Winning over the Weaseleys by Emeralds in the Dark Chapter 7
Engorgio cock. Draco was in a full blown panic.
Gods, that moronic saying about curiosity killing the cat was
right, because in an effort to get the damned task over with,
he'd figured he'd try the Engorgio gut early enough in the
mornings that it'd wear off by the end of the day tomorrow.
Locked in a dark closet, he'd tackled the truth Chews simple
plan. Except he hadn't accounted for
the fact that his cock was swelling to an obscene size.
Draco stared down, horrified, as it transformed from the girthy
width he'd always been so proud of to something closer to a soda
can and then near the size of his forearm.
It was barely fitting in his trousers.
And of fucking course it was Parkinson's bloody birthday
party tonight. He needed a solution, fast.
Draco heard the whir of his flu activating, followed by the
sound of Jinny, breathless, stepping into his room.
What is the alarm? She demanded I scanning his
bedroom as if there should be an intruder.
He had admittedly sent a rather dramatic owl.
Draco was pacing furiously. I took something, You took
something? She stepped closer, peering at
his face like she was expecting to see dilated pupils.
Did not give it to you because the last time you took something
from not, it was shrooms. Draco shifted from the chaise
lounge, trying not to draw attention to the very obvious
problem in his pants. No, not, not.
He admitted. I got it from your brother.
My brother. She roared.
Which one, George? George, You took something from
George? Ginny shouted, throwing her
hands in the air. What is it?
What's wrong? Are you sporting a second head?
She climbed onto the chaise, trying to get a look at the back
of his neck. God's no.
He sputtered, dodging her. Just fuck.
Zabini needed someone to split potion ingredients with to cut
costs, so I went with him. George asked if I could sample a
few items for him. What was I supposed to say?
No? Ginny gaped at him.
Yes, Draco, you were supposed to say no.
I want your family to like me. I don't want this to be harder
than it has to be. Ginny crossed her arms.
And what exactly did George give you?
Draco sighed, looking down. Ingorgio gut?
Ginny blinked. Ingorgio gut?
But your gut isn't. Draco took a deep breath.
Then, with great shame, he stepped out from behind the
lounger. It's not my gut that's engorged.
He pointed down. Jinny clapped her hand over her
mouth. Oh my gods, is that your cock?
Draco nodded shamefully. Can I see it?
She was actively trying to hide A smile.
Are you enjoying this? Draco scolded.
Jinny shook her head furiously, though her face was all mirth.
No, no, I just. She waved her hands vaguely.
Want to see, you know. Draco groaned reluctantly and
shoved his trousers down. His enlarged cock flopped out
with a heavy and lewd slap against his knee, truly
resembling a third leg. Jinny's eyes widened.
Oh, wow. She was suddenly on her knees,
examining it. Draco whimpered.
You think this could fit inside me?
She lifted it experimentally. Red.
Draco choked, every muscle in his body seizing.
I swear to Salazar, I cannot afford to have any more blood
going in that direction. Jinny didn't acknowledge.
Do not get me aroused. He pleaded, pressing himself
against the bedpost for support. It's still quite pretty, though,
isn't it? She wrapped her hands around it,
or tried to, but one wasn't enough.
She used 2 fingertips, barely meeting as she stroked backward.
Drago grunted, his head footing against the wood.
It felt incredible. Her hands were around him,
coaxing away the ache. He felt himself relaxing for the
first time all morning. Blood was draining from his
chest, from his torso, plummeting woosily down until
his eyes snapped open in horror. Ginny, He warned.
Let me try something. Ginny adjusted her grip.
How do you feel like I'm going to pass out?
Jaco's head lulled back. But also strangely better.
Ginny worked him with the same fervour she used on the
dumbbells at the gym, palms pulsing back and forth.
She looked focused, as if she were actually considering
whether he could fit inside her. Draco, in his feverish state,
vaguely registered that there was no possible realm in which
that could work without ruining her.
But the thought of it, it was arousing as hell.
He tried to focus, but something was wrong.
The pleasure was still there, an undercurrent of heat, but it was
overwhelmed by a cold sweat. His head spun and his vision
swam. Jin.
He wavered. I don't, I don't feel.
The room tilted black. The last thing he heard was
Jinny shouting his name before he hit the floor.
Oh good, it looks like Mr. Malfoy is coming around, A
jovial voice chortled. Draco blinked, his vision
swimming as harsh fluorescent lighting burned into his
retinas. The walls were stark white, the
linens scratchy under his back. His entire body ached, as if
he'd been hit by the night bus. Draco.
An angel's voice. Jeannie's voice.
Her fingers threaded through his hair, waking him fully.
MMM, red. He mumbled groggily, turning
toward the warmth where am IA figure came into focus.
A stocky older man who looked a disturbing mix of Slughorn and
Flitwick. I am a healer, Stroup.
The man grinned and shook his hand.
Missus Weasley brought you in 20 minutes ago.
We were able to get the swelling under control with some counter
potions. Take one vial of pepper at
potion, drink some water, and you'll be just good as new.
Fuck. Draco swore.
Reckless of you to both experiment with that kind of
charm work. Healer Stroop continued.
If you're looking for those kind of enchantments, I've recommend
Boudre's Boudoir, right on the edge of Nocturne Alley and
Diagon Alley. Far better than using the lust
line at your family's shop. Draco snapped his head toward
Ginny. I don't think Draco will be
using anything from my brother's shop ever again.
She returned his look. So can I take him home now?
But you can use the flu at the end of the haul.
The healer said, handing her a vial of pepper up potion.
He wrapped his knuckles on the door as he left.
Draco sat up, carefully testing his balance.
He was immensely grateful to be lighter, clear headed, and to
have his modest yet respectably ample cock back to normal
proportions. He exhaled in relief.
Fucking hell. He swung his legs over the side
of the bed. I'm going to have a word or
several with your brother. Jinny stepped between his legs
and kissed his forehead, then his cheek, then his lips.
I love you, she pressed. For trying so hard with my
family. Draco grumbled, but she shushed
him with another kiss. They'll come around, she
promised. They'll see you the way I see
you. But do not take anything George
gives you ever again. He grumbled some more, but let
her pull him to his feet as they walked to the flu.
He turned, a sneer creeping across his face.
You aren't innocent in all of this, you know.
Jinny blinked. What?
Draco leaned down, lips brushing against her ear.
You would have had all my blood in that thing if I hadn't passed
out. He whispered.
I saw the luck in your eyes. Red.
Jinny flushed. You wanted to give it a try, you
filthy witch. Stop that.
Jinny swatted at his chest. We have to be at Parkinson's
party in five hours and you should rest, she added.
As if I haven't suffered enough today.
Ron didn't have a clue what cocktail slutty meant.
He had to take a trip to Grimmold to figure out if his
outfit fit the description because there was no way he was
ending up on the wrong side of Parkinson's wand.
She'd likely do more damage than green grass.
So naturally he operated straight to Harry's for backup.
Which in hindsight, was a mistake.
The second he landed he was grabbed by the collar and
dragged down the hall, not marching ahead like a man on a
mission. We're going to my closet.
Theo declared far too cheerily. Harry followed with an
apologetic look, wearing 1/2 buttoned linen shirt, a gold
chain and the tightest trousers Ron had ever seen him in.
I'm not wearing what Harry's wearing.
Ron dug his heels in. I told you, Theo.
Harry complained. I told you I look ridiculous.
Theo spun. It's cocktail slatty, and jeans
and a jumper were never going to cut it.
Do you either if you want to end up in a mesh top and leather?
Because Parkinson will make that happen.
Ron paled. Bloody hell, what have you got?
Theo yanked open a spare closet that was overflowing with neatly
hung clothes, running his fingers over the options like a
fashion demon surveying his Kingdom.
All right, Weasley, I've been thinking about this all week.
Theo grabbed a white button up and tossed it at him.
This and three buttons undone, sleeves unrolled.
And these trousers, dark brown, fitted around the ankle.
He threw those too, and a watch. You'll need to look less than a
scruffy teenager and more like a man.
Ron caught the clothes. So what, you want to dress me
like a Slytherin? Theo looked deeply offended.
No, you're behaving brown. We'd never wear brown.
Ron looked toward Harry for backup.
Harry. Meanwhile, we're staring at
himself in the mirror. What do I look like?
Theo grinned. Ridiculously shaggable.
Your arse has never looked better.
Ron groaned louder still. He grabbed the clothes and
stomped into a spare room to change.
He needed tonight to go well. He needed Hermione to see him
differently. At least Theo let him keep the
brown instead of going full black on black on black.
He dapped on a bit of knots, expensive Cologne, adjusted his
shirt and nodded. Tonight he was going to charm
the hell out of her. The club was eardrum bursting.
The DJ was blasting muggle music so loud that Ron could feel the
bass vibrating in his sternum. Parkinson had gone all out,
renting a private section lined with plush couches and dankly
lit alcoves, complete with a personal bar.
Pansy was already there, draped across one of the couches in the
smallest black mini dress Ron had ever seen in his life.
Zabini had bottles of champagne brought in from every direction.
Green grass was perched on a stool, looking unbothered in
what pastas and outfit? Some kind of bra and miniskirt
that left nothing to the imagination.
A Weasley? Daphne shouted, lifting a
martini that was way too familiar for Ron's liking.
Apologies for the vomit. She yelled over techno beats.
Ron gave her a thumbs up, praying she'd forgotten all
about the part where her hands had also tried to get into his
pants. Not a problem, I'm quite good
with Scurgify by now. He called back just as Theo
shoved a Tumblr glass in his hands.
The liquid inside was a fizzing amber.
What is this? Ron shouted.
Ford Co. Red bowl.
Theo hollered. Vodka.
What? Ron bellowed back, his voice
already hoarse from the noise. Red ball.
Weasley. Theo grinned, lifting his own
glass and knocking it back like a shot.
Muggle and fucking fantastic, if you ask me.
Parkinson. Nappy birthday.
A flash of red zipped past Ron before saying a welcome.
Jinny was launching herself into Pansy's arms.
The way she vibrated told him she was already a bit drunk.
What are you wearing? He demanded in the direction of
her outfit, which looked like a set of under things disguised as
a dress cocktail. Slatty.
Jenny screamed back, twirling dramatically.
Isn't she gorgeous? Came a voice beside him.
Ron turned to see Malfoy lifting his glass in Pansy's direction
in a silent toast of acknowledgement.
Disgusting. Ron scoffed.
Draco spared him a glance. You gave me shite advice on
George. I expect better when it comes to
your parents. He uttered before drinking down
his whiskey. How did South End go?
I went in to kiss her. Ron admitted and then panicked
and licked her ice cream cone instead.
Draco blinked before letting out a bark of laughter, then
sauntered over to Jinny, wrapping his arms around her
waist and moving her in time with the music.
Ron hated it. He hated watching Malfoy be so
comfortable with his sister, spinning Jinny back and forth in
his arms, making her laugh, making her smile.
And worse, Jinny was singing the lyrics back at him as if she
wasn't dancing with them. And they all used to hate.
A sting of envy burned in Ron's heart at how easy it was for
them to be affectionate. Mighty Jinny shrieked, waving
frantically. Ron turned just as about to
lifted the rope, letting Hermione into their section.
Was it just him or had the entire bar gone silent?
Hermione was wearing a spaghetti strapped tight, really bloody
tight dress. He noticed just how her plump
chest looked, sitting up higher than he ever remembered.
The hem of her dress barely skimmed below her bum.
Ron was still trying to remember how to breathe when Pansy let
out a delighted screech. Yes, Granger?
She howled, clapping her hands. This is what I meant by cocktail
slutty. You look like you should be
popping out of my cake. Blaze convinced Granger to pop
out of my cake. No, I'm all right, Hermione said
quickly, shifting on her feet. She grabbed one arm with her
palm, fidgeting, and that's when Ron realised he hadn't even said
hello, he'd just been staring. Theo slid a cocktail into her
hand, and Ron glanced down, still holding his own untouched
drink. I'd offered to pay you to jump
out of a cake, Granger, but I fear your morals wouldn't align.
With that, Blaze rolled. Ron finally snapped out of it,
shaking his head as if it could somehow clear the fog in his
brain. You look great.
Hermione's lips parted before she bit down on her bottom lip.
So do you. She called out, her eyes passing
just for a second on the open collar of his shirt where Theo
had insisted he leave a few buttons undone.
Shots now. Jinny clamoured over to the bar,
where Parkinson, Green Grass, and Ginny herself were already
lined up. Hermione followed, but Ron
wasn't a fan of the idea of her getting too close to Daphne.
Thankfully, she settled at the opposite end.
An elbow jabbed into his ribs. You're drooling.
Harry looked at him with mild disgust.
And it's gross to watch. I, I really don't know what I'm
thinking about right now. He admitted, taking another
drink. His eyes were still on Hermione,
watching as she grimaced shot after shot while Parkinson
gleefully forced her to take more.
Jinny clapped her hands together and turned toward Draco.
We're dancing. She grabbed his hand.
Malfoy rolled his eyes but looked pleased nonetheless,
letting her pull him onto the dance floor.
Blaze, Pansy, Daphne, and Theo all followed without hesitation.
Hermione staggered up from the bar, eyes glassy.
I have to dance. She announced, as if this was a
requirement she had just discovered.
Harry chuckled, waving her off. Have fun, keep Theo entertained,
would you? He gestured toward the growing
mass of bodies colliding on the dance floor.
Huh. Yeah, all right.
Hermione slurred, raising her drink before weaving her way
toward Theo Ron felt that he'd blundered again.
Should he have gone with her? Should he have asked her to
dance? He turned to Harry, the two of
them the only ones left in their section.
Should I have asked her to dance?
Harry blinked. Can you dance?
Not like that, he grumbled. The night blurred into a drunken
steam. Their friends drifted in and out
of the booth. Coming for a breather, to
rehydrate or to regroup before disappearing back into the mosh
of the club. Ron and Harry chatted through
most of it, though Ron kept an eye on Hermione.
She was dancing, really dancing, throwing her head back,
shimmying with Theo, gleaming without a care in the world.
Ron could have watched her all night until Draco and Ginny sat
at the bar, hands all over each other, snogging.
He looked away immediately, doing everything in his power to
ignore that startling image. A sudden thunk beside him made
him jolt, and he turned to find Theo flopped onto Harry,
latching onto his neck. Ron directed his attention back
to Hermione, who was now with Pansy on the dance floor.
Without the usual blockade of Theo, Blaze or Draco, men were
beginning to swarm. Ron wasn't sure if this was his
own decision or the 5th vodka Red Bull making it for him, but
suddenly he was pushing through the crowd, his arm wrapping
securely around Hermione's waist just as some curly haired bloke
tried to do the same. For a moment she blinked up at
him, caught off guard, her skin glowing with rivulets of sweat,
her hair frizzy, her eyes glassy.
Thought you could use save in? He shouted, just as Blaze seemed
to have the same idea, reaching for Pansy.
Hermione smiled, then turned into his grip and fucking hell,
pressed her arse into his groin, snaking herself down his body.
Ron's hands shot up her sides on instinct.
He stood there stupefied, trying not to lose the function of his
limbs. I, I don't really know how to
dance like this. He admitted, his mouth on her
ear. Follow my body.
Hermione sang in a sultry octave.
His fingers flexed against the dip in her hips as she kept
grinding against him, pressing her back to his chest, giving
him a direct view down her dress. 1 He was trying not to
purr that they fell into the beat.
Ron kept trying to think of a million and sexy things because
his dream, which was throwing her hearse into his lap in the
middle of a claustrophobic muddle club.
Hermione kept closing her eyes in tandem, her cleavage rising
and falling, her hands guided over his body.
Ron had never associated dancing with anything as erotic as this
moment. He wanted to turn her around, to
have her face him, to kiss her, to taste the bead of sweat in
her cupid's bow, but she twisted too quickly, rolling her ankle
in the process. Ron caught her in time,
steadying her upright in his arms.
I need some water. She panted.
He guided her back through the crowd, helping her back to the
booth. She collapsed into the cushions
and he rushed to get her a glass of water before dropping beside
her. The night must have been winding
down. Malfoy and Jinny were gone, so
were green grass, Blaze and Pansy.
Harry and Theo, however, were not gone.
They were tongs in each other's cheeks in the corner.
I think I should get home. I'm starting to spin.
Hermione crawled over Ron to reach her bag, and nagging
thought wormed its way into his brain.
Did women only get interested in him when they were drunk?
You all right? He scanned her face.
There was still light in her eyes, but barely.
Just too many drinks, too many shots.
I'm, I'm going to apparate home. I'll talk to you tomorrow.
She stood, only to wobble instantly.
Ron was up beside her. You can't apparate like this.
I'll take you to your flat. She didn't argue, which was
proof enough of how drunk she was.
He kept a solid grip on her waist as they manoeuvred through
the club, holding her the same way he had green grass last
weekend. By the time they stumbled onto
the street, the chill night slapping against their perspired
skin, Hermione let out a puffing giggle.
Gods, it was stuffy in there. She rasped, spinning on her
heel. Ron steadied her once again. 6
tequila shots. Parkinson made me take 6 tequila
shots. She proclaimed, as if confessing
some great sin. Right, Come on, you lush.
Ron laughed, keeping her secure enough to not allow her to slip
free. Making sure there was no risk of
splinting, he twisted himself into the apparition.
They landed in her flat a moment later, welcomed by a very
displeased Cruickshanks who yowled from his perch.
Oh, Crooks, you shush. Hermione slurred, kicking off
her heels before stumbling down the hall, one hand trailing
along the wall for support. Ron watched her go before
heading to the kitchen to grab some water and a hangover
potion. He knew his way around her flat
well enough, and as he scratched Crookshank's head, he wondered
if the cat had finally accepted him or was still holding a
grudge. When he returned to the bedroom,
he heard rummaging inside. Knocking lightly, he pushed the
door open, only for Hermione to stretch her hand out for the
glass of water and start chugging.
Ron opened his mouth to say something, maybe to remind her
to sip, but the words died in his throat.
As Hermione's free hand slid down her back and her dress fell
to the floor, Ron stopped breathing.
There she was, Hermione Granger, standing in nothing but a Lacy
bra and matching thong. She handed him back the half
empty glass and he took it on instinct, still staring, still
processing. His nervous system had gone
completely haywire. She reached around to unclip her
bra. Ron spun so fast he nearly
tripped over himself. He kept his eyes firmly on the
wall, counting to 10, refusing to turn back until he'd heard
the telltale squeak of bed springs and the rustling of a
duvet being pulled up. I'm just going to leave this
here. He choked, setting the water and
potion beside her bed. You're not really here.
Hermione purred. You're my imaginary run.
No, it's me, Minione. She hummed, tugging at a sheet
caught between a pile of texts. Tuck this up.
Ron leaned over to help, one hand pressed below her pillow to
steady himself, the other yanking at the stubborn quilts,
but something hard nudged against his fingers.
Frowning, he pulled it out to make sure it wasn't digging into
her head, only to find himself holding a long, curved pink
remote looking thing with tiny buttons along the side.
He blinked. What is this?
He turned over in his hand. Do you need this?
Hermione yawned, her head sinking back into her pillow.
My vibrator. I fall asleep with it under my
pillow sometimes. Your vibrator?
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Ron blurted, scrambling back to took
it under her pillow like that would somehow erase the entire
situation. But it was too late, because his
brain was already there. Hermione in this bed, looking
very much the way he knew she did, under the covers that
separated them, naked, a lickable toned stomach, hands
between her thighs, that pink thing vibrating over her clit.
Ron needed to leave now. You know what's funny?
Hermione murmured sleepily. I can say this since since
you're in my head. She reached out tiredly, her
nails dragging down his forearm, his bare forearm, the one she'd
been staring at earlier. I think about you when I use
this. She murmured, eyes bleary, cheek
squished. That shirt tonight, the way your
arms looked, and your chest. She continued in a syrupy gush.
But don't tell Ron that, She shushed herself.
Had he misheard? Had he fallen into a coma?
Was this his afterlife? He had to say something.
He had to clarify. Hermione, I, I am Ron, he
strained. Ronald.
She thrummed as if tasting his name on her tongue.
She grabbed the vibrator from under the pillow.
Speed 5, Ronald is speed 5. She clicked the button five
times until the thing started buzzing at an insistent pace.
Ron felt like he might actually die.
Hermione just did that right in front of him like it was
nothing. Like it was a normal bedtime
routine to flick on a vibrator and talk about how she thought
of him when she used it. Meanwhile, he was having an
existential crisis. How the hell was he supposed to
measure up to bloody speed five? He needed to leave, he needed
help, he needed advice, and there was only one person who
could give it to him. Was it late?
Yes. Was it mental to continue
seeking his advice? Likely.
But this night had been mental. Completely mental.
Ron scrambled back to his feet. Good night, Moany, He managed.
Good night. She sang, the vibrator slipping
from her fingers discarded on the mattress.
Ron flipped off the bedroom light then her flats moving like
a shell of a man. He glanced at Cruikshanks before
leaving. The cat was definitely judging
him. Ma don't know what's just
happened either, mate. He stepped into the flue.
There was only one place to go. Maufoi Manor.