Narcissa Malfoy wasn't a nervous woman. She always carried herself with the grace and esteem of a proper Pure-blood woman. A woman of her status never showed her true emotions whilst out in public. She'd perfected her role of the "Ice Queen", which helped her family escape from the aftermath of the war with slaps on the wrist and hefty fines.
Over the course of the week, her mask slipped, revealing little pieces of her true self to her girlfriends. She mentioned her upcoming dates, thinking they wouldn't think much of it. It had the opposite effect for it was an accomplishment to secure a date at her age. It meant that woman her age were still attractive to men. It gave her girlfriends hope that they'd find men so they wouldn't be alone.
They celebrated over cocktails at a lavish lounge. The women involved in the dating scene gave her advice. Others offered to help her shop for new clothes. Some offered to take her to the salon, and another even suggested that she have a mini makeover before her date. The runner in the group insisted Narcissa tag along on a few runs to drop some weight beforehand.
Their implications frustrated Narcissa, but she refused to let it show. She didn't understand all the trouble women, especially women her age, went through to attract a man. Narcissa never struggled in that department. As if I need to go through all that, Narcissa scoffed, flipping through her dresses. She selected one and went to the bathroom to get ready. Yet, as she sat down to do her hair, her hand shook slightly. Maybe I'm a little nervous, she admitted, taking a few deep breaths. Eventually, she settled down and finished getting ready.
"I've got it!" Narcissa called to her house-elves as she ran down the stairs to the front door. She slowed when she approached the last set, not wanting to look too eager. She smoothed her dress, took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Mrs Malfoy!" The young man's face flushed to match the colour of his hair. The bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand tumbled to the ground, landing with a soft thud at her feet. They both bent down to retrieve the downed bouquet. Her fingertips brushed against his causing him to flush harder. She didn't think it possible for him to turn redder.
She rose and looked down upon him with a bemused look on her face. His gaze remained glued to her front stoop. What have I gotten myself into? He debated whether he could simply feign ill and leave. He cursed himself for agreeing to this, but stayed, focusing on steadying his beating heart.
"I'm up here, Mr Weasley," Narcissa commanded, crossing her arms over her chest. "You look like a fool. Get up."
Ron Weasley cringed as her high and haughty voice filled his ears. He wrapped his hand around the stems of the bouquet and turned his head. He'd never found feet attractive. That was until he gazed at hers, delicately displayed in a pair of sky-high stilettos. Waves of inappropriate thoughts crossed his mind. He admired her lithe body, clad in a floor-length burgundy evening gown that hugged her curves. Gryffindor red's never looked this good. His eyes took her exposed pale skin, starting at her elegant neck and ending at her waist. The deep cut of her dress accentuated her beautiful breasts. No! No! No! This is Malfoy's mum! You don't find her attractive!
"Come," Narcissa beckoned, taking off down a long hallway. Ron ran a shaky hand through his hair and followed her, immediately drawn to the exposed skin of her back and the gentle sway of her slender hips.
"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes widening at the sight of the succulent food spread across the ebony tabletop. His stomach grumbled in appreciation, and he licked his lips, excited for the delicious meal that awaited him. He sat down and filled his plate with a bit of everything. Heaps of food entered his mouth at a rapid pace.
Narcissa crinkled her nose in disgust. She tapped her foot and cocked her head toward her chair. Has he forgotten that I'm here? She'd heard stories from her son about how Ron behaved around food, but she didn't want to believe him. How can one be so uncouth? Her brow furrowed at the sight of his elbows resting on the tabletop.
"Gonna eat?" he asked, his mouth full of food. "It's really good!" A morsel fell to the floor. Narcissa shook her head and glared at her chair, pointing at it with her chin. Ron, completely engrossed in his meal, ignored her request.
Narcissa huffed and pulled out her own chair, its legs scrapping the floor. She sat down and spread her serviette across her lap. She bypassed the food, opting to fill her glass to the brim with red wine. She filled his glass, knowing they'd both need it to get through the evening.
No words passed between the two. The sounds of silverware clanking and Ron's loud chewing echoed off the dining room's walls.
"So, you work as an Auror?" Narcissa asked, finally breaking the stuffy silence. Her question caught him off guard. His head snapped up, briefly making eye contact.
"Not anymore. I help George run the store," he replied, looking back at his food.
"I see." Figures he wouldn't be able to handle a job of that caliber!
"It's not like I can't get back into it if I want to. George needs me," Ron snapped. "Family's important. You, out of anyone, should know that." Who does she think she is?
"I wasn't saying that, Mr Weasley. I'm sorry to have offended you. Family is very important," she agreed, purposefully softening her tone to pacify the situation.
"It's fine." Ron quickly reached for his wine glass, downing the contents in one gulp. He refilled it and downed it again, setting the empty wine bottle beside him. Narcissa snapped her fingers, summoning another bottle from a house-elf.
Another uncomfortable silence engulfed the room. Narcissa couldn't take it anymore. I didn't get all dressed up for nothing!
"Tell me about the business," she coaxed, all traces of condescension removed from her voice. Ron looked back up at her, holding eye contact longer than before.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything." She batted her eyelashes at him. "I want to know everything."
And so, with his wine glass gripped tightly in his hand, Ron told her of his life post-War. The wine certainly helped, allowing him to converse with her.
Narcissa eyed him as he chatted. Oh my, has he grown! She envisioned running her hands all over his muscular chest, undoubtedly developed during his years spent as an Auror. His crisp white dress shirt, rolled to his elbows, showed off his toned forearms. His eyes twinkled when he talked, and he became animated while recounting his stories. His puppy-dog eyes and floppy red hair tugged at her heartstrings, and she knew she had to have him.
"... Honestly… I love Hermione, but she's such a nag!"
Ron realised what he'd said, who he'd said it to and immediately threw his hands over his mouth.
"Don't worry Mr Weasley. I won't tell anyone," Narcissa drawled, letting out a small laugh.
"Good. Call me Ron. Mr Weasley sounds too formal."
"Alright, Ron," she replied, dragging out each letter of his name as if to test it on her lips. "Continue."
He's probably untouched, Narcissa determined, nodding and smiling at whatever he'd just said.
"Do you find me attractive, Ron?" Narcissa interjected, bending forward and reaching for her wine glass. His bright blue eyes finally moved from his chicken breast to her breasts. Works like a charm every time.
"Uh…" Ron's knife dropped and hit the floor with a clang that echoed off the dining room's walls. He bent down to retrieve it and banged his head on the underside of the table. He stared at her, one hand cradling his head and a look of sheer disbelief on his red face.
"It's a rather easy question that requires an even simpler answer. Do you find me attractive? Yes or no?" She slipped her foot out of her stiletto, extended her leg toward him and rubbed her foot against his.
Ron yelped and jumped in his seat.
"Yes," he whispered. Narcissa slowly slid her foot up his leg and caressed his ankle. Ron turned yet another shade of red. Narcissa bit her lip, stifling her laughter. She loved watching him lose his composure.
"What did you say?" Her foot inched higher, caressing his muscular calf.
"Yes!"
"Good." She flashed him a smile. "And to think, I'd wasted both our time this evening…"
"You didn't!" he interrupted. What the hell are you doing? "You look lovely!" he complimented, smiling back at her.
"Thank you. I know I'm no spring chicken, but I'd like to think I still look good."
"You do!" he affirmed, nodding his head.
"Good... because I can assure you that certain things come better wrapped in older packages."
His eyes widened. Is she hitting on me?
Narcissa's sinful foot rose several inches, causing Ron to shift his hips away from her, desperate to hide the result of her touches.
"Stop it," Ron hissed, narrowing his eyes at her.
"Dance with me."
"What?" She can't possibly be serious!
"Dance with me."
Narcissa sauntered to the middle of the dance floor and turned to him. She motioned for him to approach, and he shuffled toward her. His mind begged him to decline her request. He'd never been a strong dancer and the alcohol certainly wouldn't help. His body betrayed him and moved him closer to her. He stood in front of her, his arms pressed against his sides, unable to recall where to place them.
"Have you ever held a woman?" she whispered, stepping closer. "Like really held one?" Narcissa pressed her body against his.
Ron shook his head, unable to hide his immediate reaction to her small frame, soft skin and sweet perfume. She positioned his hands on her body, and they began to dance around the room. As with dinner, the start was a complete disaster.
"I'm sorry," he muttered as he trampled on Narcissa's toes for the umpteenth time.
"It's alright. Let's try again," she encouraged. "And one…"
After a few tries, Ron's ability improved under Narcissa's guidance. They'd even completed a few rounds around the ballroom without him stepping on her toes or tripping on the hem of her dress.
Ron carefully dipped Narcissa as the last notes played. The bright lights in the ballroom bounced off her sternum. He lowered his head and placed a soft kiss on it, drawing a soft gasp from the beautiful blonde. His lips moved on their own accord, climbing up her neck before coming to rest against her red lips.
He pressed his lips against hers, softly at first. To his surprise, she didn't back away. She rose and pressed her body against his. His hand cupped her backside, and her breathy moan sent shivers down his spine. Emboldened, he gently nudged her mouth open, desperate to taste her. She acquiesced, allowing her tongue to tango with his. His hands wandered up and down her body, caressing her curves.
"I'm sorry," Ron murmured, panting slightly when they pulled away from each other. He caught sight of her lips, which were swollen from his excessive attention. He blushed and avoided looking into her eyes. He hadn't a clue what came over him.
Curiosity finally overcame him, and he peered at her. To his surprise, she wasn't angry. A smile graced her face, and her eyes sparkled.
"Shall we continue this upstairs?" she purred, pressing her lips against the outer shell of his ear. A strand of hair fell from her bun and tickled his cheek.
"Yes." Ron placed his hand in hers and allowed her to escort him upstairs.
Ron awoke the following morning with his limbs tangled in silk sheets. He slowly opened his eyes and took in the unfamiliar surroundings, which were far more luxurious than anything he'd ever seen. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a small piece of parchment, folded neatly and resting against an antique alarm clock. His name, etched in an elegant script, stared back at him. Merlin, what did I do, he wondered as he opened the note.
Good morning, Mr Weasley. Breakfast awaits you downstairs. Thank you for the lovely evening. And remember, when you leave, that a Pure-blood rode it first.
Ron groaned. The colour drained from his face as he recalled the previous evening's events. Wine… lots of wine… wine so red it looked like blood. Dancing – a waltz, awkward at the start, but better toward the end. His lips pressed on her delectable sternum. Her offer. His acceptance. The diabolical smile on her face as she opened herself for him.
He grew dizzy, swaying slightly under the copious amount of alcohol still trapped in his body. The contents of his stomach soon fell to the floor. He cleaned up the mess with a wave of his wand and slammed his head into the pillow. Would it be too much to ask her to Obliviate me? No one can know about this!
He rolled over and stared at the intricate molding that decorated her ceiling. His mind buzzed, and he felt the start of a mild headache. Then again, it's not like Hermione and I are together… right now anyway. No one has to know. With that, he rolled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen.
Narcissa's pale pink lips curled into a small smile. Looks like all I needed was a little sexual healing, she thought, sipping her tea. Much to her surprise, she enjoyed the evening and early morning with the Weasley boy. He'd been attentive, eager to learn and eager to please. His skills in the bedroom, like his skills on the dance floor, improved greatly under her guidance and instruction. She didn't regret stripping him of his innocence. In fact, she quite enjoyed it.
After much consideration, she decided that molding him into the man she wanted required too much effort. Though, part of believed he'd accept her offer. She noticed a burning desire in him to distinguish himself from the arguably more famous members of the trio. Unfortunately, she'd always see him as the loyal sidekick, not the hero. He lacked the intelligence to truly succeed, preferring to ride on the coattails of others. He'd only succeeded since he aligned himself with the winning side.
Also, she gathered from his drunken confessions that his heart belonged to the Mudblood. What a shame. She could do so much better. The bleeding-heart romantic in her hoped for his sake that he'd win her back. Clearly, he needed a strong woman who'd take care of his every need. Narcissa Malfoy wasn't that woman. She'd done it with Lucius, and she wasn't about to do it again. It's about time I get taken care of for a change!
She cringed at the sound of his footsteps descending down her marble staircase like an angry hippogriff. Hopefully he puts what I've taught him to good use, she scoffed, eyeing the disheveled redhead before her.
"You completely took advantage of me!" Ron yelled, slamming her note on the tabletop.
Narcissa turned to face him. His traitorous eyes roamed up and down her long legs, and his hands yearned to touch them.
"Ron, please. You enjoyed it," she responded with an airy laugh. "You can admit it," she encouraged, turning her attention back to the Prophet that lay on the table.
Ron succumbed to his temptation and lunged at her, pinning her against the table. His lips sucked her neck, drawing a moan of appreciation from Narcissa.
An hour later, Narcissa sank down into her tub after breakfast, her body sore from the last session. Remind me to buy a new table! No amount of house-elf magic could completely clean it. I should probably burn those sheets too, she decided, watching the bubbles form and cover her soiled skin.
A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she reached for her champagne flute on the tray by her feet. She savoured the crisp taste, enjoying the way the bubbles tickled her throat. That was exactly what I needed. She downed the rest of the gold liquid with a flick of her slim wrist. Her thoughts moved to what to wear for her next date. She couldn't wait to meet him.