Gryffindor Colors

or

Redheaded Stepfather

A Harry Potter crackfuck

By

EvilFuzzy9

Rating: M

Genre: Humor/Parody

Characters/Pairings: Narcissa M., Ron W., Dumbledore; [Roncissa crack]

Summary: The reasoning of pureblood fanatics is incomprehensible to anyone halfway normal, and even Harry Potter is close enough to ordinary to find himself at a loss for how on earth Narcissa Malfoy so suddenly became Mrs. Ronald Weasley. [crackship, crackfic, crack premise; Roncissa, lemon-scented]

WARNING: This fanfic depicts activities of an adult nature between fictional characters. The author of this fic strongly discourages minors from reading this, and also from participating in any and all such activities until they are at the age of majority/consent as defined in the laws or customs of their state or principality.

(got senran kagura estival versus today)

Breakfast was a fine affair, all things considered. Harry came back with a fair bounty of provender and greetings from Dobby. Narcissa got a thoughtful expression at the latter. Ron ate enthusiastically, and he offered plenty of food to Narcissa, who did not touch much herself. Mostly she just had some toast and an orange, which she washed it down with a cup of pumpkin juice.

"You have a healthy appetite, dear," she said to Ron, turning down his third offer of hash browns. "But I'm not that hungry, personally."

"Chu ernt gunna eef?" he said through a mouthful of bacon, staring at her.

Harry and Hermione, being used to Ron's relatively poor table manners, did not so much as bat an eyelash. Narcissa, somewhat surprisingly, seemed little more perturbed than they. Indeed, she smiled as though pleased or amused.

"I've eaten enough," she said airily. "It may seem a small amount to a hearty, growing wizard like yourself, but I've sufficiently broken my fast."

Ron looked mildly incredulous at this, and he raised a forkful of sausage. Swallowing what was in his mouth, he spoke.

"There's plenty for everyone," he insisted. "No point going hungry."

Harry smiled despite himself, reminded strongly of Molly Weasley's adamance in seeing all her family and guests well fed and stuffed full nigh to bursting. Hermione, also, couldn't help a gleam of amusement coming into her eyes at the odd similarity between Ron and his mum.

Narcissa smiled.

"Very well. If it will make you happy."

And leaning forward, she parted her lips—Ron was struck suddenly by how red they were, and the shape they made reminded him irresistibly of how they had looked in his dream, or what he had thought then to be a dream, as she mounted him and fell unto the fullness of her loins, and they looked so plump and soft that he wanted suddenly to taste them and take them and make her smile as widely and shamelessly as she had in their first joining.

But then Narcissa took the sausage into her mouth, and she looked at him with a twinkle in her eyes. He saw her suck on the meat for just a moment, pressing her lips close and gently lifting it from the fork. Raptly he watched as she took it delicately, suggestively into her mouth, before chewing slowly and thoughtfully, her eyes ever boring into his.

Ron's mouth went dry. Dimly, he was aware of Harry looking away uncomfortably, and of Hermione going pink in a way that had nothing to do with anger. He watched Narcissa swallow, and she licked her lips in savor of the taste. There was a mischievous gleam in her piercing eyes.

When, he wondered, had her hand got onto his lap? And when, also, had her body come so close to his? He could see her bosom heave within fine robes, and he recalled unbidden the sight of her naked body. Narcissa was bloody fit, and going by the look on her face she damn well knew it.

"Well, Ronald? Is that all you have to give me?" she asked, her voice low and husky in a way that sent shivers up his spine.

Her hand edged a little further up his lap. Ron stiffened at her closeness, and he heard Harry's choking and Hermione's spluttering only as if across a vast distance. For all he knew in that moment, he and Narcissa were the only people for a hundred yards.

She was beautiful, and that dealt a heavy blow to his resistance, but more terrible a power still was the raw sexuality with which she infused her every word and deed. He had no will to match such a thing, not with how young and rash he was. Her eyes could slay him with only a glance, and with a touch her hands could make him forget all reason.

"It is while they're watching," he said dumbly, barely considering his words.

One of his hands laid itself over Narcissa's.

"Let them watch, if they want," Narcissa purred. "That will just make it more exciting."

Ron voiced no objection, not though Harry and Hermione let out strangled cries. He was distracted, noticing a bit of food on Narcissa's lips. It seemed to have escaped the search of her tongue, and this was not surprising. It was the tiniest scrap of the daintiest morsel, minuscule and insignificant. Only barely did his eyes catch it.

Yet on her lips, that scrap may as well have been the finest feast ever wrought by the Hogwarts house elves, and before he even knew what he was doing Ron found himself bending his head and drawing nearer. Perhaps he meant to pluck the crumb from her lips, or perhaps he was merely filled with a sudden desire to kiss his wife, as if the full meaning of the subtle vows now binding himself and Narcissa had finally sunk into his mind.

Harry was torn between staring and looking away. Hermione clapped her hands over her eyes, yet her fingers parted to let her peek out, and her face was redder than Ron's hair.

Narcissa smiled and craned her head. Young though he was, and still growing, Ron was already a head taller than her. Their lips were less than an inch apart...

"Am I interrupting?"

Minerva McGonagall spoke curtly and crisply.

Ron started and pulled back from Narcissa as though scalded. His face went an interesting shade of maroon. Narcissa was less abashed by comparison. Somehow, it seemed as if the color in her cheeks had not been born from embarrassment. Still, she too pulled away, if more slowly and grudgingly, and she cast a dirty look at the head of Gryffindor house.

Harry and Hermione were visibly grateful for the interruption.

"Yes, you are," said Narcissa. "My husband and I..."

An unreadable look passed over McGonagall's face. Her lips thinned as she looked from Ron to Narcissa, quickly comprehending the situation.

"You were quick to remarry," she said disapprovingly.

"For a witch to be widowed at my age is unseemly," was Narcissa's prompt reply. She gave McGonagall an almost scornful look.

"Less unseemly than some things," said McGonagall. "But no matter. I was not sent here to lecture you on propriety, even if I now wish that I had been. Still, Professor Dumbledore requires your presence."

She sounded as if she thought this to be much too generous a consideration on the headmaster's part.

Narcissa met McGonagall's eyes, and she took Ron's hand in hers. It was warm.

"My husband will come with me," she said in a tone that brooked no disagreement.

McGonagall's nostrils flared, and she looked penetratingly at Ron. He colored under her glare, but squeezed Narcissa's hand and nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "I, er... I think I should go with. Narcissa's my wife, so... um, her business is my business."

"Very well," said McGonagall testily. "Come along, then."

Ron got up with Narcissa, and he bade Harry and Hermione a mumbled, "Later."

They watched him go with mixed feelings.

There weren't many people in the halls. Most were either still at breakfast, or enjoying the start of a pleasant day out of doors. With no more classes or exams, students were blessed with that rare and brief period of freedom where they had no work to do and were yet also still with all their friends and not departed for home. There was no constraint on how they spent these last few days of term, besides staying within the bounds of Hogwarts.

Ron normally would have wanted to go outside with his friends and relax by the lake, perhaps sit under a tree and just enjoy one another's company. But he did not feel so interested in going outside at present. For the moment, he found himself pleased enough just with being in Narcissa's presence. The more the shock wore off, the more he found himself warming up to the idea, and to her.

She was nice enough, after her fashion. Maybe a bit... bigoted, still, but it seemed like she really was trying not to offend him or his friends, at least for the most part. She also seemed honestly glad to be his wife—well, she HAD been the one to come ask him, hadn't she?

Whatever Hermione thought, or Harry insinuated, it seemed to Ron that Narcissa found him genuinely handsome and funny and charming. She laughed at almost all his jokes, and even the really weak ones at least earned a tiny smile. And she was very forward with him, too, very warm and sensual...

Narcissa squeezed Ron's hand and gave him a smile. He returned the gesture and felt his heart skip a little. She really was quite fetching, and there was that same look of intelligence in her eyes as in Hermione's. She was bright and willful and determined to have her way. Ron could tell this just by looking into Narcissa's eyes. It was the same thing that had once drawn him to Hermione, but where Hermione didn't seem to show much interest and often talked down to him, Narcissa very obviously fancied him, and she flattered him with her attentions.

Ron was so lost in thought that he barely noticed McGonagall speaking to the gargoyles outside Dumbledore's office, and hardly paid any mind as he stepped onto the rising staircase. Only when they came to the door of the headmaster's office was Ron pulled out of his reverie, and he blinked owlishly as McGonagall held it open.

"Go in," she told them curtly, her eyes staring holes in Narcissa.

Ron was largely unfamiliar with Dumbledore's office. He'd been there a few times before, in second year after the Chamber of Secrets affair, in fourth year just before the second task, and what felt like an age ago in December, after Harry had woken up from a vision of his dad being attacked.

Ron's stomach twisted a little uncomfortably as his thoughts went from that to Harry's vision of Sirius, and what had happened as a result of that.

(He felt the marks on his arms twinge.)

But that aside, compared to what he had seen around Christmas, Dumbledore's office seemed more sparsely decorated. There was less clutter, somehow, and a few surfaces seemed almost bare. It was like several small things were missing that he'd never before paid much mind to, and only now noticed in their absence with a vague sense of something being off.

But maybe that sense came about from the presence of Draco Malfoy before the headmaster's desk, looking a mixture of upset and defiant.

Narcissa smiled at him. It was somewhat bittersweet.

"Hello, son," she said. For a moment, it felt like she was about to let go of Ron's hand and dart forward to pull Draco into a tight embrace. But then she looked at Dumbledore and seemed to master herself.

"Mother," said Draco, and he looked at Ron with thinly veiled disgust. Gray eyes fell to their hands, and something like understanding mingled with stubborn disbelief flashed through them. "What are you doing with him?"

Narcissa brushed a strand of hair aside.

"He's my new husband," she said as if this was a matter of only mild importance, almost daring her son to make a big deal of it. "Say hello to Ron, dear. Ron, this is Draco. I believe the two of you know each other?"

She said this lightly, almost pointedly so.

Draco's lips curled. Ron, for his part, felt his hand spasm and tighten on Narcissa's.

"Yeah, we've met," said Ron.

"Yes," said Draco at the same time, speaking through gritted teeth.

Dumbledore smiled, but there was something unreadable in his eyes as they flitted over the trio. He adjusted his glasses, then clasped his hands atop a desk that seemed barer than it ought to have.

"My, Narcissa, you work quickly," he said in a conversational tone.

"I don't believe in drawn out courtship," Narcissa answered dismissively. "Blacks take what they want, no matter what anyone else might think."

"Hmm... Well, as long as you are both happy with it," Dumbledore said. "I'll admit, I had only meant to have you and your son here, but if you and Ronald are now married..." He looked searchingly at the plain iron rings on their fingers. "...then this is as much his business as yours."

For a moment, Dumbledore twiddled his thumbs and let his gaze wander around the room. He quietly hummed a cheerful half-tune, eyes twinkling inscrutably. At length, he spoke again.

"Your mother has concluded that your family has nothing more to gain from following Voldemort," he said, causing the witch and two young wizards in front of him to wince.

"She did, did she?" said Draco, looking shaken but not completely surprised. Indeed, his expression seemed to darken with something like understanding, and he shot an unreadable look at Narcissa. "So that's why father was killed."

"I could not save both of you," Narcissa said. She stood as motionless and immovable as a statue, her face undecipherable. "He was in Azkaban, but you were here. I had to choose, so I chose you. My son."

"And when did you marry Weasley?" Draco sourly retorted. "That seems a sorry way to honor father's memory."

Narcissa's expression twitched. It seemed... less than happy, for a moment. Sad, in a way, and resigned, but also faintly hard.

"I loved your father," she said, still holding Ron's hand. "I always did. But he was a distant man, and never especially warm. It only got worse with the Dark Lord's return. These last two years have been sad and miserable, and he was already marked for death. I simply divorced him before that could happen."

"She was adamant that I take you under protection, Draco," said Dumbledore serenely. "I do not think she would have taken no for an answer."

"Protection from what?" Draco snapped, glowering.

"Voldemort and his followers, of course," Dumbledore answered. "Surely you are not so naive as to think he would leave you and your mother alone after your father's failures? No, that has never been his way, I'm afraid. He would have killed you to punish your parents, and I do not think he would have done so quickly or painlessly. No, he is not prone to mercy, and he most certainly does not forgive."

Draco still looked mulish, but he was a touch paler now. Dumbledore met the boy's faltering glare with a wan smile.

"Do you really think you can keep us safe from the Dark Lord?" Draco muttered. "If he really... if he really wants to kill us, then there's nothing you can do to stop him. He's too powerful."

"I was able to stop him at the Ministry," said Dumbledore, affecting a modest tone of voice. "And he has not yet managed to kill Harry, despite several attempts to do so. The dark arts are formidable, Draco, but they are not the only great or worthwhile power in this world."

Fawkes crooned gently from his perch, the sound of the phoenix's voice both musical and heartening. Dumbledore's smile brightened.

"For instance," he said, "Despite many efforts, Voldemort was not able to learn the location of the Order's headquarters, was he? Kreacher could not tell your mother the address, though he intimated many other things, and she could not deduce it herself, either. Such is the power of the Fidelius Charm, that even knowing Kreacher dwelt in the headquarters, and knowing also the elf's nature, Narcissa could not add two and two together. The magic prevented her from thinking of that location, or connecting it to the secret."

Draco stared blankly at Dumbledore. Narcissa frowned, trying to figure out what he was saying. Now that he mentioned it, she felt like there was something she should have known or been able to figure out, but there was something blocking it. The way he said it suggested that she knew of the place, and that knowing Kreacher was there she ought to have been able to figure it out, but it refused to click.

She could not find it in her mind. She could not deduce it. If she tried, she just pulled up a blank.

"The headquarters should suffice to hide you and Draco, if any place can," Dumbledore said. "In truth, it is convenient that you have come to our side, and that Bellatrix has died. With the passing of Sirius, I was worried that Number 12 Grimmauld Place might lose its protections, or that it might let in you or Draco or Bellatrix despite our magic, now that its previous owner is dead."

Narcissa blinked.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place... yes, she knew what that was, of course she, although she wasn't sure and couldn't BE sure why it was important to their discussion. Yet the way Dumbledore spoke, it seemed like it had... something... to do with... with... ... ...

...what was the man talking about?

Narcissa shook her head. She felt confused. It was not a natural confusion, either, although she could not tell that. It was the magic of the Fidelius, confounding her and preventing her from linking Number 12 Grimmauld Place and Order of the Phoenix Headquarters together as one and the same in her mind. Not without being told explicitly that this was so.

Ron stirred beside Narcissa, looking at her with a slight confusion of his own.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," she said a touch vacantly, eyeing him oddly. "Why wouldn't I be, dear?"

"I dunno..." Ron said, frowning.

Draco looked between them with a scowl and a perplexed expression of his own.

"Number 12 Grimmauld Place is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore said. At once, Draco and Narcissa's eyes lit up as the mental block was finally dispelled and two and two came together. "And it will also serve as your safe house, at least for the summer."

Ron was the only one of the three to look less than happy with this. Narcissa appeared satisfied, as if many things finally made sense to her. Draco had a look of barely concealed eagerness on his face, maybe half of it from the thought of staying in the ancestral Black family home, and the other half at the thought of getting an insight to the Order's workings.

Ron thought of Sirius, though, and a pang went through him. He did not miss the man as much as Harry did, but he had liked Sirius all the same, and Ron was a little sad whenever it struck him that Sirius was gone. It reminded him a bit of when his uncle Bilius had passed away. He'd not been too close with the man, but his death had still been depressing.

Dumbledore looked at Ron, and distracting the redhead from his mildly melancholic musings, he spoke.

"Shall we go, then?"

Ron blinked. So did Draco. Narcissa seemed relatively unperturbed.

"What, now?" Ron blurted out.

"The elves will have finished packing up your things by now," said Dumbledore. "You, at least, will be free to come back if you wish, Ronald, but it would be best if Draco and Narcissa go into hiding as soon as possible. Certainly, it would be unwise for Draco to stay another night in his dormitory. Some of his closest friends have family among the Death Eaters..."

This appeared to hit Draco like a brick.

"They'll think I'm a traitor," he murmured, going white. "If the Dark Lord knows about mother's desertion..."

"He may try to get at you through them, yes," said Dumbledore gravely. "It is a great tragedy that Slytherin house has become so closely intertwined with Voldemort and his movement, but Slytherin has always been something of a holdout for blood purists... an unfortunate product of Salazar's beliefs getting twisted and distorted over the generations, I fear."

Draco did not seem at all interested in the headmaster's opinion. He looked altogether dispirited.

"I can't go back there," he said. His voice broke with the realization.

Bizarrely, Ron found himself almost feeling sorry for Draco. Despite himself, he imagined being forced to cut ties with Gryffindor and all his friends therein. That was a horrible thought, and his stomach twisted at its mere consideration.

"It..." Ron started to say. It'll be alright, he wanted to say, but the words died on his lips. He frowned. Instead, he grunted an obligatory, "Sorry."

That was the only thing he could think to say to this.

Narcissa squeezed his hand absentmindedly.

"It's not your fault," she said, as much to Ron as to Draco. "Lucius and I were taken in years ago. We let ourselves be fooled into thinking the Dark Lord aimed to restore wizards to their rightful place. But all he's done is diminish us, setting Britain's last remaining pureblood families against each other in an internecine conflict. Tom Riddle..." She said the name with bitterness and scorn. "His father was buried in a muggle graveyard. The last wizard buried there was Gerontius Gaunt, died 1547. I've done my research."

She said no more, though it was clear she had much more that she could have said. There was a fire in her eyes, and despite the questionable nature of her comments, Ron felt smitten by the intensity of her look.

But Draco looked aghast at her words.

"You aren't saying the Dark Lord is a mudblood?" he softly hissed, looking around in a panic as though fearful that Voldemort would spring from the shadows and strike him down for this slander.

Dumbledore, for his part, frowned at the use of this word.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle is a half-blood," he said with a rare touch of firmness in his voice. "Son of Merope Gaunt and the muggle Tom Riddle Junior. But that should not be what matters. Indeed, his mother's family were of even purer blood than yourselves, but they were wretches living in squalor and possessing entirely negligible magical power. If you wish to judge Voldemort, then judge him by his actions, not his heritage."

Ron nodded absently at this after the obligatory flinch.

"Of course," said Narcissa, a little strained. But she smiled weakly at Ron, and at her son. "And that alone is enough reason to defect from his side."

Draco looked skeptical, but also shaken.

"Well," said Dumbledore at length, "I suppose it is time we made for Number 12."

Fawkes flew from his perch, and Dumbledore grabbed hold of the phoenix. He gestured for the others to follow his example. They did so. Ron had a good enough idea of what was happening, and Narcissa seemed to guess at it too. Draco looked bewildered, however.

But before the blond could so much as open his mouth to ask, Fawkes burst into flame, and they vanished from the headmaster's office.

A/N: Here's another chapter. Dunno what else to say, unless maybe that I've recently considered getting back into Lord of the Rings Online. I haven't played for a couple years, after a server update caused me to lose various expansions that I had bought. That was really frustrating, and turned me off of the game for quite a while, though I had very much enjoyed it.

For reference, the last time I played, the Riders of Rohan expansion was still pretty new. I was just getting started in that when I lost my access to the quests there, and well... If the fellowship I was part of back then still exists, I will be amazed. Even moreso if I've not been chucked out of it, haha.

But that's not really relevant to this fic, either way.

Updated: 4-4-16

TTFN and R&R!

– — ❤