Winning over the Weasleys by Emeralds in the Dark Chapter 4
Wood Innuendos. What the hell is this place?
Weasley gaped in the doorway. Draco had to admit it was a bit
much. They'd met at one of those new
gastro pubs, all hanging lights and industrial decor that made
it look like an American modernist art installation.
But it was close to Diagon Alley, and Draco hadn't been
keen on wandering too far into Muggle London.
In truth, he'd stepped half a block out of the Leaky Cauldron,
spotted the bar, and figured it would do.
Were you expecting a proper date spot?
Draco scoffed. Ron slumped into the booth,
flipping the laminated menu with a deepening frown.
What even is this? He muttered.
Hay Bangor wheat ale, The wrath of Sauron Stout.
Draco ignored him, motioning toward the bartender. 2
lagovoolin. Neat.
I don't need you ordering for me, Ron grumbled.
I didn't. They're both for me.
Draco downed the first drum in one go, then the second, while
Ron, after suffering A sigh, ordered a pint of something
called Goes Face Keeler. All right.
Draco exhaled, feeling the burn of the whisky settle.
I'm going to need you to tell me everything that's going on
between you and Grainger. Ron hesitated, drumming his
fingers against the table. You know, I don't even know why
I agreed to this. Me telling you about Hermione
isn't going to change anything, and I don't think I need this
kind of help. Draco barely had time to roll
his eyes before the bartender set down another round of
drinks. Ron took a swig of his and
immediately coughed, his face condorting in horror.
That's bloody awful. Draco pulled out his wand
beneath the table and discreetly transfigured the pint into a
lighter lager, if only to put an end to the whining.
Ron narrowed his eyes. That's illegal, you know.
I could arrest you for that. You could.
Or. He leaned back.
You could stay and tell me what's really going on with you
and Granger, and avoid spending yet another Friday night
listening to the Cannons loose. Meanwhile, Granger gets a
thorough demonstration of why Wood's surname is so tragically
fitting. Ron stared at him, horrified,
then choked half of his newly transfigured pint.
Fuck. All right, Ron excelled.
I've liked to since, well, Merlin, I don't even know, third
or fourth year. We didn't really get it at the
time. There was all that nonsense with
Crumb and you know, the constant new death experiences.
Cheers for those by the way. He shot Draco a direct look but
kept going before he could respond.
I was a prat, didn't say anything.
Almost ruined everything by dating Lavender.
Then spent a year on the run, only I left him for months.
Had this massive row about it and we kept dodging how we felt,
or at least what I assume was mutual.
And the way she kissed me before the battle.
Ron let out of breath, shaking his head.
She jumped into my arms, and at that moment I probably wouldn't
have even cared if someone killed me on the spot.
He pushed on. But after the battle, Fred was
gone. She didn't find appearance, and
we didn't talk about it. Months went by, just friendly
letters nothing else. Then when she comes back for her
8th year I go into aura training and still nothing.
She doesn't say anything, I don't say anything.
Now it's been nearly two years and I worry she didn't mean it,
that she got caught up in the moment, thought we were dying
and and she's over it. I can't fucking say anything
because too much time has passed.
Ron was panting as if he'd just run flat out across a Quidditch
pitch. Draco considered him.
Have you shagged anyone before? Fuck off, Malfoy, for once I'm
not trying to be a cunt, I'm actually asking.
Draco held up his hands in innocence.
Ron rolled his eyes. Yes, I've had sex.
I'm not some sad virgin obsessed with his best friend.
Draco smirked. I'm glad we've got that cleared
up. So you say you can help?
What do you want in return? Ron asked bluntly.
I'm sure you're not doing this out of the kindness of whatever
dark thing beats in your chest. Charming.
But no, I'm not doing this out of altruism.
He leaned forward. I want information specifically
on how I get your family to like me.
You can give it to me in instalments, 1 Weasley at a
time, and in return I'll advise you on Grainger.
If my advice works, which it will, you give me more info and
I'll put it to good use. Deal.
Ron stared at him, expression unreadable.
You are actually serious, aren't you?
You care this much about my family liking you.
Also, you can date my sister. Yes, Weasley?
Draco steadied. I care very much about what your
family think of me and my relationship with your sister.
It isn't a fling or some act of rebellion to pass the time.
Ron studied him as if he were testing the sincerity of his
words, searching for any sign of deception.
When he found none, he exhaled, nodding once.
All right, you go first. Draco wasted no time.
You never acted on it. She kissed you, put all the
cards in your hands, and you did nothing.
Of course she wouldn't bring it up again.
She probably thinks you're not interested, which is why she's
going On this date with Wood, because as far as she knows, you
don't care. Ron pouted.
That's not it is. Draco cut him off.
And that's why you need to make her jealous.
You can't just confess out of nowhere that ship has sailed.
You need to remind her that what she feels for you isn't just
platonic or pity. He spat back.
I happen to know she and Wood are having dinner at Casanova on
Friday. You're going to take Daphne
Green grass? Ron blinked.
What? It's already arranged.
She wants to piss off Pucy, so don't worry, she has absolutely
no expectations beyond you paying for dinner, so you show
up conveniently at the same place, same time, and hopefully
it'll piss off Granger enough that she rethinks riding Woods
broomstick. Draco lifted his glass.
Win win, don't you think? You really are a snake, you know
that? Ron looked genuinely baffled.
I'll take that as a compliment, but considering I've gone out of
my way to get this, this tragic romance moving, I want my cut
pay up. Gods, I feel like I've sold my
soul to the devil. Ron shook his head but relented.
All right, Percy. Draco motioned for him to
continue. He likes to hold a grudge as
much as me and George. Ron admitted.
We were all in that corridor when Fred.
He trailed off for 1/2 a second before clearing his throat.
So we can start there. Draco kept his expression
neutral, resisting the urge to comment.
He's currently trying to pass some bill on house elf
relocation. Ron continued.
I only know because Hermione's involved.
The problem is, is that they don't have enough sacred 28
hereditary Wisengemot seats to push it through.
Pretty sure you and your lot hold, what, four or five seats
between you? Draco's ears perked.
The Weasel was smarter than he gave him credit for.
This might be an even better deal than he'd anticipated.
Ron was nervous. For one, he didn't trust Malfoy.
Why would he? Everything in his entire
existence, everything he'd grown up knowing, screamed at him not
to trust the literal criminal. And yet, damn it, the bastard
made some good points. And Ron, stupid, lovesick,
increasingly desperate Ron was running out of time.
The love he felt for Hermione wasn't going away.
If anything, it was digging in deeper and deeper, and he didn't
know how much longer he could keep pretending he was fine with
being just her friend. The way she laughed at his
jokes, the way she swatted his hand away when he stole the last
chip, the way she bit her lip every single time he grazed her
by accident. It was a torture.
Alone, hand tight around his cock, Hermione was all he could
think about. The thought of her in bed with
Wood filled Ron with a teenage petulance he was determined to
outgrow. But he couldn't.
He'd do anything in his power to stop that from happening.
The worst part? Oliver was a decent bloke.
A great one even. They'd shared pints, celebrated
wins and commiserated over Gryffindor law.
But now Oliver Wood was enemy #1 that thought spiralled in his
head as he buttoned up his best shirt and shrugged on a suit
jacket, preparing to pick up Daphne Greengrass from her flat.
He had no idea how he was supposed to make conversation
with her. He'd never spoken to the witch
in his life. All he had to do was keep Daphne
entertained and make sure Hermione looked displeased.
It felt ridiculously petty and juvenile, like they were right
back at Hogwarts with him snogging Lavender while Hermione
paraded Mclagan around Sloughhorn's Christmas party.
But Ron couldn't just admit he loved her, couldn't tell her
he'd been a coward nursing his feelings for two years.
After one kiss, he Apparated to the address Malfoy had given
him, a posh looking flat that made Ron feel underdressed
before he'd even knocked. He climbed to the steps.
A knot formed in his throat. All right, you've fought Death
Eaters, you can handle dinner with a Slytherin.
Before he could second guess himself, the door swung open.
Oh good, you're here. Daphne eyed him with a flicker
of impatience. Her blonde hair was styled in
perfect glossy waves, and her dress, Merlin, that was a
revenge dress if he'd ever seen 10.
God, you're not wearing that, are you?
Ron blinked. What's wrong with it?
Oh, come here. Before he could protest, she
grabbed his wrist and dragged him inside with a few switches
of her wand. His white linen shirt tightened
ever so slightly, the top button popping open on its own.
His jacket sharpened at the shoulders, his trousers fit
better, and his shoes gleamed like he'd just walked out of a
luxury boutique. Ron stared at his reflection,
mildly horrified. Perfect.
Daphne declared, stepping back. Then, as if remembering
something, she turned to him with a judging quip.
I'm not sure if Draco told you, but I need you to lay it on
thick. Pusey is a rat bastard, and I
want him to understand that I am highly sought after, by war
heroes no less. Even if it's well.
She waved her hand vaguely at him.
You. Ron rolled his eyes.
Right, Are you ready? Then?
He outstretched his hand, and after a moment of scrutiny,
Daphne placed hers in his. The moment they arrived at the
restaurant, Daphne latched onto him like a fish caught on a
line, only instead of wriggling to escape, she was doing
everything but. Her breasts were pressed against
his shoulder, her pelvis nudging his hip, her laugh loud and
theatrical. It was easily the most
uncomfortable Ron had ever been in his life.
He was fairly certain that if he'd caught sight of his own
reflection, he'd look like he was under the imperious curse.
The haughty looking Hostess LED them to their table.
And that's when Ron's act had to really begin.
Because across the room, there she was.
Hermione looking like the most stunning woman ever to walk the
earth. Her smile was wide, open
mouthed, glowing. Her strappy dress hugged her in
ways Ron definitely noticed, and she was dressed up for the
occasion, which meant she wanted to be here.
Lashes curled, lips glossed, A delicate bite of salad
interested expression as she listened to whatever Wood was
saying. Ron's stomach plummeted until
she looked up, until her eyes landed on him.
Ronald. Hermione sounded like she'd been
physically stunned. Ron forced his best totally
unbothered charade, despite Daphne's very obvious attempts
to make them look like a passionate tangle.
Hermione. He greeted smoothly, plastering
on a look of mock surprise. What are you doing here?
Hermione huffed, eyes darting between him and Daphne.
Having dinner. What are you doing here?
Ron kept his voice casual. He turned to Oliver.
Oi, would good to see you. Oliver stood, his usual stupid
grin on his face as he reached out to shake Ron's hand.
Bastard, Weasley. Great to see you too mate.
Under. Oliver trailed off, eyes
flicking to Daphne. Daphne, green grass.
She supplied, extending her hand.
Ron watched as Hermione's face turned 3 shades redder, like a
tea kettle just about to whistle.
I wasn't aware you two were friendly.
Hermione clipped, her grip tightening around her fork.
Ron had to fight back a smirk. It bothered her, it bloody
bothered her. Which meant he had a chance.
A mutual friend set us up. Daphne answered deliberately,
vaguely, before Ron could speak, which was perfect, because
knowing Hermione, she'd assume the culprit was Theo, not
Malfoy. Which, for both his and Malfoy's
sake, was ideal. Oh, did they?
Hermione prodded, her tone all her need curiosity, but Ron
could see the razor edge underneath.
Have you found much in common? Oliver gave her a quizzical
look. Just getting to know each other,
really. Daphne smiled before linking her
arm through runs and steering them away.
We should really be off to our table.
Lovely seeing you both. Ron reluctantly let himself be
LED away, but not before throwing one last overly
cheerful parting gleam. Enjoy dinner, Miony Oliver, as
if orchestrated by fate or Malfoy is cunning.
They were seated directly across from Hawaiiani and Wood, close
enough to make their presence impossible to ignore, but far
enough that they couldn't hear the conversation.
Great work, Weezy, truly. Did you see her face?
Green Grass hummed, reaching for the drink menu.
I'll need you to pose a bit before we leave, By the way, I
called the Prophet war heroes on dates and all that, so if you
could slip your hand on my arse, that would be ideal.
Ron nearly choked. You what?
Daphne ignored him, lifting a perfectly manicured hand toward
the approaching server. Extra dirty martini.
Ron sighed and ordered a pint, feeling increasingly awkward
about the whole thing, but he also felt the weight of
Hermione's Leah. She wasn't smiling at Wood
anymore. In fact, Wood looked like he was
trying desperately to regain her attention.
Ron didn't have to look directly at them to know Hermione was
watching. Perfect appetizers came and
went, and Daphne laughed at everything.
She also downed 6 dirty martinis in record time until her eyes
glossed over and she was suddenly very much in Ron's lap.
He felt Hermione's stare intensify.
He shifted, trying to create some breathing room between
himself and Daphne. There was a line.
Making Hermione think he was casually dating, fine.
Making her picture him under green grass's dress?
Absolutely not. Daphne tilted her head at him,
slurring. You know, you're handsome.
A bit of a sloppy dresser, but handsome.
Ron motioned for another basket of bread.
Desperate times. Maybe you could get some water?
He suggested, scooting over before things got out of hand.
No, no, another martini. Daphne nearly shrieked at the
waiter. Ron scrubbed over his 5:00
shadow. There had to be a limit to
overconsumption, right? Allure, even.
Daphne sighed dramatically, popping the olive in her glass.
Adrian. No.
Adrian tells me he loves me now, wants to marry me someday, yet I
caught him sending letters to that horrid slut, Sarah Carrow.
She slurped down another mouthful of her drink
enthusiastically, drowning in vermouth.
He motioned for the bill as Daphne started walking her
fingers up his thigh. One broke out in a full sweat.
You could shag me, you know. She purred heavily with gin.
Slip me out of this dress and snog me.
Use me. That would make both Granger and
Adrian mental, wouldn't it? Bloody hell.
Across the restaurant, Hermione was craning her neck, blatantly
trying to see under the table. Ron swallowed, his entire body a
stone as Hermione threw her napkin onto the finish plate.
Oliver stood to grab her coat, her face livid and Ron pretty
sure he was absolutely mucking this whole thing up.
He inched sideways, attempting to untangle himself from Daphne,
but she was clinging onto him like a drunk octopus.
Right, I'm taking your own green grass.
Oh yippee. She squealed as he slid out of
the booth. Ron threw entirely too many
galleons onto the table and had to physically hold Daphne up as
they made their way out of the restaurant.
The moment they stepped into the street, flash bulbs and swarming
cameras, Ron froze as Daphne giggled into his neck, throwing
her curls around like a woman in a shampoo commercial.
He could already see the headline.
Weasley's drunken date. She started fumbling with the
buttons on his shirt. Oh, all right, enough of that.
Ron snapped, having well and truly reached his limit.
He operated them straight to her flat.
Unfortunately, the squish of travel must have upset the ocean
of alcohol in her system, because the second they landed,
she keeled over and retched all over his shoes.
Fucking fantastic. He wasn't sure if this whole
thing had gone brilliantly or horrendously, but the one good
thing Hermione had looked so thoroughly perturbed that there
was no bloody way she was ending up in bed with Wood.
Draco had made a spectacle of himself as he strode through the
Ministry, the click of pristine dragon leather boots against the
polished marble. He hadn't stepped foot in the
place since his trial, usually sending his solicitor to occupy
the Malfoy Wisengemart seat. The Weasel had given him the
inn, and now it was up to him to use it.
He'd already informed Daphne that her knight in ginger armour
would be picking her up for their faux date And if Draco
knew anything about green grass she'd be dressed in a
ridiculously tight bondage dress that would most definitely get
Granger's attention. Draco was looking forward to the
you were right look in Weasley's eyes at their next meeting.
But what he was up to next? It had taken some bribing,
mainly Parkinson and not, and a few well placed threats.
Flint. The Carrows.
Yet he had secured an additional 5 votes for the House Health
Relocation Bill that Percy and Granger had been agonising over.
Six months. They'd spent six bloody months
working on this. Draco had accomplished it in 48
hours. Of course, Percy and Granger
thought themselves above extortion, bribery and political
manoeuvring, trying to make their case the ethical way.
How utterly boring. Weasley's office was a corner
one charmed to overlook a Muggle St. in summer.
Draco found this particular Weasley to be the biggest enigma
of them all. Unlike the rest of his family,
who had aligned themselves wholeheartedly with Dumbledore,
Percy had continued to work under the Ministry's regime even
as it fell under Voldemort's silent control.
That had always struck Draco as odd, the black sheep of the
family. Draco understood black sheep.
There was a side to Percy that felt self preserving and rigidly
individualistic, as though he wanted to separate himself from
the Weasley reputation, To differentiate himself.
Which was ironic really, because post war the Weasley name was
one of pure admiration. Draco knocked, and a clipped,
haughty yes answered from inside.
Taking that as his cue, Draco stepped in.
Percy Weasley sat behind his desk, eyes narrowed behind horn
rimmed glasses, the wrinkle between his brows strengthening
as he squinted at whatever paperwork lay before him.
What do you want? Not a greeting.
May dismissal. Right to the point, then.
Draco stepped forward, setting down a stack of stamped and
notarized letters of intent, each signed by 5 key Sacred 28
families. Percy eyed them as if Draco had
just dumped a pile of pond scum onto his desk.
What is this? He held up the letters between
two fingers, distaste evident in every syllable.
Bill M98. House elf relocation.
Draco leaned against the desk, smoothing an invisible crease
from his breast pocket. Heard from a reliable source
that you needed a few more signatures to pass the vote.
And since I don't usually inhabit my wasn't Gamot's seat
myself, I took a private interest in your case.
So did a few others. We're on board.
He nodded airily. Percy let out a dark chortle.
So much of your father and you, Malfoy.
Rage flared in Draco's chest. That comparison, the backbone of
the last three years, had been built on dragging himself out
from under that shadow. Percy barely looked up as he
continued. Storming into my office
unannounced, pretending that you've done me a favour.
Well, I'm sure you'd expect something in return.
Classic Lucius Malfoy tactic. I don't need these.
He tossed the letters back across the desk as if they were
nothing. I suppose you know all about
comparisons, wouldn't you? Draco bit back.
That was your whole personality the past five years, wasn't it?
Distancing yourself from your family.
Distancing yourself from people who always knew right from
wrong, regardless of the political climate.
The people who, like it or not, chose rebellion.
Then, stepping in line, Draco pushed the letters back towards
him. So don't get on your high,
Hippogriff. You're more like me than you
think. Silence crackled.
I ask for nothing in return, except maybe a shred of
understanding of the position I was put in, because I understand
yours more than you realise. How do you get not Parkinson,
Caro, and Flint to sign these? Percy asked, holding up the
stack of signatures like it might catch fire.
I need to explain this to Granger and Kingsley, and I
can't very well say that you no doubt extorted these somehow.
Draco sneered. Simple families looking to
rebrand after the war. You met with me one-on-one, took
an interest in your sister's boyfriend, and perhaps we had
some common ground. I championed your cause to my
friends and they signed on. That's all you need to say and
all you need to know. Percy bobbed.
Ah, so this does come back to Ginny.
Of course it comes back to Ginny.
Draco growled. Do you think our relationship
stands a chance if the lot of you keep harping on about her
and me? Percy didn't reply, instead just
watched him carefully. She's resilient, she's her own
person, but she loves all of you, and your opinions of me
will wear her down. I'm not losing her over it.
Draco tapped the desk. This is my effort.
Take the votes, pass the bill, move forward with your
initiative. He excelled.
And for Merlin's sake, cut me a break, Weasley, and cut her 1/2.
And what if I don't think you're good enough for my sister?
Percy said coolly. What if I don't want Someone
Like You associated with my family and her reputation?
I could stay my course, and eventually your relationship
with her would deteriorate. He looked smug, but Draco knew a
test when he saw one. Regardless of whether you help
me or not, the votes are yours. Percy blinked.
Draco pressed on. I read the proposal, I genuinely
agree with it, and I do everything in my power every
single day to make her happy. You clearly don't give a damn if
I hurt over this, fine, But if you hurt her purposely to spite
me? Draco glowered.
Then that's on you. He crossed his arms before
turning toward the door. He hoped leaving Percy alone to
Stew would do its job. His fingers curled around the
door handle. He wanted to scream into the
void over how much he loathed this one.
Brother down, so many more to go.
His mind went to Jinny. Jinny in his arms, Jinny in his
bed, Jinny in his heart. It was all worth it.
She was worth every soul crushing pound to his ego.
Malfoy, I appreciate these. Percy held up the letters,
giving them a wave. Perhaps you should take your
seat on the Wisengemot. That slimy solicitor who
represents your family isn't doing you any favours.
Draco gave a pondering nod. I'll take that into
consideration. With that, he closed the door
behind him. It was a huge fucking start, a
win, and sure there would be losses ahead, but scoring early
in the match always gave him the push to keep playing the game.
Next goal through the hoop, George.