you would have found the time to read the Prophet."
"Excuse me?"
"Our divorce was front-page news. Thrice. Not to mention that centrefold article in Witch Weekly. Not I thought I was prejudiced, apparently that magazine holds more grudges against people in general than Death Eaters have against Mudbloods."
"Don't you dare call people like Hermione Mudbloods."
"Whenever did I mention her?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "She broke up with you, get over it. Although I thought I already convinced you a bit," she said, with a wicked smile on her face.
"Could you just not bring that up?" Ron groaned. He gulped the Pepper-Up potion down, but almost spit it back in the bottle because of the slamming of a door. He looked around himself in panic, looking for a place to hide.
"Don't mind that love. It's probably just a house elf."
"How do you know? Do you have eyes in the—somewhere inside a painting or someth--"
"MOTHER? ARE YOU THERE?" a familiar voice echoed through the mansion. And Ron was ready to willingly throw himself out of the window.
"Yes, I'm up here, darling!" Narcissa replied, ignoring Ron mouthing 'no, no way' and wild gestures.
Draco walked in, reading through the post. "Hello Mother. Hey Weasel. Mother, why do we have a message of a…" Draco looked up and slowly turned his head towards Ron. Ron was trying to coward behind a potted plant, unsuccessfully.
"Of a what, Draco?" Narcissa asked carelessly.
"Mother," Draco scoffed, nervously smiling. "Mother, what is he doing? And here?"
"Do I really have to tell you that tale again, Draco? I believe we covered that when you were fourteen. But if you need another lesson. Demonstration perhaps?"
"Oh, God! You did not, please tell me this is a joke, Weasel. Tell me!"
"Oh, don't I wish I could do that, Malfoy. Unfortunately," Ron was really getting into annoying Draco with this, "I have to disappoint you. This is all but a joke." Ron's smile stretched from ear to ear.
"You what!" Draco turned to his mother. "Honestly, I really thought you could do better than a Weasley. And this Weasley in particular. Wait till Father hears about this. He'll have both your heads."
"No he won't. Besides, your Father went home with Hermione Granger last night."
"What!" Ron and Draco said in unison.
"This has gone too far. Hermione has clearly lost her mind," Ron said.
"Excuse me? Granger has finally come to her senses, you mean. It's clear that my Father has gone mental because of this divorce." Draco retorted.
"Draco, dear, remind me who is going out with Harry Potter again?" Narcissa smiled.
"I am," Draco grudgingly agreed. "But at least I am dating someone my own age. And someone with a good reputation, not a Mudblood or a blood traitor. And Harry has a well toned body and he's pretty. Unlike the filth at our kitchen table!"
"I do have to give you credit for that. Although Potter is a bit to tiny for my taste, I prefer my men tall."
"There's nothing tiny about Harry," Draco grimaced.
"Spare me the details!" Ron yelled. Even though he had shared a dormitory with Harry for seven years and they showered in the same douches after a Quidditch game, when Draco said it, it just sounded gross.
"We should floo father in," Draco smiled.
"No! Please not! I can't stand another Malfoy," Ron panicked.
"We really should. Ask him to bring his date."
"No, no! Hermione will kill me on the spot. If Lucius Malfoy hasn't brutally murdered me, that is. Malfoy! Don't you dare!" Ron threatened when Draco walked over to the fire-place.
"It's 'Black' nowadays. It was all over the Prophet, but then again, I don't expect you to be able to afford a newspaper." Draco tossed floopowder into the fire and laid his head into the fire. Only to retreat it, even whiter as usual. He ran towards the kitchen cabinets and searched for something.
"What's a matter, Draco?" Narcissa asked.
"I need to clean my eyes, preferably with bleach. And then I need to spork them out, I'd rather be blind than to bear that memory." He still searched frantically.
"What's a spork?" Ron asked Narcissa hesitantly.
"Must be Muggle," she answered. "Well, let's see what is so bad my son can't handle to see." She walked to the still flaming green fire and looked into it. She retreated out of it giggling.
"There's nothing funny about that." Draco commented. "It's gross and disturbing and probably the reason for many men to hate women, and to hate their father, and Mudbloods."
"Excuse me? Exactly what did you see?" Ron asked.
"Oh, I am not telling him," Draco said immediately. "Never ever again will I speak of that. And don't you dare say it out loud!" he warned Narcissa.
Narcissa placed the side of her had next to Ron's ear, as to channel the sound that came from her lips. She spoke deliberately and Draco had no doubt that she would tell him every single detail… ah, torture.
And indeed, every second Ron's face turned paler and paler and the expression of his face turned funnier and funnier. Before Narcissa finished talking he threw his chair aside and stumbled with his head into the hearth.
"Hermione! Don't you dare!" they heard him yell. "Don't you think you can go around prancing in… in that kind of outfits seducing old--"
"Now Lucius will have his head," Narcissa snickered.
"–and above all; evil- people. I demand you to—What do you mean: none of my business? Yes this is the Malfoy fireplace--"
"Busted," Draco laughed. "Not that I approve. Not ever," he added quickly.
"—so just because you broke up with me you have every right? I don't care. You get your arse out of that--"
"Like Lucius would mind that."
"—let me rephrase: grab the bed cloth and drape it over yourself—OH! I did not need to see that. Do place it back. PLACE IT BACK. I'll die of shock if you won't! Thank you. Leave? Not until—What do you mean: if I did someone too last night. I was drunk. You're perfectly fine, as it seems. Well not entirely--"
"I am going to have to agree."
"—not this time. No, Malfoy, I'm not here to watch. I had my piece of what last night? You watched? I knew you were an old perv. Not old? What are you, fifty? Forty-five? I hardly see a difference. Don't get that wand out. Don't you—Don't!"
Ron was blasted out of the hearth in a heartbeat. "I told you he was going to have my head. Told you."
ZE END