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.

(i have no excuse)

"Please, Dumbledore! They say you are the only one whom the Dark Lord ever truly feared... can you not protect myself and my son?" begged Narcissa Malfoy, kneeling desperately before the legendary wizard. "I will do anything, anything, to keep my Draco safe!"

And saying this, she hesitated momentarily, looking down from Dumbledore's face to the region of his loins.

Swallowing her pride, frantic and determined to convince the man of her sincerity, Narcissa fumbled with the front of her robes and began to undo them. She started parting her robes from the neck on down, slowly revealing a creamy expanse of cleavage.

She made it only a third of the way over her bosom before she noticed the headmaster holding a hand up as if to say stop. He was looking into her eyes with a kindly, almost pitying expression. He did not seem remotely interested in her breasts.

On one hand, this was something of a blow to Narcissa's pride. She was a very attractive woman, after all, and she had always somewhat enjoyed the effect her body had on the wizards and witches around her. On the other hand, though, at least it seemed she would not have to service the old man (shudder) to make him agree.

"You come to me so shortly after the events at the Ministry, Narcissa," said Dumbledore, kindly surveying her like she was a student asking for nothing more bothersome than clarification on a point made in a lesson. "It has not been even half a week since your husband was taken to Azkaban..."

"I have divorced him," Narcissa said, trying to repress the slight pang of regret she felt at saying this.

She had truly loved Lucius, but the path he'd taken was one she could not afford to follow. Not any longer. More important than anything to her was the safety of her son, and she knew enough of the Dark Lord's ways to guess that he would seek to revenge Lucius's failure on Draco, or herself. And if she was gone, who would then protect Draco?

"The Malfoy family's assets are mine," she continued, "as are—I should assume—all those of the Black and Lestrange families. My Draco is the last male heir... and as much as I loathe your beliefs, I fear that the Dark Lord would see my son dead in his service before allowing my family's line to continue."

"You have a better measure of Voldemort, in that case, than do most of your peers," Dumbledore said softly, steepling his fingers. He did not question her on her mention of the Lestranges.

Narcissa winced at his use of the Dark Lord's name, but she said nothing about it.

"What would you ask of me in exchange for our protection?" she queried with some trepidation, looking pleadingly up at Dumbledore. "I am willing to do anything for my Draco, anything, even marry a blood traitor. Wed me even to the youngest Weasley boy, if you must! If it keeps my son safe, I could give my body and—and my heart to anyone."

"I would never ask someone to marry without love," said Dumbledore serenely. "Nor would I ask payment for what you seek, not so baldly as that. Simply seeing Voldemort deprived of your family's services and resources would suffice, I should think. You may have faithfully supported your husband in his endeavors, but I do not believe you bear the mark yourself, do you? And your son, certainly, is perhaps blameless of all but a poor attitude."

"But I have done much in the Dark Lord's name," Narcissa said shakily. "I have cheated and lied and stolen for him and Lucius. My son may be innocent, but I... surely you would not take me with no payment. You did not do as much for Severus, did you?"

Dumbledore arched one of his eyebrows. The atmosphere in the room seemed to grow suddenly and slightly tenser.

"And how much do you know of Severus or his loyalties?" he asked lightly.

"I know the Dark Lord believes him to be spy for our—I mean, his side. And I know that you believe him to be a spy for your side, in turn," Narcissa said neutrally.

"You suspect more than that, however, don't you?"

"I know Severus was close with the mudbl—er, Lily Evans in school, however much he hated Potter. I've heard as much from his old classmates," Narcissa said. "I also know he became a spy in your camp only after the Dark Lord had decided to target the Potters and their son. I..." She hesitated. "I think Severus asked the Dark Lord to spare Lily, to let him take her as a reward for his services."

Dumbledore's expression did not immediately change, but Narcissa could tell that he was genuinely astonished to hear her say this.

"You are a great deal more perceptive than most on either side," he said after a lengthy silence. "To suspect so much of Severus..."

"It is good to be suspicious," Narcissa said diplomatically. "My sister did not trust Severus, or at least she didn't much like him. Of course," she added, looking sideways at Dumbledore, "most of this is merely conjecture, isn't it? I have no proof that Severus ever felt anything more meaningful than lust for Lily Evans, and half his peers would have been guilty of the same. I've no evidence, either, that he is not a faithful servant of the Dark Lord playing you for a fool. But if he did ask you to protect Lily, then surely... surely you must have asked him to spy for you in return, if only as repayment for his crimes."

Dumbledore observed Narcissa shrewdly.

"And you believe your own crimes great enough to demand such repayment, also?"

"I believe there are many on your side who would not gladly welcome me," Narcissa said tentatively. "And I believe they would be happy to see me degrade myself and betray the principles on which my parents raised me."

"And you would do that by...?" said Dumbledore, frowning.

"I have told you already, have I not? I would even marry a blood traitor. Even debase myself for the youngest Weasley boy. I can think of nothing more shameful, and no punishment more fitting, save procreating with a mud—muggleborn, and that alone I cannot do."

Narcissa shuddered, as though revolted by the very thought.

"I do not approve," Dumbledore said slowly. "It would be a discredit to both you and the boy, to let you do such a thing without love."

"I do not care about myself," said Narcissa adamantly. "Not so long as my Draco is safe. And do you expect me to believe that a teenage boy would find it unpleasant to have a woman of my beauty as a wife, bound to serve him with this body? Or that his family would be unhappy to have a generous dowry from the Malfoy, Black, and Lestrange family vaults?"

Dumbledore's mustache twitched, his expression still disapproving.

"You think much too shallowly, Narcissa," he said in a tone of gentle rebuke. "No one would be happy with such a thing, whatever you might believe."

"And you are too idealistic, professor," Narcissa stubbornly retorted, her face red, "to expect always that people should marry for love, and love alone! For a man so supposedly brilliant, you really are terribly naive."

"Yet I am the one you came to asking for protection," said Dumbledore lightly.

"My son you will protect on your own terms, I am certain. He is as innocent as he can be. You said so yourself." Narcissa's eyes flashed. "But I will earn my protection on my terms. My parents groomed me to be a wife, not a soldier or a spy. They only ever wanted me to marry a nice pureblood man and bear him respectable pureblood children. The only thing I can do to repay my past indiscretions is to follow their wishes, even if not in the way they would have liked."

Dumbledore assessed her for a long moment, several minutes passing as he peered into Narcissa's eyes with that keen, piercing glance. He looked once up and down her form, dispassionately noting a still-bared stretch of cleavage.

Then something like a smile flitted across his lips, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Ah," he said at last, something maddeningly knowing in his tone. "I see. You had a crush on Arthur when you were young, didn't you? He was a quite few years above you in Hogwarts, nearly of age when you first encountered him as a young girl. You must have fancied him very briefly before you learned he was already involved with Molly." He inclined his head. "I must admit, I am surprised that you would have desired a man with Arthur's fondness for muggles."

Narcissa blushed an impressive shade of Gryffindor red.

"I didn't know about his obsession," she said defensively. "I just... well, he was a rather handsome older boy from a pureblood family. It's not like Blacks hadn't married Weasleys before... and, well, he was very good looking. It was the hair, I think. Redheads really are..."

She trailed off, visibly embarrassed.

"I would not know," Dumbledore said brightly. "Arthur is not my type, I think. Of course, I never was one to judge men entirely by looks in the first place... but you are very determined, aren't you? To marry one of Arthur's sons?"

"I saw him at the World Cup," Narcissa said quietly, blushing. "The youngest boy, Ronald. He's the spitting image of his father at that age. And at my own age, younger men are quite... well, for all his talk of mu-muggleborns and blood traitors, Lucius was certainly not averse to staring at Arthur's daughter and Granger in those muggle clothes of theirs. It's only fair, really."

"We have very different ideas of fairness, in that case," Dumbledore said, but he sounded slightly amused. "Still, I have already agreed to protect you and your son. And if you are this determined to court a Weasley, I shall not stop you. Nor will I stop Molly, however, and she will doubtless be much more firmly opposed."

Narcissa waved a hand dismissively.

"Her family would benefit greatly from my money," she said. "And I doubt young Ronald would be averse to intimacy with an attractive older woman."

"Do as you wish, then," said Dumbledore with an airy wave. "I would advise you to remain in the castle while I sort out the arrangements, at the very least. It should be ready by the end of term."

"Might you tell me where the Gryffindor common room is, then, in the meantime?" asked Narcissa as innocently as she could manage.

"Hm." Dumbledore gave her another piercing look, as though he were x-raying her with his eyes. "So long as you swear not to spread that knowledge," he said at last. "And so long as you are willing to leave your wand and... any other questionable articles on your person with me. I do not doubt your sincerity, you understand, but it would be foolishness beyond even what Lucius might expect of me to let you go in there armed."

"Thank goodness," said Narcissa wryly. "I'm glad to know you at least have more sense than my former husband would have thought you to."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore. "Now please, kindly turn in anything dangerous you might have."

"Of course. I will not need anything but my robes for what I plan," Narcissa answered. "And even those, only until I reach my destination."

Dumbledore pretended not to hear this.

Ron was having a nice dream. It was the sort of dream that made him glad he did not have Harry's connection to a mind other than his own, and gladder still that Hermione was not a legilimens. It was far from the first dream of its sort that he had ever had, but it was certainly the most vivid.

He could feel with astounding explicitness the moistness, warmth, and pressure which enveloped a painfully throbbing erection, feel the goosebumps rising along skin as soft, pliable flesh deformed at his touch, two generous globes weighing down in his hands. He could smell something crisp under a pungent, rising musk, and he could taste indescribable flavors as a tongue played enthusiastically against his own. He could see with crystal clarity the face of Malfoy's mum, her cheeks flush with arousal, aristocratic features contorted into a look that was somewhere between predatory and admiring as she straddled his naked hips.

This was not the first time he had dreamt about the woman, although she was certainly not the most frequent star of his nighttime fantasies. However unpleasant her personality and questionable her choice in husbands, Narcissa was undeniably sexy. What Ron felt for her was a very shallow sort of attraction, a base and meaningless lust he had only ever entertained in the dead of night.

Certainly, he had never given any serious thought to pursuing the woman. This was too absurd a notion to even consider. Still, that did not keep his subconscious from materializing the occasional wet dream about her. She had a nice body, and that was all his reptilian hindbrain cared about, even if Ron himself did actually—in what might come as a surprise to some—look for rather more in his theoretical potential girlfriend than good curves or a pretty face. He was less shallow than he acted, although not necessarily by the most admirable margin.

Nonetheless, regardless of reality, this was a good dream. Perhaps it became slightly weird when she asked him if he would like to marry her while pointing his wand at their vigorously joined sexes, but as it was only a dream, Ron saw no problem with nodding his head (watching raptly as a gorgeous, mature pair of knockers bobbed with the rocking of their bodies) and grunting the words:

"Yeah, sure."

It admittedly perturbed him on some level when his wand then sparked and conjured a pair of plain iron rings, but dreams were usually a bit nonsensical, weren't they? And the brief glow of light from his and Narcissa's genitals was not much stranger than the rings placing themselves on their fingers.

Ron was not overly bothered, either, when he felt a painful prick in the skin of his finger where the ring had slipped itself, or when he saw runes form in the surface. Not though something in the back of his mind whispered that this was odd, and a part of him felt like he was forgetting something important.

But he was too busy enjoying the sensations of dream sex and wondering if the real thing would feel as good to care about tiny details like that. And when he felt himself tense up, saw Malfoy's mum seize and shudder and bite her lip atop him, their bodies melding together in a single instant of bliss, he could no longer think at all.

He erupted inside her, and she doused his lap and his sheets with the perfume of her womanhood. Ron's brain was too pleasantly numb and tingly in the aftermath of this to register as his surroundings—the curtains drawn around his four poster bed in the fifth year Gryffindor boys' dormitory—blurred and faded into the blackness.

And then he could not think anything at all, as sleep retook him.

Ron awoke feeling sore but refreshed, barely noticing or caring that something warm and soft and human-sized was bundled up in the covers beside him.

He just felt so good this fine morning! Even the yet fresh scarring on his arms seemed to ache and sting less obviously than it had over the last few days.

Despite himself, Ron felt weirdly chipper and inexplicably pleased. An almost stupid grin stretched itself across his lips, raising their corners nearly up to his ears. He lay there for a long moment, basking in a practically magical glow.

"Mmm," a voice mumbled nearby. Ron barely noticed it.

Seamus Finnegan was more attentive.

"Finally up, are you?" came the Irishman's voice, a hint of amusement in his tone. "About time! Maybe now you'll be up to telling Dean and me what you guys got up to at the Ministry. Like usual, Harry's been about as talkative as a—"

Seamus yanked the bed curtains aside.

Then he swore loudly and profusely.

"Bloody hell!" Seamus yelped, going as red as Ron's hair. "Give us some notice the next time you have company, you prat! And she's old enough to be me mam, too..."

There was something almost morbidly envious in his tone, which made Ron blink.

"Eh?" he said intelligently.

His eyes fell on the slumbering, apparently naked form of an attractive older woman, her body kept only just decent by the covers pulled over her chest. He saw an iron ring on her finger, its circumference marked with runic lettering. One of her hands was dangerously close to his arse.

Which was as bare as hers, a distantly removed part of him reckoned.

With a numb sort of jolt, a welling of emotion he could not name or place or even describe in his own head, Ron remembered that vivid, wonderfully erotic dream. A dream in which the woman beside him had engaged him in most vigorous sex. A dream in which a pair of rings had been conjured and placed upon their fingers.

Weakly, almost dreading what he would find, Ron raised his hand and looked at his ring finger.

A matching ring to the blonde's, a plain iron band with runes going around it, adorned his long and freckled digit.

The blood drained from his face.

"Ron?" said a groggy yet stunned sounding Harry. Footsteps came from the direction of his bed. "What on earth is Mrs. Malfoy doing in your bed?"

"It's Weasley, now," said Narcissa lazily, stirring and giving the assembled boys a stern look. "And I really would appreciate some privacy while my husband and I dress."

Her hand slipped closer to Ron under the covers and gave his bum a tight, possessive squeeze.

Seamus went red, and Harry spluttered indignantly. Dean and Neville let out nearly identical squawks, having finally noticed the second body in their dorm mate's bed. The curtains drew shut once more around the four poster.

Narcissa Weasley sat up in the bed and gave her husband a vaguely fond, clearly hungry look.

Ron's brain broke.

A/N: I don't know. This is just a shameless, utterly self-indulgent bit of crack. There is nothing else I can say. XD

Updated: 3-17-16

TTFN and R&R!

– — ❤