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.

(stuff)

I got married last night.

Ron looked up from the parchment and frowned. He crossed this out and started again.

Do you know how you thought Bill would be the first of us to get married?

He crossed this out, too, almost as soon as he had written it.

That wouldn't work. Mum would kill him if he reported this so nonchalantly.

"Blimey," Ron muttered. "How am I supposed to tell them?"

"Call them through the floo," Narcissa suggested, peering over Ron's shoulder at the letter he was trying (and rather badly failing) to write. "Or I can help you write the letter, if you want, assuming they haven't already heard from someone else."

"Hardly anyone knows about it," Ron said. "Who would tell them? Harry? Hermione?"

"Your dorm mates know," Narcissa reminded him. "And if Hogwarts students today are anything like they were when I was in school, then half the houses will know by now. Perhaps not the truth, but there's no disguising the position we were in this morning."

Ron buried his face in the parchment.

"Maybe Ginny will tell them for me," he said half to himself.

He shuddered. This was a rather unpleasant joke, and a very frightening prospect.

Ginny gave Dean Thomas an incredulous look under a beech by the lake.

"Pull the other one," she said. "Ron? Really? He did not."

"I'm just telling you what I saw," Dean said, shrugging. "And what I saw was Ron in bed with some hot older witch. They weren't wearing many clothes, either. Make of that what you will."

Ginny continued to stare.

"You're taking the piss," she persisted. "Do you really expect me to believe a story like that?"

"Not if it was just a story, no," said Dean. "But this is the truth. Your brother was in bed with this blonde. I don't know who she was. I didn't recognize her. But she was real easy on the eyes and at least twice his age."

"I would have heard if he was seeing someone," Ginny said. "Ron isn't very good at keeping secrets."

"Isn't he?" Dean wondered. "He was in the DA with the rest of us, you know, and we kept that a secret for months."

Ginny waved a hand dismissively.

"That's different," she said. "Me and Ron grew up with Fred and George as our big brothers. We know how to keep rule-breaking a secret. But Ron is obvious about girls. He can't hide his emotions at all. More importantly, when would he have hooked up with this witch you're on about?"

"I don't know," said Dean. "But I can't imagine what other reason there would be for that situation. Maybe they were penpals? I know Harry got a lot of owls from all over the country after that article was published in the Quibbler, and some of them had photos, I hear. Maybe Ron took a liking to one of the witches and wrote back, and they started a romance or something, I don't know."

Ginny pursed her lips, still looking very skeptical.

"That's a stretch," she said.

"Can you think of a better explanation?" Dean said defensively.

"Sure. That it never happened," said Ginny without missing a beat. "I mean, Ron? I don't believe it. I can't believe it."

Now Ron felt slightly relieved, although he wasn't entirely sure why. He leaned into Narcissa's hand, and her cheek brushed his. Her touch was cool, yet it made him feel pleasantly warm. It was soothing.

Despite the bedraggled state of their clothes, and a certain glow still visible in their faces, it had been over an hour since they finished. Dumbledore had come back in half an hour ago, carrying a sheaf of parchment in his hand and looking intently thoughtful. He left shortly after that, saying that he had some other things he needed to check. But not before looking sidelong at Ron and Narcissa.

"Discretion is valuable," he said mildly, inclining his head. "I do hope you use more than a simple colloportus next time, if you do not wish to be disturbed. Others might be less respectful of your privacy."

Ron had felt mortified at this. Narcissa, on the other hand, was unconcerned.

"They will respect it, or else," was all she said.

That had been a while ago. Ron and Narcissa had been by themselves since then. Draco seemed to be avoiding the kitchen, or else he was quite fascinated by the house itself. While practically all of the dark artefacts, cursed objects, and otherwise illegal effects had been disposed of, as well as a number of miscellaneous heirlooms for which Sirius had held only contempt, there was yet much to be found in Number Twelve that a born and raised blood purist like Draco might like.

Whatever the case, Narcissa had started chatting with Ron for a short time. It was a little awkward, for if the two of them had much in common it had not yet been made clear, and at any rate there were a number of topics they gingerly avoided. Mostly they talked about inane subjects, or inoffensive ones.

Quidditch was one to which they frequently returned. Narcissa was a fan of the sport in general, though hardly a fanatic, and she did not support any particular teams. This was helpful. Quidditch was something beloved to a great number of witches and wizards throughout the world, but in conversation that could make it a double edged sword. As with all things that evoked the passions of men and women, it could be divisive and a cause of fierce quarrels.

Ron was a big fan, and he tended to be stubbornly dogmatic in his opinions on the game. Narcissa was a fan of the sport also, but in a more removed sort of way, appreciating the skill and strategy that went into the game, and respecting the discipline that went into the training, but not having any strong opinions about the pettier matters tied to it.

So they could talk about Quidditch plays and tactics and famous games, of which Narcissa knew a fair amount. She did express bemusement at Ron's fervent support of the Chudley Cannons, and he responded with a passionate defense of the team and his love of it. Narcissa was not unmoved by the sincerity with which he spoke, even if he was not the most eloquent or tactful. There was fire in his words, and a light in his eyes, so that even if he fumbled or tripped over a sentence, or else failed to convey literally what he meant, she could still feel the heat in his belly, and the fierce love behind his speech.

It was not sure, even to the two of them, how their conversation proceeded after that. The topics were a blur, however vibrant their discourse felt at the time, and afterward they remembered little save that it was pleasant. It can at least be said that somehow or other their talk turned at length to family, or else to the fact of their marriage, because Ron was made to realize that his parents would most assuredly have to be told the news of his wedding.

After that, he had somewhat anxiously assembled the necessary supplies and begun to write. Thus the account of their actions comes once more to the present, and the tale proceeds anew.

"I dunno. How are you supposed to tell people something like this?" Ron wondered. "Yeah, I'm married now, just thought you should know."

He shook his head.

"Honesty is best, in these situations," Narcissa suggested. Then, remembering that her husband was a Gryffindor, she added, "I mean within reason, obviously. I don't think your parents would take very kindly to our union if they knew... exactly how it came about."

Ron blushed hotly. It was clear that he certainly had NO intention of telling his parents every sordid detail.

Yet still he had to tell them something. It would not do to make this an unpleasant surprise, and it was foolish to think he could keep it a secret for any significant length of time. The sooner he put it out in the open, the sooner it would be over with.

But there was trepidation nonetheless, and he was naturally hesitant. This was a touchy matter, and it would not do to rush heedlessly. Even he knew that much.

Ron felt miserably uncomfortable as he tried to think of what to write. His mind wandered mutinously, refusing to let him concentrate on the task at hand, contemplating subjects as far removed from the letter as possible. In that manner, a thought crossed his mind, and he recalled something Narcissa had said.

About bank accounts. Gold. Inheritance.

Something niggled at the back of his mind, something that made him think of Bill, goblins, and Gringotts. Ron shook his head, figuratively shrugging it off, and daubed the point of his quill.

Do you know how we've always been kind of short on money?

He considered this idea, seriously considered it. Obviously this angle would be joking in tone, deflecting earnestness with tasteless jest, presenting a very serious matter in such a way as to play it off as less grave or severe. At the very least it would feel less emotionally stressful to present it as a joke, to tell it like he was gold-digging and no more.

Fred and George would appreciate that kind of thing. They'd probably laugh and carry the joke right on with him. Charlie would take it in decent humor, probably, maybe chuckle and say no more. Bill would give him a look, perhaps, that knowing-older-brother look he sometimes gave his younger siblings, at once respectable yet approachable, more stern that Fred and George yet more likeable than Percy, understanding the jest and taking no offense, but also silently addressing Ron and guessing much of what was in his heart.

If Percy was still on speaking terms with him, he probably wouldn't be for a good while after a joke like that, a joke like: We need money so I decided to marry a rich older witch, and that's all there is to it. Ginny might snort or chuckle, maybe, or maybe she would give him a dirty look. Once, Ron's sister had been fond of him, after her fashion, and they used to get on as well as could be expected, even a bit better. These days, however, she was more distant from him, and he from her. They had each their own friends and did not spend nearly so much time together, and he did not really know her as well as he used to.

Dad... well, he wasn't sure how his dad would take it. It was never easy to tell with him, save that he rarely got mad. Mum would kill him, though. She would be furious beyond description if he dared try and excuse this with such a tasteless joke. There was no mistaking that.

Still, he could not think of anything better. His mind refused to conjure any suggestion more acceptable.

Narcissa read it over his shoulder with an amused look.

"Do you think that will make them accept it?" she asked pleasantly.

"No," Ron said. "Bloody hell, no, it won't. But I haven't got any better ideas, have I?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something, dear," said Narcissa airily.

Ron still seemed decidedly less confident.

Bill did not feel comfortable behind a desk. He was an adventurous soul by nature, less irrepressible than Charlie, perhaps, but no less active. He had a good head for arithmancy, and he could do the sort of menial accounting that goblins considered beneath themselves, but he did not relish such work. If it were not for obligations to his family and the Order, as well as a strong sense of duty, he would still be doing curse breaker work in Egypt.

But You-Know-Who was alive and killing, and he was at war with all decent folk in the wizarding world once again, and Bill could not bear to stay away from his family in a time like this. He had responsibilities superceding his own desires, and also a strong sense right and wrong. He would do his part in this war, if only because the Death Eaters were a threat to his family, and to anyone who didn't fall in step with their backwards way of thinking.

So he now worked in a small office at the main branch of Gringotts, doing much less interesting and engaging work than he had in Egypt. It was dull, repetitive, and redundant, the kind of work that muggles foisted off onto their computing machines. Goblins wouldn't let wizards handle any important information, even wizards they liked, and they absolutely did not trust anyone but their own kind with access to the vaults. They only gave wizards the dangerous or boring work.

Still, he had found at least one thing to like about his new job in London. It had introduced him to Fleur. He loved her dearly, not least because of her kind and honest heart, and she was a capable witch in her own right, too. She was a whiz with charms and enchantments, and quite a quick learner. It did not hurt, either, that she was one quarter veela and stunningly gorgeous.

But whatever the case, Bill was doing his job, looking over general accounting work while Fleur checked the numbers, when the door to his small office opened and a goblin came in.

"Bill Weasley?" said the goblin, black and beady eyes flicking over the room's occupants.

Bill looked up and met the goblin's gaze. He did not recognize him, but he did not look especially important, so that was probably fine.

"Yes?" Bill said. "That would be me."

The goblin looked askance at Fleur. Then he looked back at Bill.

"I am here about the transfer," he said.

"Transfer?" said Bill, perplexed.

He'd thought that was finished. He had gone through all the paperwork for his transfer from Egypt to Britain practically a year ago, and he hadn't heard anything else about it for several months.

"Yes," the goblin said, looking down at a roll of parchment grasped in gnarled, clawlike hands. "My superiors felt it would be appropriate to obtain your cooperation in regards to the transfer of the contents of..." He scanned the paper with an odd look in his eye. "...the Malfoy and Lestrange family vaults into the Weasley family vault."

He looked up from the parchment and eyed Bill a touch balefully, concluding this.

Bill, for his part, rejoined with an expression of complete bewilderment.

"Er... Pardon?" he said hoarsely.

"There is also the matter of Narcissa Black's private account being opened to—" The goblin checked the parchment again. "—Ronald Weasley, but I suppose that is more a private matter for the bride and groom."

Bill stared.

"You've lost me," he said. "I must have misunderstood what you said, because it sounds like you're saying my baby brother is married. And... to Narcissa Black? Are you talking about a different Narcissa than the one I'm thinking of?"

Bill's mind went to the family tree on that tapestry in Number Twelve. He had only noticed one Narcissa on the thing (though of course he'd not spent more than a few idle moments on it) and that had been the wife of Lucius Malfoy. So he was naturally bemused.

The goblin cocked his head. "Do wizards not share such matters with their families?" he asked a hair disdainfully. "It seems like something that should be known to the entire house, particularly when it involves such a considerable amount of treasure."

His lips curled, baring pointed teeth.

"We do," said Bill. "Normally we do. That's why there must be a mistake. I mean, Ron? And you don't mean the wife of Lucius Malfoy, do you, when you say Narcissa Black?"

"The former wife," said the goblin sharply. "And there is no mistake. Gringotts does not make mistakes in matters like this, not when this much gold is involved."

"O-Of course," Bill said, going pink. "But I still can't believe it."

"Whether you believe it or not," said the goblin tersely, "the magic is clear. At quarter past one in the morning, our accounts recognized R. B. Weasley as the new husband of Narcissa Black. The paperwork has now also gone through, and we are consolidating the relevant accounts as per standard policy."

Bill looked like he was at a loss.

"Merlin's saggy arse cheeks," he muttered. "What? How? I don't even..."

Fleur looked concernedly at Bill.

"Are you well?" she asked.

"Fine," Bill grunted. "Just confused." He turned to the goblin. "You're absolutely positive this is genuine, though?"

"Beyond the shadow of a doubt," he sniffed, clearly taking umbrage at the fact that Bill was disbelieving him and entertaining the idea that the goblins of Gringotts could somehow be hoodwinked or deceived. "But if you think it could be otherwise after working with us for this long..."

"I'm sorry," Bill said. "It's not that I think you've got it wrong as much as it is I can't understand HOW what you're suggesting could possibly be true."

"I don't pretend to understand the innumerable absurdities of wizard courtship," was all the goblin said in response. He then turned on his heel and made for the door. "Present yourself to Ragnuk by quarter to one. He will be waiting outside your family vault."

Bill nodded his understanding of the instructions.

"Right."

Once the goblin had left and closed the door, Fleur turned to Bill and spoke.

"Ronald is your littlest bruzzer, is 'ee not?" she said, frowning thoughtfully.

"He is," Bill answered. "You've met him before, remember? During the Triwizard Tournament. He's friends with Harry."

"Ah, oui," Fleur said, recognition in her eyes. "I remember, now. So 'ee is married, now? That is a surprise."

"Yeah," Bill said. "It is."

He frowned.

A/N: Here's a chapter, I guess. Dunno what else to say. Been playing lots of games and writing less recently, so stuff is coming out slower. That happens, sometimes.

Updated: 5-14-16

TTFN and R&R!

– — ❤