Winning over the Weasleys by Emeralds in the Dark Chapter 8,
Speed 5 Ronald Draco had had a gruelling day, but after leaving
Saint Mungo's, Jenny had more than made-up for it.
They had napped together and shared dinner on the balcony
before she slipped into the most delectable dress imaginable for
Parkinson's party. Better yet, they were able to
finally enjoy each other openly. Her ass ground against his cock
in the pit of bodies at the club, her hand slipping into his
trousers for a squeeze when no one was looking.
The ability to have fun with her, to make her laugh, to swing
her around. The way every man in the club
stared at his woman, their pupils dark with envy while his
hands claimed every bit of her, displaying her like the trophy
she was. It had been a fucking drug.
Draco knew he had a mission to push Weasley and Ranger
together. Every time he spotted Ranger,
she was dancing with Theo while the Weasel was sat back and
watched like a damned coward. Tonight, he allowed himself this
moment, let himself focus only on Jinny's happiness.
By the time she was on her six tequila shot, her hands were
tearing at his belt, her tongue dragging along his jaw.
If he hadn't apparated her out of the booth right then, he was
fairly certain she'd be riding him in front of their friends
and, hell, her family. Beneath the duvet, her hands
scratched at his chest, her clit grinding down on his pelvis.
Draco lay back, arms behind his head, letting her take whatever
she needed from him. He coached her as she bounced,
watching her hair fall in waves around her face, her tits
bouncing in melody with her hips.
An exemplary ending to one of the best nights he'd had in
years. Draco, I'm going to come show me
love. Show me what the gorgeous cunt
can give me. He groaned just as she
straightened her spine. A divine fucking view.
The depth of the angle intensified.
Jinny was a Wildcat and was mewling like 1, so thunderous
that Draco almost didn't hear the sudden flame of his flue.
In a split second, he tossed Jinny to the side, covering her
body with the sheets, one arm thrown over her protectively
while he summoned his wand. Did you not close the flue?
Jinny gasped as a figure began to materialise in his heart.
I was distracted. Draco gritted out, wand aimed at
the intruder, only to have the horrifying realisation that it
was another redhead, one who shared DNA with the woman he'd
just been enjoying. Fuck, you know, put your wand
down. Ron stood in the fireplace,
looking in disarray, both forearms thrown up to shield his
eyes from the sight of them naked.
What the fuck, Ronald? Jinny spat, pulling the duvet
tighter around her chest. You shouldn't even be doing
that. That's not how a proper woman
behaves. They wait until marriage, Jin,
You should be waiting until marriage.
Ron Ballard still keeping his eyes covered.
Weasley, you broke into my manner in the middle of the
night and you think you have the right to start lecturing us
about what you just walked in on?
Draco roared as Jinny scrambled to put on whatever clothing she
could find. Marvoy, I need to talk to you.
Ron urged. It's 3:00 in the morning.
Jinny fumed. Draco scrubbed his palms over
his jaw as he pulled on his briefs, his boner long
forgotten, blue balls settling in with a vengeance.
Ron finally dropped his arms now that they were clothed, his
insistent eyes nudging Draco. It's an emergency, Gin, I need
to talk to Malfoy alone. Ron pressed what could possibly
be an emergency at 3 in the bloody morning.
Has someone died? She tempered, jumping out of
bed. Draco already knew the next
words weren't going to land well.
He knew Ginny would be livid, but he also knew he wasn't about
to send Weasley on his way, not in the state he was in.
He still needed to get insight on Molly and Arthur.
It was crucial as their opinions meant everything.
Red, could you give us a moment? Draco looked at Ginny, hoping
his face conveyed just the correct amount of sorrow.
She scoffed before turning toward the doorway.
I already have one boyfriend leave me for a man.
I didn't think it would happen twice, and with my brother no
less. She quipped, flipping her hair
red. Ginny was already storming off
and Draco glared at her brother, who tried looking apologetic.
I'm going to the pantry, perhaps I'll get a snack.
What kind of snack? Ron interjected.
Both Ginny and Draco's faces were scathing as they irritantly
looked to him in synchronicity. All right, all right, just
asking. Ron raised his hands before
awkwardly making his way to the chase.
The door slammed behind Jinny. Where should I?
Ron looked awkwardly between the bunched up blankets and the
chase, clearly unsure where to settle.
Still in nothing but his briefs. Draco stretched his arms over
his bare chest, making no effort to ease the discomfort.
He wasn't about to let the Weasley get comfortable with
this situation. Anywhere you please, since you
have no sense of boundaries. Draco drawled, motioning toward
the lounger. Ron hesitated for a second
before flopping onto it with a sigh.
Oh, I took Hermione home tonight.
He started, rubbing his hands together.
She was too drunk, and I didn't want her to operate herself.
Draco arched a brow. And that warrants a house call?
No, obviously that doesn't warrant a house call.
But when I got there, Ron went into her room just to put a
glass of water in a potion next to her bed.
The next thing I know, she's stripping down naked.
Ron puffed. Draco was astonished.
A reluctant grin spread up his face, the kind that felt
foreign, like a muscle long out of use.
Once Upon a time, the mere thought of Weasley and Granger
shagging would have turned his stomach and made his skin crawl
with revulsion. You saw her naked?
He pressed. Not really.
Ron muttered. She was doing her knickers and
bra, but then she unclipped it and I didn't want to be a
pervert, so I just stared at the wall until she got into bed.
He sighed. She was wasted, mate.
She didn't even know it was me there.
Ron hung his head, looking thoroughly miserable.
And you're having a crisis because you saw Grainger in her
*** Draco poked. It gets worse, Ron continued.
I'll go to a night stand to put the water down and the potion,
and she asked me to adjust the covers and the Mahan lands on
something. Ron's face was burning.
It lands on her vibrator. Draco had consumed half a bottle
of whiskey. It was 3 in the morning and now
Weasley was on the verge of a breakdown over Granger's
vibrator. A vibrator that Draco could only
assume was a charmed copy of Hogwarts.
A history. The thoughts of Granger
masturbating was so bizarre it was fucking hilarious.
I held it up like a wanker and went, do you need this?
Draco nearly lost it. I apologised immediately.
Like invasion and privacy and all that.
And then she says sometimes I think about you when I use it.
Ron stared blankly into the dying embers of the hearth,
looking shell shocked while Draco's hand dropped forward.
This was it. He was so close to getting the
Weasel to shag Grainger, he could practically taste victory.
He could see the future nights spent in peace, lying beside
Ginny while her entire family focused on the new blossoming
relationship they'd all been waiting for, leaving him and
Ginny to their bliss. She told you she gets off on the
thought of you. Draco staggered, still trying to
process the absurdity of the problem.
Ron looked traumatised. She holds it up to my face,
clicks it five times and goes. Ronald is speed 5A, fucking
speed five. I'm not a speed 5.
Do you have any idea what kind of pressure that puts on me?
I'm a speed two kind of bloke. Maybe a speed 3 on a good day.
Drago had to agree. Weasley wasn't exactly a speed 5
type of man. But then again, Grainger
probably didn't shag any speed five men, so perhaps a speed 3
Weasley could pass for a speed 5.
Draco, of course, was a speed 6. Theo was likely A4 Blaze.
Blaze had to be a 5. You do realise how brilliant
this is for you? Draco was genuinely baffled as
to why Weasley wasn't celebrating.
Brilliant. Am I supposed to look at her
again knowing she puts that pink thing between her legs, jokes it
up to five and thinks Oh yeah, that's Ronald.
Ron coughed violently. Draco's grin widened.
It's pink. Is it?
Wouldn't have pegged Granger for a pink.
Kind of, which Ginny's got a Black.
He stopped himself, remembering who he was talking to.
Never mind. You said she was sloshed.
She likely won't remember, but you shouldn't bring it up
either. It'll only embarrass her and
she'll think that you're having a laugh at her expense.
Draco advised. Why not bring her some take out?
She'll be nursing a hangover. Show up and get cosy with her on
the sofa and make her insides pulse.
You know she's already thinking about it.
Which means he beamed. You have the upper hand.
Ron blinked, considering it. That's actually not a bad plan.
Yeah, I'm aware you're the one that's been giving shite advice.
I ended up in Saint Mungo's after meeting with George.
Meanwhile, thanks to me, after seven years, you've just now
found out that Grainger uses you to get off.
It was a ghastly thought. Still.
I don't quite understand that, but everyone has their kinks, I
suppose. I'll grab Indian, she loves
Indian. Ron said standing, making his
way to the hearth. Weasley.
Draco cut in. I want information on your
parents. You just interrupted the best
part of your sister's night and now I have to retame her.
Don't talk about taming my sister.
Ron bugged my home. You barged in, remember?
Ron roiled. Mum's been having a hard time
with all of us out of the house. Really she's just looking for
any excuse to get us all together.
Dad's got that whole division at work he's now looking after.
He yawned. I don't know what you want from
them. Do your parents have tickies to
the Harpies home opener? Draco formed a plan.
They only get tickets if Jing gets them some.
I have a box for the season, and you owe me.
Invite your parents, all your brothers, their partners,
whoever. We'll watch the home opener
against Puddle near on Tuesday. The invite comes from you, but
they need to know. I offered.
Ron squinted. Yeah, yeah, I'll get it.
Always want something in return. You interrupted a rather
intimate moment to tell me you were scared of Granger's
vibrator. I wasn't scared of it.
Ron defended. Whatever helps you sleep tonight
and gets you the fuck out of my room.
Draco motioned to the flu. Ron stepped into the hearth.
You know, I thought your room would be creepier.
Draco flicked his fingers. Leave.
Weasley disappeared into the green flames.
Draco grunted, springing back onto the mattress when he heard
the door creak open again. How much did you hear?
He pinched the bridge of his nose, legs still dangling off
the edge of the bed. The bit about where Hermione
telling raunchy masturbates to him.
Jinny skipped toward him with a shortbread cookie in hand.
She passed him one. Then I had to purge my brain.
She's never told me that, you know?
Jinny quipped, taking a bite. Why would she?
He's still your brother. Jinny squinted at him.
Why is Ronald comfortable enough with you to show up in the wee
hours of the morning and talk about his sex life?
She straddled his lap, hands bracing against his pecks,
forcing his attention on her. Draco exhaled through his nose,
refusing to allow his lips to twitch.
I may have given some advice. Advice on how to get Grainger,
and you're qualified on the subject?
She teased. Drake's fingers dug into her
thighs. I've got 1 stubborn Gryffindor
who hated my fucking guts. His smirk was arrogant.
Surely Weasley can figure out how to bed your bestie?
Jinny raked her nails down his abdomen.
I liked you better when I thought you were evil.
Drago hissed before he rutted his hips against her in
retaliation. I'm inclined to believe that.
Ron woke around noon after falling asleep around half four
in the morning. He wasn't going to lie, he'd
wanked to the vision of Hermione lace, bra, and thong, a vision
that had become permanently burned into his brain.
He'd try to keep the whole speed five thing out of his head long
enough to imagine his hands replacing the vibrator, the buzz
swapped for the drag of his fingers, or better yet, his
tongue. To kiss her, to feel her chest
heaving beneath his. He had also, somewhat
begrudgingly, resigned himself to the fact that Malfoy wasn't a
complete git. He had been a reasonably sound
sounding board last night, right when Ron needed it the most.
The idea to show up with hangover food.
Actually Brilliant. For the first time, Ron half
understood why Ginny saw something there.
Malfoy was still a snake. He just shared a layer of being
the twattiest twat in existence, instead embodying the skin of a
tolerable twat. Ron stopped at a hole in the
wall Indian take away balancing bags in his hands as he made his
way up the creaking steps of Hermione's flat a few blocks
from Diagon Alley. He hadn't let her know he was
stopping by, and now he was worried she might not be home.
When he reached the door, he knocked, the scent of Curry
making his stomach rumble. He heard a third, followed by a
muttered curse at Cruickshanks, and then the door swung open.
Hermione's hair was wild, and she was wrapped in a slouchy
pair of joggers and his old fourth year jumper, the one she
always wore. She looked surprised to see him,
with dark circles under her eyes and a slight greenish tinge to
her skin. And yet, even though he could
smell the remnants of alcohol on her, she was still beautiful.
And thought you might be up for something to eat.
Ron grinned. God, yes, please.
She stepped aside as she sluggishly padded toward the
sitting room. Ron shugged off his jacket at
the door, toeing off his boots. Hangover potion not kicked in
yet. He followed her inside.
Oh, it has. She drooped on the sofa.
Doesn't mean I don't still feel rubbish.
Ron always liked Hermione's flat.
It was sunny, with a balcony where she kept her plants.
Her sofa had one of those lounger sections big enough for
them to stretch out comfortably, sometimes even fall asleep there
when the movies they picked were dull.
He made his way to the kitchen, rummaging through a drawer of
some forks before heading back to the sitting room where
Hermione was already unlatching the take away lids.
How did I get home last night? Hermione asked as Ron rounded
the corner, crumbling onto the couch beside her and picking up
his container. She didn't remember.
Good. That meant she likely wouldn't
remember any of it. No need to bring it up.
He could keep this knowledge to himself.
I brought you back. He smiled over at her.
You did? She asked as she was trying to
piece together whether the blurry image of him in her mind
had been real or just a dream. Too much tequila?
Hermione grimaced, taking a bite of naan.
We danced. He added after a beat.
I do remember that. She said, a little too
breathlessly. He allowed himself to map her,
seeing past the slouchy joggers and the oversized jumper, hiding
what he knew would be one of the fittest bodies he'd ever seen.
All he wanted was to touch her, to treasure up her ribs, and to
tell her she was everything to him.
It was fun. Ron swallowed thickly.
There was building heat, he could feel it, and he knew she
felt it too. She picked at her curls, then
patted her tired under eyes. You should have told me you were
coming over, I would have cleaned myself up a bit.
She shyly looked away. Nah, you look beautiful last
night, and you look beautiful now, just who you are.
Ron nodded, taking another bite. Hermione shifted as if his words
had struck A chord. Her eyes had turned glossy with
a golden glow of the lamplight. She blinked twice, as if trying
to regain ground. When did you get so
complimentary? She broke the tension.
It's the truth. Honestly, I think you might look
better in more jumper than in the dress.
Her brows lifted and her expression became playful.
You didn't like my dress? She put down the container like
he'd somehow offended her. Ron straightened.
You don't want to hear my opinions on the dress.
It's not my area of expertise. Because if he started talking
about what that dress did to him, how he'd been ogling her
all night, how it tingled deep in his gut, or rather his groin,
he wouldn't be able to stop. That wasn't what he wanted her
to think about. He didn't want her to believe
this was just about her physical appearance.
He wanted her to know that he loved her for her, that her
curled up in his old sweater eating butter chicken did the
same fucking thing to him as that dress did.
But Hermione wasn't letting it go.
Yes, I do, actually. Ron realised he must have said
something wrong. Moione.
He started cautiously. What, Ron?
She pressed. You don't think I could pull
something like that off? You see me as some prude Little,
No, Bloody hell no. Ron cut in.
You nearly stopped my heart when I saw you.
She went still. Ron squared his shoulders,
drawing in a deep breath to brace himself for impact.
I was just. I was trying not to put my foot
in my mouth here. His voice was rough, but his
eyes barely wavered from hers. Because the thoughts I had about
you. He dropped an octave lower.
His fingers curled at his sides, as if restraining the urge to
lunge for her. Hermione's pulse was thrumming
in her throat. Thoughts.
Don't make me say them. The air between them charged
with a pull Neither of them seemed willing or able to
resist. The food remained untouched, and
the conversation was abandoned as they remained still in a
delicate stalemate. I want you to say them.
She was in his airspace now, so close that Ron could see the
faint lines of the corners of her eyes from laughing, the
shine on her eyes. He reached out to test her
resistance. First of a stray curl, then at
the collar of his old jumper hanging from her shoulders.
This was it. He needed to show his cards.
You're more to me than what you wear.
Ron murmured. I want you to know that.
Hermione started to pull away, but his palm settled over her
kneecap to keep her from retreating.
But you look so damn sexy last night.
The words rushed out of him, ridiculous to admit, and yet
Hermione whined, a tiny, barely a breath type of noise, but Ron
definitely heard it. I, yeah.
He gathered his courage. And there are more places I
wanted my hands than just your hips while we danced.
Is that? He swallowed.
Is that what you wanted to know? Hermione nodded.
Yes, you give me not so friendly thoughts.
Ron admitted. And you have for a long time.
It wasn't planned, it wasn't decided.
It was gravity, the inevitable force that had been pulling them
toward this moment all along. The space between them dwindled,
vanishing by the second. One more heartbeat, one more
breath, and there would be no space left at all.
Hermione reacted, her hands clasped around his shoulders,
pulling him in as he captured her lips with his.
The kiss ignited A dormant beast, radiating with a need for
her that had been buried for far too long.
Why the fuck had he kept these feelings locked away?
Feeling her kiss him back, tasting her, having her, he'd
almost forgotten how lovely her lips could be.
Ron nipped, tasting the faint traces of spice and butter.
She started to fall back against the Crouch cushions and Ron
followed, never breaking the connection.
Her hands stayed around his neck, her body pulling him with
her as she parted her legs, allowing him to settle between
them. They were snogging, fully
snogging, while their dinner sat cold on the table.
Hermione rolled her hips. It wasn't subtle, it was
intentional. Ron's brain hadn't had time to
catch up before she was seeking friction.
And with that realisation came another.
He was hard, no doubt she could feel it.
There were layers of clothing separating them, but where she
kept rolling was exactly where he pressed.
The kissing turned frantic, hands groping their bodies
desperately grinding. They were dry humping like a
pair of teenagers. Ron had never had an easier
experience in his life. His mind was blank, nothing but
her. His cock battled behind his
zipper as he thrust upward, and Hermione whimpered.
The sound, the fuck. It shot through him like a
lightning strike, shivers rippling from the tips of his
ears all the way down to his toes.
Her hands started down his chest, over his arms, until her
fingers hovered lazily at his belt buckle.
Ron knew this was escalating. They needed to talk about this
first, needed to sort out what this meant for her, what this
meant for him. But all he could think about was
her body, Her gorgeous naked body, what it might be like to
experience it, to feel that first break as he thrust in that
mutual gasping pop, to see if her pussy was exactly what he'd
imagined it to be. A ball, a crash.
The water glasses and take away that had been on the table
clambered to the floor as Cruickshanks sauntered forward
and began licking Curry rice off the rug.
Crooks. Hermione scrambled upright.
Ron swept off her, panting, his hair sticking up in every
direction. Hermione batted the cat away,
tugging at the hem of her sweater where it had ridden up,
exposing that sliver of stomach he'd seen last night.
She turned to him, lips kiss swollen, and Ron let out a weird
raspy cough, not even sure why as she smoothed her hand over
his shirt. That was nice, he finally
acknowledged, feeling stupid as the words left his mouth.
Hermione bit at her nail. It was.
She paused, clearly thinking that could have.
She didn't finish, but Ron knew what she was hinting at.
Could it have? He probed, trying and failing to
shake it off and be a gentleman. I really should tidy up, you
know I'm a mess. This place is a mess.
Hermione rambled, scrambling to her feet.
Ron blinked, immediately concerned.
What had he done? Should he have kissed her again?
Right. He acknowledged, grabbing his
wand from his back pocket to help clean up the broken glass.
Hermione was smiling like a mad woman and Ron knew that this was
his moment. His only shot.
Hermione. He blurted.
Do you want to go on a date with me?
A romantic 1? He clarified quickly.
One where after perhaps we could snog again.
He added the last bit cheekily, feeling light headed or possibly
electrified. Hermione shakily giggled, the
kind of giggle that told him she was excited by the prospect.
That would be great. Ron stood, glancing toward the
hallway, knowing that he should leave, because if he stayed,
he'd kiss her again, and he didn't want to rush this.
If sex was going to happen between them, their first time
needed to be just right. Tuesday night after Jenny's
game. He invited, grabbing his coat.
Assuming you're coming to that, even if we have to sit in
Malfoy's box. Hermione followed him, both
still grinning like lunatics. Tuesday night would work for me.
She confirmed. And I'll be there regardless of
who's hosting. Ron was at the door now,
debating whether to lean in for a Peck, then backing out just as
fast, unsure if he should. Hermione blushed at his
awkwardness. So you choose day.
He finished stepping back Tuesday, she echoed.
Goodbye, Ron. She shut the door and the second
he was alone in the hallway, Ron fist pumped into the air.